24 HOURS: DOWNTOWN

As a child growing up in Winnipeg, trips downtown were frequent and familiar.

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As a child growing up in Winnipeg, trips downtown were frequent and familiar.

It’s where we went to shop. It’s where pictures with Santa were taken. It’s where we went for family dinners. And movies, too.

Not once did my mother fret about safety when she handed her 12-year-old son the fare for the downtown express that would take him to appointments with the dentist or eye doctor.

But those were the days when the echoes of Petula Clark’s hit single Downtown, with lyrics about the “light’s so much brighter there” and “where there’s no better place for sure,” still resonated.

Today, the guys on my beer league hockey team who are brave enough to play the game without a visor talk openly about how they don’t feel safe downtown.

Today, downtowns everywhere are struggling, especially as they emerge from the depths of the pandemic.

When COVID-19 struck, the rise of suburban malls over the past four decades had already weakened the heart of cities. Having endured hard lockdowns and now facing the rise of remote work, it’s fair to ask if downtowns can ever make a comeback.

In fact, according to a study from earlier this year, the Institute of Governmental Studies found the post-COVID recovery for Winnipeg’s downtown at only 49 per cent, lagging well behind those of similar-sized cities such as London, Ont., Halifax and Edmonton.

Against this changing and challenging backdrop of the urban core, the Free Press set out this week to document a day in the life of the heart of the city.

The problems facing downtown are well known. But that’s only part of the story. And as Winnipeg prepares to mark its 150th anniversary, we wanted this city to see everything happening in its core.

So, while our urban tapestry is frayed at the edges, there are still strong threads of vibrancy, resilience and promise.

We wanted to document the people and the passion for living and working downtown.

We wanted to showcase the lives and livelihoods tied to this hub anchored at Portage and Main.

We needed those who no longer go downtown to see what they are missing, to understand what is at stake.

Beginning at the stroke of midnight on June 20, we set out to capture an hour-by-hour account of this place in the centre of it all. At the top of each hour, we moved to the next story and didn’t stop until 24 hours were up.

(Maps by Wendy Sawatzky / Winnipeg Free Press using StoryMapJS; Map tiles by Stamen Design, Data by OpenStreetMap)

This ambitious assignment involved putting 24 reporters on the street, one for each hour of the day. They were joined by six photojournalists tasked with telling the story in pictures. Our team of editors then had less than 48 hours to sort through the interviews and hundreds of images to deliver the package you are now reading.

This is the third time our newsroom has taken on the challenge of a 24-hour project. The first, Food for Thought, told the story of the role food plays in our lives. The second, COVID and the City, serves as a record of that historic time and challenge we all faced.

We hope this third installment will create a better understanding and appreciation of the centrepiece of our city in the discussions and debates to come.

We hope we have again demonstrated the value of a newsroom with the depth and breadth, the creativity and capacity to take on this kind of assignment. One that you can only read in your Free Press.

— Paul Samyn, Free Press editor

Bob Log III and his soundman are putting away the guitarist’s equipment at Blue Note Park when the clock strikes midnight, ushering in June 20.

A half-hour earlier, the avant-garde one-man blues band from Tucson, Ariz., was laying down the funk and urging the crowd of 150 to 200 to drink Prosecco from an inflatable baby bathtub shaped like a rubber ducky.

“There are two kinds of people,” Log says before pouring out the bottle’s contents. “Those who drink Prosecco from a duck and those who wish they drank Prosecco from a duck.”

He even invited fans to sit on his knee and take selfies with him. It was like a summer solstice Christmas, except Log wasn’t wearing a Santa suit. He was in his trademark costume — a one-piece human-cannonball outfit, including a crash helmet wired with a vintage telephone receiver that serves as his microphone while he plays slide guitar and kicks a bass drum with his right foot.

Trevor Hendricks makes a valiant effort to elicit an encore from performer Bob Log III.

The crowd loved every second of it; 15 minutes after Log left the stage, diehard fan Trevor Hendricks was still exhorting the 50 or so people in front of the wooden stage to shout for one more song from the cult favourite.

