The Blueberry Patch

This is what they call The Blueberry Patch. It's a bunch of dilapidated old apartments that a few squatters live in. They're all painted sky blue; or at least they were in 1985. Only some of them have electricity at night. It's right across the road from my place.
Yup that's right,  I live in the ghetto mutha fucka.

Northern Lawn Decorations

This is my neighbour's lawn. I don't know them but I'm thinking their not vegetarians..

Inuvik Regional

The place I spent 16hours today (12hr shift + 4 hours overtime).. Uggh! Sooooooooo tired....

Hello Moon

So I woke up a few nights ago at 3am and walked downstairs only to be smacked in the face by something I had not seen in a while.. darkness! Like, can't see in front of me darkness. Although a normal experience for you 'southerners' this was the 1st time all summer I've had to turn the lights on in my downstairs kitchen. When we were in Whitehorse, which is a whole separate blog entry,  it was so dark that at 4am after the party, we went to a look-off just to admire the dark! Although the twilight had been setting in in Inuvik for the last 2 weeks, it's now getting considerably darker from about 1am-5am. I actually saw some northern lights last night! It was just a small green S shape dancing in the twilight sky but magical none the less.

Of course with the dark comes the cold and I already need mitts when I'm biking home from work in the morning. Apparently fall lasts about a week here and it's the last week in August. Then immediately comes the snow and minus zero temperatures. Although a large part of me, that being the irresponsible part of me, would love to say screw school and stay up here and make money, develop more community and maybe have some fun while I'm at it.. after biking home in the cool arctic air.. I'm excited to be getting back to Toronto, my friends and reasonably priced quality food.

Just a Typical Friday Night in Inuvik

There's only so much of the local Friday night band 'The Welder's Daughter' you can handle at the Trapper; so we decided to hit the Dempster Road, have a BBQ and shoot shit instead. Perhaps you can tell from the goofy smile on my face or my stance, I'm not much of a riffle kinda gal. But everyone's got guns up here so when in Rome.... Despite growing up in rural Nova Scotia with an uncle who thoroughly enjoyed giving cars, guns and drugs to minors, I can't remember the last time I shot a riffle. I remember my uncle Brucie teaching my brother to use his riffle that must have weighed as much as he did at the time. He was 8.
When I shot the gun, miles off target, I was surprised because the fire and kick back are considerably more powerful than I remember from Duck Hunt. And kind of addictive.

After burgers and guns we went to the dump to see if we could find a bear. Sure enough there was a Grizzly and 3-4 Black bears. We got about 5-10 metres away before they would bolt off  to another pile of garbage. For a big animal they can move fast! Sure was reassuring to know their immediate reaction was to run AWAY from us.... they must have seen me with the riffle earlier...

Dawson was Awesome!!

Dawson City music festival, where do I begin? I guess I'll start with the drive down there, cause it was epic in and of itself. So my roommate/beautiful friend/super tour guide of the north and I, didn't end up finding a ride until the night before the festival. Although I'm sure hitch hiking would have been an awesome adventure, I am super thankful the Parks Canada birders adopted us into their annual road trip because they were delightful. Dawson City is about a 13 hour drive from Inuvik, down Canada's longest public gravel road, the Dempster. It is 750 kilometres of gravel, clay and gorgeous untouched rolling mountains. No siderails, no lights, 1 place to stop for gas: The Eagle Plains Hotel.

The Eagle Plains Hotel has about 6 gravel campsites that were mud puddles by the time we reached them and a restaurant filled with more dead animals than my childhood pet cemetery. Granted these ones were stuffed and not buried, still a little creepy. We camped out here for the night and ate breakfast before we hit the road again in the morning. Even though we were the only people in the restaurant, our eggs and toast took it's pretty time getting to our table. When we got up to pay, our crusty server was behind the counter ignoring our attempts to get her attention by coughing, rattling cutlery and finally saying at normal volume: 'excuse me'. When the cook finally convinced her to attend to her customers she was happy to stand around and chat with us about all the truckers who come through drinking her bottom-less coffee, chatting 'like a bunch of ol' hens' she told us. 'That's why I make the coffee weak' she said, which after a month in the north my coffee snobbery has mostly subsided and am often just happy to have cuppa anything that faintly resembles coffee.

That afternoon I saw my first Grizzly bear.  Like the dumb tourist I am, I immediately jumped out of the truck to take a good pic. Our naturalist friends reminded us how fast the beasts can run and I promptly got back into the truck.

