I get all excited to go. I arrive, expecting to have a blast. And then I begin to realize that I’m about to spend the next eight hours battling crowds and waiting in lines-all for a short glimpse at something (potentially) interesting.
When hit with this reality, the next logical step is to plan a route. None of this laissez-faire nonsense. If you want to get the most in, you need a clear strategy. All of a sudden, a fun night out on the town becomes this regimented schedule with time slots. Discussion will take place on the way to the next exhibit, thank you very much.
Another tricky dimension to Nuit Blanche is groups. Everyone wants to travel in groups. On a fun evening, a large flock of friends is great. But this evening is no longer about perusing-it’s a battlefield. Thus, groups become a dangerous thing. A political thing. Who in the group gets the say on where we go? How long do we wait for stragglers? Do we stop and let Brian use the washroom or is he left in dust? After all, he can just meet us as OCAD. Friendships are tested during Nuit Blanche.
Like Canada’s Wonderland, the idea of Nuit Blanche is fantastic. It’s supposed to be a few square kilometers of fun fun fun. But by the end, I just want out out out. People are boisterous (often drunk), your body temperature rollercoasters, your feet hurt even if you did bring proper footwear (which you probably didn’t) and the number of available washrooms is insufficient.
Of course, next year I’ll forget all of this and get pumped again. The circle of life continues.