Blue Note Park is an empty lot on Main Street just south of St. Mary Avenue that was transformed into a pop-up bar and music venue three years ago, an outdoor oasis for a city starved for entertainment by indoor COVID-19 lockdowns.

It has since become a summer hot spot, part beer garden, part honky-tonk, run by John Scoles, longtime owner of the Times Change(d) High and Lonesome Club, a city music institution a couple of doors north on Main.

Booking Log to play the park was such a highlight of the Blue Note Park summer that Scoles announced the show months ago, long before leaves appeared on Winnipeg’s trees.

“This is the only Monday that Blue Note Park will be open this summer, and it’s been clearly the best,” Scoles hollers into a megaphone as staff closed one of the large doors of the railway container that serves as the bar — a sign that last call is near.

Rachael Hoogstraten Searle cleans up tables after a busy night.

By then, most of crowd has left, many of them on the dozens of bicycles that were parked inside the park’s gates, but several dozen are still hanging around the bar as the first hour of June 20 winds down and staff clear wooden picnic tables loaded with bottles, cans and cups while the PA quietly plays songs by Eddie Hazel, Kool and the Gang and Dolly Parton.

— Alan Small

Steve Brglez can hear the screams, even before his Winnipeg Fire Paramedic Service SUV comes to a complete stop.

A woman, who had been assaulted several minutes earlier by someone brandishing bear repellent spray, is sitting on the sidewalk, surrounded by the crew of Engine 17, two WFPS firefighters and two firefighter paramedics.

This moment, right after being sprayed, is the worst part, first responders say: searing and unrelenting pain in the eyes, nose and throat.

Firefighters and paramedics attend to a victim of a bear spray attack.

It’s humid and sheet lightning from a nearby thunderstorm is on the horizon. The woman is squirming on the sidewalk, clutching her face and crying out in agony.

“The spray is actually an oil,” Brglez says, as firefighters pour water gently over the woman’s face. “It gets into your skin, into your nose and your clothes.”

Brglez pivots when someone spots what appears to be a can of bear mace. “Yep, that’s the one. We’ll leave it here for the cops.”

As a district chief of paramedic operations, Brglez oversees all of the calls for medical assistance in the core of the city. That can involve anything from automobile accidents to drug overdoses and requests for primary medical care.

The bear spray incident is indicative of the kind of calls that make WFPS Station 1 — Brglez’s home base for this shift — the busiest in Winnipeg.

A 16-year veteran, Brglez is working a 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. shift, during which he will be in constant motion through the core, watching a rolling log of calls for medical assistance on a laptop perched on the dashboard of his work SUV.

His route puts Brglez into contact with the residents who account for most of the calls: a man inexplicably panhandling at 1:30 a.m. at Main Street and Higgins Avenue; a group of people surrounding a fire just north of the Salvation Army off Main Street.

As a district chief of paramedic operations, Steve Brglez oversees medical calls in the core.

A call comes in about someone suffering from drug-induced psychosis, likely from methamphetamine. Paramedics radio Brglez to authorize the use of olanzapine, an anti-psychotic drug.

Brglez looks at the incident notes from the original 911 call, augmented by more information from the paramedics on scene, and authorizes the medication.

A call comes in about a man who has been harming himself with a razor. Another call is about a woman at the Bell Hotel who appears to be suffering from a kidney infection.

Even still, it’s been quiet by Station 1 standards — but Brglez knows that can change quick.

“A lot of shifts, you can be sitting around really bored and then suddenly, out of nowhere, it starts hopping. You just never know.”

— Dan Lett

While much of downtown Winnipeg is shrouded in darkness, the bright lights of Vast Market serve as a beacon for the weary and wobbly.

The convenience store, located near Carlton Street and Cumberland Avenue, operates 24-7 inside one of the city’s most dangerous neighbourhoods.

Vast Market shines bright at the dark corner of Carlton Street and Cumberland Avenue.

Positioned behind a locked door, business owner Robel Gebreyesus serves customers an assortment of goods through a sliding glass window.

Patrons come alone, or in groups of two and three. Most seek snacks — chips, soda and fried chicken — enough to soothe a hangover or sate a craving, they tell him.