One of the lovely gentlemen we were traveling with is doing his thesis on Robins and is an avid birder. He kept a record book of all the birds he saw and when I asked him how many he had seen so far he asked me ‘birds in total or species?’ Although I know virtually nothing about birds, I knew my uncle Doug and my late uncles Scott and Bruce would have been proud to know I was in the company of others who care so much about our feathered friends as to always carry the Peterson guide and a pair of binacs that cost more than any single object I have ever bought. The asthma attack he nearly suffered when he saw a Gir Falcon made me like him even more. 

We stopped at Tombstone National Park for a short hike before we hit the bottle of scotch in the back of the pick-up in preparation for the music festival. We arrived to the quaint little town of Dawson City before long and as soon as we set up our tents, went straight to Klondyke Kate's for dinner. As we walked the 4 kilometers into town from the campsite we were told was a 10 minute walk away,  from the highway you would never know there was a music festival happening because it was so quiet.  I was beginning to think maybe we had the wrong Dawson City. There was supposed to be a music festival here and I only see a few people strolling about and no sound other than the Yukon river beside us. When we ventured off the dirt path into the town of about 1000 people  (+1000 music festivalers) all the buildings looked like they were straight out of an old-timey western movie set. Like if you leaned on them,  the boards in the back holding them up just might collapse and they would fall to the ground in a puff of dust. With the gift shops, photobooths and cabaret style casino you get the impression this place is all about tourists. However in the line to get an Elk dog at 2am Saturday morning, which is the ONLY place in town open at the time, I got to chatting to a local who states it's actually quite a lovely spot year round. 

After dinner we went to the main tent where despite the fact that the box office couldn't find my ticket and I had no ID they gave me my weekend wristband I had ordered online. That would NEVER have happened in Toronto. I was beginning to like this town. The first show in the tent was a true blue grass band complete with cowboy hat and harmonica. Pokey LaFarge and the South City Three was their name and you couldn't not stomp your feet at least a little. Le Canailles were the next group with their supercute montreal style and singing accordions. Things were getting a little more dancey now. By the time Larry and his Flask were half way through their fast-paced ska set I was dripping with sweat and having a ball.  We made the trek home with some other Inuvik-ers,  had a nightcap, and put our weary heads to sleeping bag. 

Saturday morning was one of my favorite shows. I was thankful the birders yelled at me enough times to shake me out of my sleep coma so we could get there for noon. It was in this tiny church with incredible acoustics that I heard Bruce Peninsula, a fantastic group of 7 musicians described as prog, rock, gospel, folk and country with the most beautiful harmonies (Holly you would have loved it!) We wandered the town later and had some ice cream by the river while we listened to The Hooded Fang, an indy rock band from Toronto, at the gazebo. 

Later that night we went to the Palace Grand to watch some more sit-down music in a theatre that looked like it could have been in Boston just before the war of 1812 with it's american and Union Jack flags.  

Regardless of the odd western decor, it was a beautiful place to hear my favorite show of the whole festival, Cris Derksen. She continues to blow my mind as I listen to the disk I bought. She plays a great big cello and loops her music to create beautiful layers over which she sings a mix of modern and traditional aboriginal sounds. At one point if you close your eyes you would swear it was a whale crying and not a string instrument. Sounds strange I know, but do yourself a favor and check her out on youtube.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JXNoNJLKYV8. 
Things got a bit messy after that as my friend and I tried to dance to the next band, The Born Ruffians from Toronto,  also super awesome indy rock band. In our defense they WERE rocking out on stage, just BEGGING for dancers. Unfortunately we were told by security that there was no dancing in the theatre and just imagine if EVERYBODY got up to dance.. 'it would be a riot' she told us. No, it would be a music festival actually, and it would be awesome! So we moved upstairs to the little booths where we were reprimanded AGAIN for trying to fit too many people in a booth. If I have any complaints about this festival it’s that there are too many rules. We also couldn’t bring our drinks into the main tent which I thought was a little uncivilized. Unlike myself, who is nothing but civilized, particularly in a viking hat.

So we moved on and into the main tent to check out Deep Dark Woods who were lovely but a bit country. Although it did prompt a slow dance with probably the hunkiest man I have seen yet in the north; so it wasn't all bad ;) The shenanigans carried on to the 'Snake Pit', the local pub aptly named for its slouching pit-like dance floor. After 1 too many Jager bombs, some dirty dancing and appropriating someone's trucker hat, we headed back to the campsite. Of course we bumped into a friend on the way back who doubled me on his bike to the Klondyke river where I got the silly idea it would be fun to jump in. Me and my silly ideas..

