Driving to Prince Edward Island and back in an old Corolla was a unique experience. Why PEI? I was actually repeating a 2001 trek to the island for a national scout camp. My dad, brother and I delivered the Edmonton Journal through the coldest months of winter every day at 4AM to pay for the trip. Two memories stand out when I think about PEI the first time, and they’re both painful:
1) Former potato fields are a stupid place to play tag. There are holes and ridges in the dirt that are difficult to see and likely to cause injuries. I haven’t been able to rotate my right foot since that afternoon ten years ago. All I wanted was to avoid being tagged, and I got a torn ligament in my ankle instead.
2) I called the girl I had a crush on long distance from a payphone to tell her about it, and she wasn’t interested.
Despite these traumas to my ankle tendons and adolescent ego, I wanted to go back. I can’t quite explain it. Must have been something about being heartbroken and on crutches at the same time. It created a lasting impression on my mind that beckoned me to those rust-hued shores.
I didn’t really understand at the time (nor do I now, I just have a bigger vocabulary than I did then), but I suppose that the little taste of laid back island life appealed even to my wild teenage self. If you’ve never lived on an island, I’d like to describe it to you as relativity in action. There’s something that you don’t hear about until you arrive called “Island Time,” which is the time zone, or continuum if you prefer, that allows an additional several minutes/hours/days to do anything depending on the nature of the task. The pace is vastly more relaxed. I found it very easy to adjust to the Charlottetown rhythms.
In August of ‘06, I packed a few belongings in the back of my car and drove across the country. I had registered at the University of Prince Edward Island to study philosophy, and I was mighty excited about all of the Kerouac-tinged wisdom I was going to magically acquire by driving the Trans-Canada for 12 hours a day. The trip felt like a sort of rite of passage. Some of my friends back in Edmonton called it my “mission” on account of my Mormon upbringing, which at the time made me bristle with indignation. Honestly, though, they weren’t far off. I had been told since my early youth that when I came of age I would be expected to set off to some unexpected corner of the world, scriptures in hand, and preach the word to the unsaved. I left off the preaching part, but that kind of conditioning is hard to escape.
I kept a daily log of my drive across Canada. It consisted of my start and end times, total mileage, and a few notes on the activities and scenery of the day. I still have it sitting in a box somewhere, but in summary, it went something like this:
Day 1: Flat.
Day 2: Still flat.
Day 3: Flat-ish, some trees.
Day 4: Rocks and trees on the left, lake on the right.
Day 5: Montreal drivers scare me.
Day 6: Quebec City is awesome.
Day 7: That’s one seriously long bridge.
If I had made the trip in a van, I might have elected to stay in it and make a proper go of hobo living. Alas, my vehicle was inadequate for such a project. My first apartment in Charlottetown was in a historic house on Upper Prince street. Rent was $200 plus 25% of the utilities. I survived on a weekly grocery budget of $25. Only in the maritimes, folks. It was small and smelled like cats, but it was only 20 minutes on foot to the UPEI campus and less than 10 minutes to downtown and the inner harbour walkway. I spent a lot of time wandering down by the ocean.
While I was working on this blog entry, I went back to some notes and journal entries that I made during my year in Charlottetown. When I talk to people about my time there, I tend to romanticize the experience because I loved the whole environment out there so much. I was lonely, though. Natalie was back in Edmonton and we were engaged. Ultimately, it was much easier for me to head back to Edmonton than it was for her to uproot and move out to the east coast with me.
Before I drove back to Alberta, Natalie came to visit for a few days. I not-so-secretly hoped that she would be enchanted with the place and decided to stay or come back after we got married. We’re on Vancouver Island now; it’s closer to family in Alberta, and it’s a great place to be, but I’d love to go back east some day.
When I think about PEI now, the most vivid memory is a painful one again. Damn these emotional experiences! After my first school semester, I moved to a basement suite just a couple of blocks from my apartment on Upper Prince. I shared the kitchen and living space with my awesome landlady, Jenn. I remember giving her a big hug before throwing my backpack into the car and driving off towards the mainland. I’ll never forget leaving the city behind and wondering if I’d ever see my friends there again.
My life in PEI taught me about humility. I could never afford to party or eat out, but my small monthly income was enough to keep me warm, dry and fed. I loved the east coast and its friendly, relaxed people and way of life. Now that I’m back on Island Time, my project is to apply the template to my life once again, and to be humble, relaxed, peaceful and frugal.
Word count: 1,000. Whoo! Precision!
My apartment on Upper Prince street near downtown Charlottetown. Mine is the window on the second floor above the door.
The house on Orlebar street, also near downtown and a really cool African art and music boutique that I'll write about one of these days.
Cool, I didn't know you lived out in PEI! Logan talks about it too, because his dad's family is out there. I loved your breakdown of the days - so true! But I've never been past Ontario, so I guess I can only follow you up to day 4. Your old place is so cute and...slanty! I wish rent was that cheap here.
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