“If somebody is short by 10 cents, we help them, and all we ask for in return is respect,” he says. “They help us in a way. They protect us.

“Before I opened this store, I did not know if it would work, or what to expect… but you build a relationship with everybody that’s here. That’s what helped us reduce break-ins and theft.”

Robel Gebreyesus serves everything from snacks to fried chicken through the night.

Gebreyesus opened the business two years ago, but spent much of his youth in the neighbourhood, growing up in a high-rise apartment building attached to what is now his storefront.

During that time, he’s managed to find the good in the area, which is often maligned by public opinion, he says.

“People come here, they want bread and milk,” he says. “I don’t know what the solution is, but we have a lot of homelessness. People are hungry, with no homes or place to stay. I wish something could be done about that.”

Out on the street, customers continue to approach the window. On a good night, the business will see up to 60 people.

Megan Kole, who lives at a nearby apartment on Ellen Street, trades cash and coins for pepperoni, Pepsi and a lighter.

“I’m here almost every day,” she says, laughing. “You get extra nibbly at this time.”

Patrons line up outside the 24-hour service window at Vast Market around 2 a.m.

An escalating argument involving a group at a nearby apartment building triggers an alarm and an automated voice booms over a loudspeaker.

“Warning, you have violated an area protected by a security system. The authorities have been notified. Leave immediately,” it says.

Staff have never been hurt on shift, but you can never be too careful, Gebreyesus says, before stepping back inside, locking the door and taking his seat near the sliding glass window.

“Employees will never feel safe with the doors open and customers need to be served.”

— Tyler Searle

Parked on York Avenue, near the downtown Law Courts Building, in a SUV with “supervisor” emblazoned on the side, Winnipeg Police Service Patrol Sgt. Dustin Dreger says if experience holds, the next hour will go one of two ways.

It’s the witching hour at 3 a.m., when everything crazy happens all at once on downtown streets — stabbings, robberies and noise complaints as the bars let out.

Or it’s a sleepy night and cops on the overnight like Dreger, who was recently promoted as a supervisor of patrol officers in the downtown district, sip coffee between the calls of varying importance that come up on the laptop next to the driver’s seat.

“There’s cycles — what the reasons for those cycles are, I haven’t figured it out yet… But there’s some days where it doesn’t matter what you do, you can’t drive 100 feet without getting flagged down.”

Patrol Sgt. Dustin Dreger keeps an eye on Winnipeg’s busiest police district.

Pointing to the laptop screen, Dreger says six of his district patrol cars are tied up at city hospitals on mental health calls — one of the most common calls, along with domestic issues, and also time-consuming.

This district is the smallest in the city but has the highest number of calls — a volume that’s steadily increased over the years. Between 2008 and 2013, Dreger’s first years on the job as a patrol officer downtown, 30-40 911 calls would be significant.

Now, it’s more like 300 on a busy summer night.

As he wheels the SUV down Vaughan Street toward Central Park, where there’s often calls for drug-dealing, overdoses and violence, the radio crackles.

A man has climbed the Arlington Street Bridge and tells the 911 operator he’s at the top. She should see the view, the man reports from the girder that overlooks the Canadian Pacific railyards that separate the downtown and North End.

Patrol Sgt. Dustin Dreger oversees the work of two constables speaking with a distressed man who climbed the Arlington Bridge just before 3:30 a.m. on June 20. The man got down safely.

The call lands in Dreger’s district. He turns left onto Portage Avenue to meet with WPS officers already pulling up to the bridge.

By just after 3:30 a.m., the crisis has been averted.

Although the two officers plead for him to wait for the ladder on an approaching fire truck, the man slides down the girder unsteadily. He’s safe in the back of the patrol car, albeit a bit erratic.

Suicide threat calls, Dreger says, are near-daily occurrences.

Dreger thanks the officers and heads down Logan Avenue, stopping only to pull a burnt mattress at the intersection of King Street from the middle of the road, before driving to Smith Street WPS headquarters to wash the char from his hands.

— Erik Pindera

It’s near the end of their shift with the Downtown Community Safety Partnership, and Sarah Baxter and Curtis Milla Downey have come to Air Canada Park to visit Ginger, who runs the community encampment there.

