I can’t really say I experienced much culture in Halifax, but doing so really wasn’t my intention. The premise for my Halifax weekend was based solely on spending lots of time with my best friend, and consequently drinking my face off to deal with work stress. Because that’s how real people do it.
There were a lot of things about Halifax that felt eerily similar to St. John’s. And then there were some drastic differences that made me realize how spoiled I am.
Our “Big Night” out in Halifax was Saturday. In preparation, Jo and her roommate made at least 40 jello shooters…for the three of us. We were planning on taking a cab into town around 9 p.m. for food at The Economy Shoe Shop (yeah, a restaurant, no shoes) followed by scandalous bar-hopping.
In St. John’s, an early night doesn’t start until 12 a.m. You “prime” at someone’s house, drink a dozen beers so you don’t have to spend too much cash, and then head out on the town. Any earlier, and things start to get expensive.
Anyway, The Economy Shoe Shop was great. I ordered some Garrison’s beer, a delicious, thick brew that took me an hour to drink and might have filled me more than my enormous platter of NACHOS. Yep, nachos again. They did not quite meet my Mustang Sally’s standards, but they did prevent me from getting black-out drunk.
After our food, we were all feeling kinda sluggish in the dim lighting and low-key atmosphere. I asked the waiter for directions to the bathroom and he told me to, “Walk straight through there, turn right at the giant tree, walk down the hallway at the left and you’ll enter fucking Narnia.” I got lost in there about three times, not kidding.
But then! Corbin of iBackpackCanada showed up! It was pretty thrilling meeting an Internet presence. He was all, “I feel like I’m meeting someone famous!” And I was all, “DON’T TELL ANYONE I’M DITZY.” We bonded over travel writing gossip, much to the annoyance of our friends. Anyway, at some point in the night we got separated, and alas, I lost my friend. Sorry, Corbin. It’s hard not to be a total flake sometimes. But I’ll be back.
Check out that stud muffin!
We all ended up going to the Lower Deck. Or the Upper Deck. Middle Deck? It doesn’t matter. The place was packed. At one point I was leaning across the bar, when I glanced to the side, and at the exact same moment a guy from home turned to look at me.
“WTF?”
WTFs all around. Atlantic Canada is small.
The place closed at 2 a.m. I was not having any of it, I threw a fit. So we all walked to the Dome, where creepy men and 18 year old boys lurk around every corner of the dance floor (separate blog post to come about the man bounty in Halifax and their love for gingers). It was different having to walk between bars in such a distance; in St. John’s, everything is grouped in one spot. This saves a lot of hassle and possible cab dollars. After bringing this up to one of the girls, she stopped, looked at me and said:
“You Newfoundlanders are spoiled as hell.”
She’s right.
Another major difference between Halifax (maybe the world?) and St. John’s: nothing closes until 3 a.m., at the earliest. Good things happen at that hour, people!
Let’s play a game of “How Many People Can You See Having Sex on The Dance Floor?”
We eventually got to The Dome..a venue with a billion bars in one. It is the most confusing maze I have ever experienced. Actually, so was the Lower Deck. Or Upper Deck. There were just stairs everywhere and dance floors and people grinding and security guards and OMG. I had a freaking blast.
Even if getting anywhere is a hassle, and I’m a spoiled Newfoundlander, I’ll be back, Halifax. Oh yes, you haven’t seen the last of me.
Shamless self-promo: Too much of a pansy to check out Chatroulette? Read about my experience here.
Two weekends of being completely ridiculous have majorly disrupted my work schedule, I’ll get back into it soon, folks. If I disappear for awhile just know that I still love you and am probably living in a cave somewhere eating bats. Also, I’ll do another travel bloggers round-up soon.)
