My first drive day was a big one. I drove from Saskatoon, all of the way to Grande Prairie, Alberta. It is about a 10 hour drive, maybe 12 with stops, and 970 km northwest. I made a brief stop in Edmonton to check out Whyte Ave, as I had yet to see it. I was impressed, with its wide sidewalks and big murals. I was a bit envious of the people enjoying outdoor patios, drinking beers and enjoying brunch. But I satiated my curiousity by buying a chai latte from a cute cafe, snapped a photo, and continued on. Edmonton’s river valley is beautiful, and as the ‘gateway to the north’, its highways are incredibly busy.

I was still feeling sick from my ear infection and it was raining, so when I FINALLY arrived in Grande Prairie, I decided to splurge, and stay in a hotel instead of camping. I went to check the highest rated hotel with a decent price online, but it ended up being $150.00 per night and it didn’t even have a bathtub. A bath was all I wanted. I found the next cheapest option at $100.00 per night, and called them to see if there is any room. The man on the other line was really friendly, and said that there was indeed a bathtub, so I popped back into my car and drove 5 minutes to the hotel. I checked in, had a brief problem with the keycard, and hap-hazardly unloaded my overnight bag.

Grande Prairie reminded me of an overgrown small town attached to a prairie suburb and an industrial area. Everyone has a big pick-up truck, but they drive them very respectfully; like 35 km/hr max in residential areas. The downtown would have been nice, in a Canadian-prairie sort of way, if it wasn’t ripped up for construction. The gas station where I filled up, feeling the punch in the stomach every time I pay the inflated gas prices, was employed by sweet kids that were being harassed some troubled street folk.

The long summer nights tricked me into thinking it was earlier than it was. My legs were craving exercise so I walked down the busy industrial street to the fancy hotel. I ordered a steak sandwich and a salad, and had a ginger-beer for my ear infection, and watched the hockey game as the bar staff chatted to each other in Tagalog. The people around me were talking about the Shushwaps, their cousins, and definitely gave me prairie vibes. I walked back, overtired and sick, chatting with my sister. I had to wait about 10 minutes (at least it felt like 10 minutes) to cross the street, and in an overtired grumpy haze, frustrated by the dozens and dozens and dozens of vehicles, I swore at the Walk button pressing it like a crazy person, making my sister laugh on the other side of the phone. The industrial landscape, the total lack of trees, and my ear ache had me feeling a bit defeated. I made my way to the hotel room, and went to the bathroom, to finally have a bath.

When I got to the bath, I looked down and saw that there were tiny hairs everywhere. I then checked the rest of the bathroom. The toilet hadn’t been cleaned, and neither had the sink, nor the sheets. I thought to myself ‘am I going to be that person who complains?’ And I did, as it was way passed my limit of comfort.

I went to the friendly hotel staff guy, who we’ll call Justin, and said exactly that: ‘I am so sorry, I hate to be this person, but I don’t think my bathroom has been cleaned’. I didn’t even tell him about the stains on the sheets.

He gave me another key card to the neighbouring room, and I went to go check it out. I immediately looked at the pillow, and I kid you not, it was completely covered with hair. I should have taken a photo, but I was so shocked, that I took the pillow back to the office and showed the man. Justin actually started gagging, and responded with ‘I am so, so sorry. That is disgusting. I am going to walk through another room with you so you don’t have find anything else that bad alone.’

We walked to the other available room. The bathroom had a dirty washcloth in the corner, and small dark hairs all over the tub. ‘You have to be kidding me. I am so embarrassed’ he said. He led me to a fourth room, where we proceeded to find more hair in the bathroom, and on the pillow cases. We went to a fifth room, and it was the same. By this time Justine is calling his boss, saying ‘I am walking through with a guest who I put in room 33, and it was disgusting. She is not lying, I am walking through the rooms right now with her, and there is hair everywhere, in all of them. The poor woman just drove from Saskatoon, and all’s she wants to do is have a bath, and go to sleep.’

When he got off the phone to me he said: ‘okay, we have two options. We have a sixth room we can look at, or we can send you to the sister location down the road. It’s a basic hotel like this one, but was built in the 1970s and not recently renovated. But, my boss cleans that one herself, so we know it’s clean.’

We go look at the sixth room, and low-and-behold, two long hairs are sitting in the sink. It is comical at this point, and although he’s embarrassed, I can’t help but start laughing. He calls his boss again and says, ‘She’s coming to the other hotel. She’s being a really good sport about this whole ordeal, considering she just wants to go to sleep.’

I went back to the original room, and realized that not only was it dirty, but it smelled disgusting; like… dirty worker man. Justin helped me pack my things, and I went to the 1970s hotel. He also told me that my room would be totally free, because of the hairy situation. Laughing, I thanked him, and told him that I hope the cleaner doesn’t get into too much trouble. I drove five minutes down the street, grabbed the room key, and hoped to God that it would be clean. I opened the door to a classic 1970s motel room, but the floor had been redone in hardwood. I cleaned the already clean bathtub with the Clorox-bleach wipes I brought with me, rinsed it out, filled it up, and sank beneath the warm water, blissing out in my happy place.

The hotel room smelled a bit like stale cigarettes, a homage to a time passed. I fell asleep, thankful that I got a bath, and a free room, which is ideal for my student budget. Even though I was grumpy at first, I figured in the end that I kinda like Grande Prairie, with its friendly people with their stereotypical big pick-up trucks, who drive very politely. Cities like this in Northern Canada are contract workers home-away-from home.

Currie Museum in Grande Prairie. Dinosaurs!

The next morning, I drove through more construction, and tried to stop by the Currie Dinosaur Museum, but unfortunately it was closed. Now I have something to do for the next trip through Grande Prairie, but I’ll probably stick to camping.