The next morning after some wonderfully large mimosas from Klondyke Kate’s and a little more outdoor music we headed back to the Dempster, up to Inuvik once again.  It was mostly a blur of mud and napping, but I did have a 'lifer’ that made my trip this weekend even more special.  For the non-birders a 'lifer' is a once in a lifetime viewing, usually of a rare bird, in this case however it was the porcupine caribou migration where maybe five or six thousand caribou migrate hundreds of miles through the Yukon.  It still gives me shivers to think about. And giggles,  because as soon and my friend got out of the truck she jumped off the road and screamed ‘I’m gonna run with the caribou!’ as she started to jog down toward the heard. Again, the ever sensible naturalists advised us against joining the creatures in the field as they pointed to the hunters, just a couple hundred yards in front of the hooved heard.  I am quite sure they also felt pretty damn lucky that day.

We made it home that night around 1am, with the sun low in the sky, a little hungover and a little richer in music and memories.

Of the five, yes five churches in town, the one shaped like an igloo is the most unique.

The Fruit-legger!

Slowly but surly, I'm getting to know Inuvik's little gems.


I went into my patient's room yesterday evening to find the call bell at her ear and the phone in her fist. As I rearranged her and tried to explain the difference between the two modes of communication, I couldn't help but notice a big bag of gorgeous cherries on her table. This is not a common sight  in the north, exotic fruit that isn't frozen, wilted or bruised. At least not for the majority of us who can't afford the grapes at $8.99/lb at Arctic Foods everyday.  So I asked my patient, 'where did you get your beautiful cherries?'  I simultaneously narrowed in on the asian pear nestled amongst the apples in the fruit basket behind her. 'The Fruitman brought them',  she said casually. Now given her previous predicament with the call bell and the telephone I figured she was either referring to her son or has a very active imagination. None the less, I gave this elder the respect she deserves and accepted that there may be some truth to this 'Fruitman'. 'Who's the fruitman?' I said, 'I would like to have a Fruitman'. 'Oh, it's Bill', she repeted, 'the Fruitman.'


Probing her  a little more, I was only able to determine that this man's name is Bill and he delivers fruit from the South. I figured if this man exists, I likely have the wrong color skin to receive his juicy deliveries and thus would have to bribe a local for some fresh cherries (such is my plan for the fish-man anyway.) Alternatively, I thought,  everyone in Inuvik will know him because here, everyone knows everyone's business. Not unlike the small town I'm from in Nova Scotia.


So I ask my co-workers: 'who is Bill the Fruitman?' 'Oh the fruit-legger!' they exclaim. 'He's here tonight with his truck from the South, let's go check him out'. Yeeeeeees! I was right about two things: 1) the elders deserve respect and 2) everybody knows him.  I promptly report off on my two patients and jump in my co-worker's truck to go check out the north's version of a farmer's market.


Apparently Bill Rutherford has been doing this for 20 years. He used to be and apple farmer and then gave it up to deliver fresh produce to northern communities year round. In the summer he drives the gravel road up the Dempster highway from BC and in the winter he treks up the ice road to Aklavik and Tuktoyatuk. He's written a children's book about the ice road and CBC's On The Road Again did a documentary about his adventures (which I've yet to find a way to view online.) Apparently he occasionally fills up his empty truck with cardboard on his way back down south to recycle, since the only recycling done up here is drink containers. Granted they're likely the majority of the recyclables anyway.


We find his 53 foot Mac truck parked in the parking lot across from the cafe, right next to the chip truck with a small neon light on the back that says 'Open'.  Inside you can find everything from watermelon to soymilk to free range eggs; all things hard to come buy up here. Although the watermelon was $15, most of his prices are considerably cheaper than the local grocery store, as you can tell by the 'celantro'  for $1.25 ;-) 
I introduced myself to Bill. He's a friendly older gentleman with a the sun-baked skin of a farmer and working hands to prove it. I bought a big box of groceries and before we went back to work my co-worker took me on a tour of the town; he showed me the friendship centre and the boat launch. We were back to the hospital in ten minutes.


My fridge is considerably happier now and I'm starting to like this town more and more. 


I just need to find myself a Fishman up here. 