They arrive at a group seated in a circle outside a few tents, storytelling and laughing. It’s warm, humid and dark with a scent of diesel in the air and loud rumbles from the trucks parked on the street for tonight’s Nickelback concert at Canada Life Centre.

“Ginger is sleeping,” a woman named Josephine explains. “She needs to. She is our mother hen, taking care of all of us.”

Sarah Baxter and Curtis Milla Downey from the Downtown Community Safety Partnership hand out snacks and water in Air Canada Park.

Josephine lives in this community alongside two dozen or so people. She says she feels safer here than at any shelter in the city. In this place, her possessions are watched while she sleeps, her cellphone gets charged and she is loved and cared for.

“It’s during the day troublemakers show up,” adds Wes, another resident. He then gestures with his lips toward benches on the other side of the park: “Over there.”

A quick sharing circle reveals more than a dozen First Nations and Métis communities are represented here. It’s like a mini-United Nations.

Baxter and Milla Downey are doing more than a wellness check; they have brought water, soft drinks, granola bars and chocolate donated by inner-city activist Mitch Bourbonniere — who helped found the DCSP and continues to work with the organization.

Baxter, whose family originally comes from Sandy Bay Ojibway First Nation, says coming to the park is like being around family.

“Every day I hear jokes and laughing. I love coming here on patrol. This is the area where I connect most with community,” she says.

“Caring is what this place is about,” Milla Downey adds. “It’s people trying to get by. We’re just trying to be a part of that.”

Josephine is among two dozen or so people who live in the downtown encampment at Air Canada Park. She says she feels safer there than in any of the city’s shelters.

On the street, in front of the park, a couple from Waywayseecappo First Nation search the area for cans. They say they can cash them in for about $30 later in the day, but it’s gruelling, sweaty, hard work. They smile when handed a cold soft drink.

Dozens quietly come and go over the hour.

As the sun rises, birds in the trees above welcome the day and add songs to the storytelling, jokes and laughter here.

“Keep it down out there!” Ginger calls out.

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Milla Downey tells the circle.

— Niigaan Sinclair

At the downtown YMCA-YWCA, a dozen early risers gather outside the main doors and take a minute to talk before the community centre opens.

Most of them recognize each other, and the conversation among the shifting of gym bags is friendly, if not a little tired — usually, there’s more people waiting than there are today, likely the sweltering heat keeping older folks at home, they say.

Past the second set of doors, beginning at 5:30 a.m., six staff bring the sprawling, 110-year-old building to life.

Lights are switched on, doors are unlocked, free coffee is brewed, any litter dropped around the building overnight is picked up, and 67-year-old Connie Murray, who has been working at YMCAs for 20 years, is at the heart of it all.

“It’s like my family and I feel like it’s going to be really hard to leave,” Murray says.

Lifeguard Finn McLandress gets the pool ready prior to the Y’s 6 a.m. opening.

After COVID-19 closed downtown YMCAs across the country, the Vaughan Street facility wants to bring back the membership it lost and entice new visitors.

Last month, the centre hosted a party with a promise: to fundraise $15 million for upgrades, including child-care spots and an indoor splash pad.

They’ve shifted over time to meet the downtown’s demographic: adult lessons are largely filled with newcomers from the neighbourhood, and it is the city’s only branch to have low-commitment come-and-go swim lessons, lifeguard and lesson supervisor Finn McLandress explains.

“I’ve seen a lot of people that it’s helped connect,” he says.

Back in the hallway, before the Y officially opens, that connection is obvious. Amber Hoskins stares straight ahead, stern with rap-rock blasting in her earbuds. When the chatter begins, she breaks into a relaxed smile. The mom of two is here to pump iron, with the dream of placing — not winning, just placing — at a bodybuilding competition next May.

“It’s a friendly atmosphere. It’s not intimidating, so you don’t feel super judged when you’re doing something,” Hoskins, 39, says.

Erwin Single (left) and Amber Hoskins (right) enter the YMCA-YWCA as soon as it opens.

