Just 18 hours in, I’m already in my third thick fog. This would be of the literal maritime variety, not the thick mental version which plagues me more or less constantly. The fog isn’t the surprise. The ease with which it comes and goes is far more interesting.
Between the episodes of limited visibility, the cheerful summer sun breaks loose, shining on Greg and Clem and I as we sampled beers, chased pigeons and harassed passing motorists on the streetside patio of the Cask and Kettle, just down the hill from my suite.
Up the Downhill
Speaking of down the hill, though I was expecting the three-dimensionality of Saint John, actually being here is like viewing stereoscopic terrain photos. The perspective in these photos is exaggerated for detail. Reality is not as hilly as those photos made it seem.
Not so with the city. It’s exaggerated for reality. And of course, gravity being what it is, the downhill portion is much, much quicker than the reverse. The effect is such that it seems sometimes as though I’m going uphill in both directions.
As I’m huffing and puffing to boost my carcass to the required altitude to return to my suite, I look around at other pedestrians to see if they are similarly struggling. It’s like being a mugging victim in New York City, bleeding on the sidewalk, while passersby completely ignore you. The same with Saint John-ites and me. Work on your cardio, TouristBoi.
After some breakfast, I think I’ll venture out into the fog, if it hasn’t lifted. Maybe I’ll walk up to the market. Or up to the harbour. Or up to the beach. Just in case, does anyone know the number for 911 in Saint John, in case this Upper Canadian’s heart can’t handle it?
-Scott. 09/18/2021 Saint John, NB
Itinerant Impressions 