The Sleeping Giant hike, majestic though it was, had exposed the limits of my near-middle-aged athletic prowess. I woke up the next day with a stiff back and throbbing pain in my calves. I decided to give my lower body muscles a break; thankfully there were several attractions in town that required but a minimal amount of walking.

First and foremost were the galleries. I don’t know why, but for a town of its small size and relative geographic obscurity, Thunder Bay has a surprisingly impressive amount of art galleries within its limits. In addition to the “official” Thunder Bay Art Gallery there are a number of private institutions that highlight the diverse tastes and visions of creatives in the area.

The Thunder Bay Art Gallery – situated oddly between the vast complex of a shopping mall and the campus of a small technical college – is a modest but sincere institution that featured primarily features Indigenous artwork (at least at the time I visited). I was particularly struck by the graceful minimalist works of Benjamin Chee Chee, an Ojibwa painter who died tragically at the age of 32 in 1977.

Alas, Thunder Bay Art Gallery is not a large edifice, and it didn’t take more than 30 or 40 minutes to visit the entire thing (and that accounts for several minutes of me slyly standing around waiting for an attendant to turn their heads so I could surreptitiously snap pictures). So I slunk back into my cluttered, road-weary Camry and navigated toward the next showroom on my itinerary; the audaciously named Definitely Superior Art Gallery [yes I know it’s named after the Great Lake, but why does everyinstitution in the region need to play on that name?].

This gallery was also oddly situated; this time in a low-income Port Arthur neighborhood surrounded by train tracks, a liquor store, a dispensary, and various ill-defined nonprofits. (I feel like it’s not unusual for T-Bay’s diamonds to appear almost deliberately planted in the rough. For example, the following day I visited The Bookshelf – a charming indie bookstore with some fascinatingly obscure titles – as well the elegant Up Shot café, both of which exist in perhaps the scuzziest neighborhood in the entire city. There was also, inexplicably, a hair salon operated from a room of a seedy-looking trucker motel near Kakabeka Falls).

Regardless, its collection (nearly all local, from what I understand) was incredibly rich and lively, and despite the awkward sensation of being the only visitor in the gallery (possibly that entire morning) I thoroughly enjoyed my perusal.

[I should note that both of the above galleries survive largely on donations. If you ever find yourself in the area do consider dropping a few bills into their collection jars!]

From there I briefly examined the Ahnisnabae Art Gallery in downtown Port Arthur, a place that featured some incredible First Nations prints but felt less like an art gallery and more like a store, and a rather expensive store at that! However, just a few short steps from Ahnisnabae was a little place called Chenier Fine Arts. I waltzed in around 4:50 p.m., unaware that the shop was due to close at 5, and when the frazzled old woman behind the counter asked if I was looking to buy anything I sheepishly had to admit I was just a browser.

I then learned that the entire gallery was due to close – permanently – after a blowout sale the following business day, so if any article aroused my interest I’d be advised to scoop it up then and there. Even at the current discounts most of her works were out of my price range, but I did end up purchasing two cute little woodcut paintings for 100 Canadian dollars. These serene little nature scenes, I was told, were produced by John Smallwood, a local legend who specialized in landscapes.

I also relished some more pedestrian shopping during my time in T-Bay. One place I couldn’t resist checking out was the legendary hardware chain Canadian Tire.

Like Tim Horton’s this corporate empire is ubiquitous in Canada but virtually unknown in my home country, so even though I had no need for almost any of its products (or the masculine know-how to operate ¾ of them) I visited this DIY palace just to be able to say that I did. Amongst the endless aisles of fasteners, car wash brushes, sod cutters and 6’ steel cabinets, I grabbed a three-pack of Black Cherry air fresheners before checking out, feeling some vague obligation to justify my visit.

Beyond that, the few purchases I made in T-Bay were mostly of the touristy keepsake variety – shirts, mugs, stickers, etc. –  knowing that friends and family back home would expect me to return with such swag. In my younger days I used to detest such lame mass-produced kitsch, yet in recent years I’ve come to relish it (friends of mine know that on my refrigerator is a massive map of the U.S. made of state-shaped magnets from all the places I’ve visited – and yes Ontario is now there too!). Whether I treasure these things ironically or not I honestly can’t say, but I make a point to snag at least one or two basic-ass souvenirs any place I go.

In Thunder Bay there were no shortage of tourist-pandering products, and I was lucky to visit at a time when many of these items had a defensive, patriotic twist. Every place that sold Canada merch included a few pieces with the slogans “Elbows Up” or “Canada is Not For Sale”. These of course have emerged in response to the pointless trade war initiated by the U.S. and Trump’s moronic call for Canada to become “the 51^st state”. This turn of events initiated a tide of nationalist sentiment so strong that it swung Canada’s general election from a near-certain Conservative victory to a Liberal upset.

One thing I was intensely curious about coming into this trip was just how strong and real that swell of Canadian patriotism was. Sure enough, I ran into that famous red maple leaf on cars, porches, lawns, hats, and everywhere else. Local shops frequently had signs declaring them a “Proudly Canadian-owned business”.

Granted, I have no frame of reference to grasp just how unique this was. Perhaps Canada has always been like this, but I kind of doubt that. I’ve been to other foreign countries and have never seen locals display this level of patriotic imagery; indeed, what I saw in the progressive, metropolitan city of T-Bay was comparable to what one might expect from a small town in the American South. And while I generally frown on nationalism as a concept (I believe that, to the extent it’s possible, we should try to celebrate all of humanity all of the time), under these specific circumstances I was happy to see such unabashed pride. They may be some of the politest motherfuckers on the planet, but Canadians won’t be bullied about by anyone.