March 5 2011
I was waiting for a flat white to be brewed at a kiosk in Canberra airport.
“Is this yours?” I gesture towards a steaming cup of the Gods’ elixer that one of the apron-sporting, ‘how ya going?’ baristas set down on the counter. The tall, fair haired patron, looking a bit rumpled and rough, smiled.
“Nah, no… ‘on the juice today.” He shook a near empty bottle in my direction. “Rough night last night.”
Well, that certainly explains the bloodshot eyes, I thought to myself.
The young man grabs his order of a bacon ‘n egger. “What is it about greasy food and hangovers? They just seem to go together.”
“I think that it’s a universally accepted treatment of choice” I replied.
The two of us then launched into a discussion that started with ‘where ya from?’ and lead into a chat about, of all things – Davidson, Saskatchewan.
“Do you know a place called Davidson, Saskatchewan?” he queried.
“Sure I do!” Amazed that HE did. “It’s halfway between Saskatoon and Regina.”
“Yeah right,” The young Aussie grinned, “the city that rhymes with fun!”
[some things ARE universal]
Apparently this young man – Rick – did some seeding for a farmer near Davidson (whose name now escapes me). He and some buddies travelled across Canada in the late 90s, picking up work here and there and skiing and snowboarding (naturally).
When I asked him what he thought of the flatlands, he said it loved it.
“It’s like the family farm from home in Wogga Wogga.” A place that, according to Rick, is so great, “They had to name it twice!”