The Northmart is a 1-stop shop; you can pick up your 529$ fox fur while you're there getting your giant plastic flower cross anyway! Can't do that at Wallmart!

lazy boy ride down the river ?

Land of the Midnight Sun

It's been almost 3 years since I was in the Northwest Territories and where I was then was worlds apart from Inuvik. Gameti was a community of about 300 people, 1 Legion, 1 Health Centre, 1 school, a tin shack for an airport and 3 nurses. The only way in or out was by bush plane or ice road and it was technically a dry community. By contrast, Inuvik has a population of 3500, a hospital, a post office, a couple of bars (The Trapper and Shivers;), a real airport where you can buy pretty tasty muskox burgers, a library, a community greenhouse, a youth centre, a homeless shelter, about 5 churches including the northern most mosque in North America, 3 grocery stores with exorbitantly priced food and even an RCMP unit. It's a small city up here. Or as my friend likes to call it, it's 'the north, light'. What she means is that unlike many northern communities there's infrastructure and even conveniences making it a lighter, easier way of living in the north. 

It is sunny most of the time here and it's wonderful, but a bit strange. I've been trying to adjust by putting tin foil and cardboard over my windows and making sure I'm in my bedroom by 9/10 to trick my body into thinking it's really night.. although I'm not sure I'm fooling anyone. I bike to my shift at 7am in sunglasses and leave my shift at 8pm still needing my sunglasses. It's wild! Although it rains and clouds blow in at times, it usually doesn't last long until it's bright again. It's incredibly invigorating, which is why I need to be in my bedroom so early on work nights. I can't wait to do some midnight fishing though!

Thus far I haven't seen much other than the inside of the hospital. The Inuvik hospital is much nicer than most hospitals I've worked in down south. You'll hear me refer to 'the south' a lot and when I do I don’t mean Cuba, beaches and pina colatas, but the rest of Canada. It's like people in Toronto who call cottage country 'up north' (which took me a while to figure out they didn’t mean the land of the midnight sun which seemed like a long way to go for the weekend.)

Anyway, the hospital has 51 beds; 15ish long-term care, 14 acute care (where I work) a couple labour and delivery beds, a couple OR beds, 5ish ER beds and a couple palliative beds. There’s always a doc oncall if not actually in the hospital and specialists make their rounds up here every few months. I don’t think I’ve met a nurse older than 35, maybe 40,  most are around my age, relatively early in their career and few have been here for more than 2 years. There’s a high turnover rate despite the high wages. I assumed it’s the long dark winters that send ‘em running back South but more than 1 person has told me they love winters here. ‘There’s lots to do’ they tell me, ‘skiing, dog sledding, watching the northern lights.’ I’m not entirely convinced though; Most people have big flat screen TVs and extensive movie collections. Eitherway most of the nurses are from away and likely that contributes to the transient nature of the staff. In fact I think over half of my co-workers are from the east coast. I even graduated Dal with some of them! Small world. And even smaller when we all run off looking for better work I guess.  In many ways I would say we’ve found it here. The work load, although a varied population of adult, pediatric, maternity, acute, palliative etc., is much lighter.  Last night for example I spent my night shift bathing and feeding newborns..  not exactly my speciality but a nice change from bedpans and needles. In Toronto I would have 5-8 patients per shift, sometimes with very complex care whereas here I have 3-4 on average. And either because the team is relatively fresh in their careers or because they’re from the East coast, they’re all super helpful and friendly;)

There’s also a greater feeling of respect for nurses here it seems. I’m not quite sure why or even how to explain the difference. Maybe it’s that the docs are a bit more laid back, because it’s only their locum, they're here for a few months and then gone again so they have to be more collaborative. Or maybe it’s the type of people the north attracts. Eitherway, it’s refreshing. 

4 days and an hour

I'm a bad blogger. My excuses: I got sick, the clinic got busy and I'm counting the days till I'm home.....4 days and an hour till a cold beer will be more than a naughty fantasy! It's been beautiful out too. The highlight of this past weekend was chillin' on the deck, in the sun, drinkin' coffee with Jen, Myles and the dogs; who I so happily exploited by dressing them in my clothes. The snow is evaporating like nothing you'd ever see in Nova Scotia and the sandy roads are dusty already. The lake is still frozen though and the Caribou keep comin in. By that I mean dead, in sleds on the back of snowmobiles. I've seen lots of eagles, snow birds and ravens, but unless you count the wild dogs, that's it for wildlife. Maybe before I leave I will drag my ass out of bed at dawn (5:00 am) and try to find some hooved beauties on the ice.

