We returned from our trip on Monday evening. Sunday we drove from Moose Jaw to Calgary, and then home the next day. I returned suffering from anti-depressant withdrawal, which was a bit like being stoned. Not entirely unpleasant, but not conducive to safe driving either. Wil returned with a sickness which we refer to as either a Prairie Sinus Infection or The Bacon Flu. (Fully cooked, it is not as dangerous as the Swine Flu.)
We are both better now.
Moose Jaw was an interesting place. First of all, the prairies are gorgeous. I know a lot of people would concentrate on the flatness of it all, but it was beautiful. I will say this, for a girl who’s number one allergy is grass, Moose Jaw at harvest time is not the healthiest place to be. But it was fun being in a different climate and terrain.
Moose Jaw has a series of tunnels underneath it and there are two tours centered around them. One is the story of Chinese immigrants who lived and worked them, running steam laundries and trying to pay their “head tax” for immigration. This is the one that my new-to-me sister-in-law called “history.”
The second tour has been labeled “legend,” or possible “wishful thinkingtainment.” The story goes that, during prohibition, Al Capone spent a goodly amount of time in MJ, hiding from his troubles and running booze. So much so that he called Little Chicago. This is the tour that we took, as half the party had seen the Chinese immigrant stories. It was a slice of theatre.
Look, maybe Al Capone hung out in Moose Jaw, did some business, who knows. It seemed short on fact and long on tales of bootlegging in general. We were continuously promised large quantities of booze and a powerful drunk. Much to half our party’s dismay, that part turned about to be theatre as well. We had to buy our own booze after the tour.
The guy who took us through the tunnels was heeee-sterical. I kept thinking how my family would have ate it up. They would have been his favorite type of audience. Loud and participatory.
Al Capone in Moose Jaw? Um… sure. Paris of the prairies. Wait, that’s Saskatoon. Never mind.
You know when I lived in Canada we used to call Saskatchewan the armpit of Canada!!