Like the old joke goes, I spent a year in Winnipeg last weekend.
Winnipeggers, please forgive me…but it’s not exactly a thrilling city. The point of the visit was a wedding, which was beautiful. We also went to see where my parents and grandparents lived in the 1920s.
It’s crazy to think my dad’s parents raised four kids in a tiny house above their barber shop. Not surprisingly, the property is empty now and sports a big “To Lease or Buy” sign.
Out of curiosity, I texted the realtor to see what the property is selling for. At first, he didn’t respond. When I texted again, I mentioned I was visiting from Vancouver and I guess his eyes went ka-ching, ka-ching, knowing how pricey B.C. real estate is.
He immediately responded — $269,000. It’s hilarious, since the average house price in that North End Winnipeg neighborhood hovers around $120K.
Can you imagine?
It was kind of depressing to see the North End still looking…well… Depression era. There were a few areas that had been maintained or were new, but overall, it looked like nothing had been built or renovated since my father was born there in 1916.
Visiting our old relatives (ranging in age from 90 to 95) we tried to gather as much family history as we could. The most riveting stories were about the Depression, when it wasn’t unusual for struggling families to farm their kids out to other relatives, when they were too poor to feed them.
We also heard how three matrons in our family took 12 kids out to one cabin at Winnipeg Beach for the summer, while the fathers worked in town. Keep in mind there were no indoor toilets or washing machines.
According to the relatives, the kids had a blast. The mothers, not so much.
The best story we heard was about a young cousin who had to share a bed with his cousin (my dad) up at the lake. The cousin happened to be a bed-wetter, and peed all over my dad.
Note: the bed-wetter later went on to become a Rhodes Scholar (not a urologist).
While not exactly a thriving metropolis, Winnipeg does have some great delicatessens and bakeries, of which we visited many.
On one particular day, I had nothing but a 13-layer mocha torte for lunch. Not the whole torte…just one piece.
Seven pounds later, my husband Harvey and I arrived home. Fat and happy.
Did I mention that it was only a five-day trip? Let the dieting begin. For real.
Delicatessens aside, Winnipeg might just be my favourite place to leave.
Shelley Civkin is a retired communications officer with the Richmond Public Library