The weekend before last was probably the most social of weekends since I've been here. Think of the whitest activities you can next to frisbee and that's what was going on during the community carnival. Bingo Friday night and a country music dance Saturday. Yeeeeee ha! There were all sorts of dangerous sounding games during the day too like snowmobile racing, but I couldn't convince anyone to go with me. Strange that.

Another nurse came to Gameti for the weekend too and smuggled some goodies in with her unsuspecting produce. Tres excitant! She joined me and the girls (nurse + teachers - construction workers = white folks in town) for my first game of bingo ever. Wow, 3 hours sitting & dobbing would be a long time if there weren't for some good giggling. Which mostly came from our table every time the number 69 was called..... we even had the elders at the end smiling!


This was the band Saturday night. The hall was empty when we first got there except for a few people sitting at tables and the musicians blaring the out of tune country (as if it really matters with country.) It didn't take long for the kids to find out about the party and make the place feel full running back and forth. There were games too. Jen and I were keeners and joined in most of them. We won the fire race despite our accidental cheating. How do you cheat accidentally you ask?? Well, you have 3 to a team and you have to race across the hall to a pile of fireman (fire persons?) clothes, helmet and boots included, and you have to put them on, run back to your team, undress and your teammates do the same until everyone's had their turn. The first team done wins. The whole game explanation was the usual chaos so no one told us we couldn't help our teammates into the super heavy jackets.... oops. Anyway there was lots of screaming, laughing and yellow clothes flying so we figured we'd been disqualified. Until we got a call to pick up our prize at the community government office on Monday; 30 bucks!! Woot woot! That covers the loses on Bingo :))

So a few days left and I make the long journey back home. Gameti-Yellowknife-Edmonton-Calgary-Toronto-Halifax. I may need to be medicated to get there and I will surely be over stimulated at first (what's a traffic light again?) but I cant wait to see everybody. Soon enough....

What Spring Brings

The snow is melting. Things that lie buried by the snow all winter long start to appear; beer cans, fox limbs, rusty mattresses, old ford trucks. It's like poverty, previously imperceptible to the foreign eye, is blossoming everywhere.

Fishless Ice Fishing

It was beautiful all week long and the 1 day we decided to go for a picnic, it was miserable out. Cold and grey. Undeterred by the weather we hit the lake for some ice fishing and a fire. The fire was great. The fish non-existent. The ice was 6 feet deep, I saw it drilled with my own eyes. And I still get freaked out when I'm alone on the ice! Too many educational ice safety videos in elementary school for sure...

Jesus!

Easter weekend we decided now that the snowmobile was working we needed to get out of town. The nearest community is about 200kms away so getting out of town meant just that, getting out... not necessarily getting to anywhere. Except for the mountain. It wasn't too high or too dangerous despite what the locals said. Jenn and I were smart and let Myles and the teachers slodge through the waist high snow in a 2 hour trek to the top before we even came to the base (see picture below for snow depth). By the time we got there we actually had a trail.

It was awesome. We took the dogs and made it to the top in about an hour, falling through the unpredictable snow to our belly buttons every 50 feet or so.

We discovered something unexpected at the top. A miniature tepee. I know I know, this is Aboriginal land; a tepee is not so crazy. It was what we found inside the tepee that made us cringe. Jesus. A color image of Jesus poised behind a plastic doll of the Virgin Mary standing on an ever classic, paper doily. The new age missionaries sure ruined a perfectly spiritual moment with their idolatry. But it was Easter after all and if Jesus is the reason for the long weekend, God bless!

In the Meantime...

So I just had fish, that didn't come from a can, for the first time since I've been here. It was delightful. And I’ve made it my new resolution to eat as much fish as possible while I'm home. The fish was a gift from one of the support staff here and I believe it came straight out of 1 of the many lakes surrounding us. White fish it's called. Yes that's the type of fish "white fish" not white colored fish as I finally discovered after 7 weeks of asking "but no, what type ....?". It was tasty and I shared it with my beautiful preceptors Jenn and Myles after (what felt like) a long stint of suppers of popcorn, salads and frozen leftovers.

I actually didn't write tonight to bore you with my daily meals, but just to send a quick message to my fans (all 10 of you :D) that I've been doing much better since the long weekend break.We managed to get out of Gameti and climb a mountain/really big, rocky, hill. My spirits have been better ever since. That and the fact that I'm 3 and a half weeks from getting back to the east (thanks for the reminder Patrick) has made the cabin fever subside a little.