Erwin Single has come nearly every single weekday for the last 12 years. The community in the downtown core is part of what keeps the 78-year-old coming.

“Everybody sort of looks out for the other person,” he says. “We all recognize each other.”

Then it hits 6 a.m., and Murray waves in those patiently waiting. Hoskins is training her legs today. Single takes to an elliptical machine while watching the news. By now, everything is in its rightful place, and the staff take a quick breath before the day begins.

— Malak Abas

From the water, Winnipeg’s downtown is a breathtaking oasis of green.

The tree-lined shore of the Red River is lush, bald eagles soar overhead on occasion, and the conditions for the first hour of training, beginning at 6 a.m., are warm and absolutely calm.

A contingent of six athletes, four boats and two coaches from the Winnipeg Rowing Club sets out from its clubhouse at 20 Lyndale Dr., travelling north past The Forks to the Alexander Docks, beyond the point where the Seine River empties into the Red, before making a turn at the Louise Bridge and returning to home base.

The entire workout — performed at speeds approaching 18 km/hr and with no other traffic on the river — takes about 70 minutes.

Members of the Winnipeg Rowing Club get a unique view of the downtown landscape every time they’re on the water.

Leah Miller, rowing in a quad boat, started at the club as a 12-year-old and can’t get enough of the place.

“I really like just being on the water,” explains Miller, an 18-year-old Winnipegger who returns to the University of Michigan for her sophomore season in the fall.

“I like the atmosphere and movement and all of us working hard together for a goal and to go fast. It’s really cool to have the current — one way it’s really hard and another way it’s a little faster — but it’s good for training.”

The WRC has a long history in the city. Opened in 1881 on a site 500 metres south of its current location, the organization sold its land and moved to an expanded clubhouse on land leased from the city in 1990.

“We see some tents along our first stretch and (encampment) fires and stuff happening and then we see lots of wildlife like deer, foxes and beaver swimming — sometimes, we almost hit them and they go under — and lots of geese,” says 16-year-old Becca Zubricki, a Grade 11 student at Miles Macdonell Collegiate who was rowing in the quad boat with Miller, Kate Nazar and Justine Gillert.

“That’s why we have a goose fence, because they poop all over our dock.”

Coach Janine Stephens offers instruction to quad boat members Justine Gillert (from left), Kate Nazar, Becca Zubricki and Leah Miller.

Janine Stephens, a silver medal winner at the 2012 Summer Olympics and the rowing club’s head coach for the past seven years, loves the river, despite the changes she’s witnessed in recent years.

More homeless folks than ever are sharing the riverbank with wildlife.

“It’s been 23 years since I first started rowing on the river, and I think there’s just more of it — more tents and more places people are (living) down there,” Stephens says.

“But you also see a ton of beauty and lots of animals and nature, which when you’re in downtown, you don’t always expect to see. I get a sense of peace here with the busyness of downtown right beside it.”

— Mike Sawatzky

There is a gentle hum of activity in the Community Helpers Unite kitchen at the Salvation Army Weetamah on Logan Avenue.

Roger Daniel West stirs a pot of stew while Heather Wade and Kashish Kashish prepare breakfast bagels.

The trio, together with CHU founder Brandy Bobier, are busy prepping the 948 meals headed out to various organizations and community walks. It’s a scene that plays out seven days a week from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m., without fail.

Kashish Kashish (left) and Heather Wade portion out bagels in the kitchen at 324 Logan Avenue early Tuesday morning.

Bobier, who launched the social enterprise in 2021, employs a staff of 38 who provide sustenance to 19 organizations through funded food service contracts, food hampers and free food for community walks.

The space was first used as a warehouse for donated food in October 2020. Bobier, previously the city’s co-ordinator for Leftover Foundation’s Rescue Food App, had brought the model to Winnipeg to decrease waste and increase access for people who need food.

It evolved from a storage space to CHU’s kitchen when she recognized there were people who were “falling through the gaps.”

“By February 2021 I realized we needed to create a rogue food service and rogue hamper program. This is a radical concept; we feed people like family.

“I was tired of seeing disgusting food, just slop in a cup, being served to our relatives,” she says. “Just because they are recovering from addictions or living in shelters does not mean they can just eat whatever.”