I’ll write more soon with tales from our mountain excursion.

White Sugar and Vodka

The Tlicho Flag

So truth be told, I’ve been uninspired lately. I work an 8 hour day in the clinic (with a late night call back a couple times a week), come home and go for a jog, walk or ski with my co-workers/preceptors. I make some chow, do some research and pass out. Wake up, rinse, repeat. Tuesday and Thursday is vollyball night where I go get my ass kicked in a grubby old gym with the few other adults in town who play sports. On the weekends we usually go for a long ski or snowmobile ride and sometimes watch a movie with the school teachers (ie. the other white folks).

This weekend is the last weekend the ice road’s open so half of Gameti has gone to party in Rae, the Vagas of the North, or shop in Yellowknife, New York of the North. When the end of the week came and it was 10pm and I was hanging out in my apartment screwing around on the internet, alone, I was wishing I had bummed a ride with someone to Yellowknife, or anywhere; anywhere outside of Gameti. I’ve been here 6 weeks now with 4 left. It’s not bad I know. Considering how much work I have to do at the Health Centre, 4 weeks is nothing. But when I think about how long till I get to go out for a beer, do my own grocery shopping or just hang out with friends, it feels like forever.

I’ve been trying to make friends here, but it’s tough. When I asked what people do for fun here I was told “drink, smoke and have sex”. That would certainly explain the high population rates. Believe it or not, I have no problem with drinking, smoking or having sex, but that’s not exactly what I had in mind. Ice fishing, drumming, dancing perhaps? Something that’s less likely to get me in trouble. No such luck with the locals.

I had another suturing job this week. Took 17 stitches. I made it through without getting queezy once! I'm desensitizing myself 1 bloody wound at a time....

Saturday Night Surgery

Since I arrived here on March 4th I have been oncall. 24/7. The community has been relatively quiet though, only a few late night calls and most of them were just pukey kids. There are no RCMP here so the fact that things have been quiet is a good thing.

Mind you I like a bit of excitement; and last night we got some. My first suturing gig ☺

Nothing dramatic, just an accidental knife slice. They didn't hit a tendon, just a good chunk of fatty tissue. We cleaned the wound and prepared to sew. The laceration was only about 1 and 1/2 cm long but it bled enough. I hadn't had a lot to eat so I quickly ran off and stuffed some trail mix down my throat before I got too lightheaded. I've passed out in surgery before and it's not cool.

Despite it being the first time I saw my preceptor stitch something up other than the pork chop we had practiced on, he let me sew 2 stitches in. My steady hands surprised myself. But to be honest, I really wanted to cringe with every poke like the patient's mother. To keep from getting queezy I tried to imagine it was the pork chop. Minus the blood, fresh fatty tissue, tough mother fuckin' skin and live subject, no difference really.

None the less I made it through without butchering the flesh or fainting. Mother made it without crying. And the patient made it through with all her digits, now intact.

Sweet success.

A little taste of Europe in the North

So last night I heard that the Gameti store carries croissants about once a month. Not Pillsbury croissants, not frozen croissants, but real fresh french croissants. I also heard that there was a food shipment for the store on the plane last night. Naturally I hit up the store first thing this morning. Sure enough there had been a shipment in last night. You could tell cause there was still pop on the shelves and the freezers were full of overpriced TV dinners and icecream. If you looked hard enough you could find 1 virtually empty freezer in the back with a box of frozen berries. I think my preceptor and I are the only ones in town who care about this freezer.

I went through the 3 grocery isles and got my usual potatoes, oats and 1/2 rotten bananas for double the price of any grocery store in the south. With doubtful optimism I asked the young boy behind the counter with an ipod in 1 ear who was eating something that looked suspiciously familiar, if they had an croissants. He looked at me like I was speaking another language. My brief glimmer of hope faded. I said "Oh I just heard you got these pastry like things in sometimes and I thought maybe...." He pointed to the bread shelf. To be honest, I didn't even notice a bread shelf amongst the Mr. Noodles and canned soup. Sure enough the only thing on the shelf that wasn't white Wonder bread was a small plastic bag of croissants from Yellowknife. Sweet success! I bought 1/2 of them and came home to make some milky coffee that I pretended was as good as a latte from Stevoreno's. It's a good morning :))