Meals are created from donated items and the menu changes daily. Today’s breakfast is bagels with cream cheese and jam, yogurt, fresh fruit, milk cartons and juice boxes.

For lunch, a beef stew, served with bannock and a dessert of blueberry crisp, will go to Mount Carmel Clinic. Deli sandwiches are destined for three different community groups and chicken fingers with tater tots and a garden salad is lunch for relatives at N’Dinawemak on Disraeli Street.

Roger Daniel West gets a big pot of stew going in the Community Helpers Unite kitchen. The organization provides hundreds of meals daily for various organizations and community walks.

Tuesday is pizza night; staff will distribute Presto’s pies, salad and cakes and pastries.

Staff come from all walks of life. Bobier tries to maintain a 75 per cent staffing ratio of Indigenous people.

“We are breaking barriers to employment because inclusion is a huge part of reconciliation. We’ve been able to mitigate things through our food hampers, volunteering and employment,” she says.

West was once in need of aid but is finding his feet again. He works here three hours a day, five days a week and will soon be moving into a place of his own.

“Two years ago I was sleeping on the stairs at Marigold restaurant,” he says. “This job gives me a sense of purpose. My relationship with my first born has never been better. This is what makes me happy.”

— AV Kitching

The number of cyclists travelling on Assiniboine Avenue’s protected bike lane peaks between 8 a.m. and 8:30 a.m. on weekdays.

Tuesday is no exception. A steady flow of cyclists of all ages zips along the popular bike route in sunny, 23 C weather, most wearing helmets and some in office attire.

Cyclists make their way northward on Garry Street around 8 a.m. Tuesday.

Ryan Wakshinski cycles to work every day in the summer months. It takes him about 20 minutes to get from his St. Vital home to his downtown office. He’s been doing it since 2002.

“It’s as fast as the bus and you don’t have to wait around,” says Wakshinki, 48, as he stops at the corner of Assiniboine and Garry Street, where a recently added two-way protected bike route runs north to the Exchange District. It’s part of a growing network of protected bike lanes downtown growing in popularity.

“It’s super nice to have these routes that are protected,” Wakshinski says. “I would say I’m a confident cyclist and I don’t need that protection, but it’s nice to have it there where you know you have a dedicated lane.”

The protected routes make a big difference to Stephanie Whitehouse, who lives in Wolseley and bikes or walks to work downtown every day.

“I feel safer; I can get to where I’m going and not have to navigate around vehicles,” says Whitehouse, adding active transportation is the fastest way for her to get to work.

For Stephanie Whitehouse, active transportation is the fastest way to get to work.

Cyclists arrive in clusters of five or six by 8:15 a.m. along Assiniboine, the first protected bike route downtown that opened in 2010. It’s the main line for cyclists that connects the core area to neighbouring communities. It’s also a popular route to and from The Forks, where a digital bike counter shows almost 60,000 cyclists have travelled through the area so far this year.

The four-way stop at Assiniboine and Garry is orderly. Bikes stop for cars, cars stop for bikes. The two modes of transportation co-exist in a seamless flow of traffic.

The bike counter at The Forks keeps a daily and annual tally of those who travel on two wheels.

James Lyons stops at the intersection each morning and heads north on Garry to his office on Donald Street. He’s been cycling to work from his home near Pembina Highway and Jubilee Avenue since 2016, after getting tired of crowded transit buses. It doesn’t take him much longer to cycle — 18-25 minutes by bike compared with 15-18 minutes on a bus.

“I got fed up enough with transit that I thought I’d risk breaking my arm rather than getting on a crowded bus every morning,” Lyons, 38, jokes.

— Tom Brodbeck

Bohdanna Kinasevych places her coffee and laptop on a white desk. It’s not technically her spot, but it’s hers for the day.

She could’ve chosen a couch or standing desk or bar stool near the kitchenette at Launch Coworking Space. She still could later.

Her company quit its own office; instead, employees frequent Launch at 167 Lombard Ave., a co-working space where users pay daily or monthly rates, which depend on length of time and whether extras (such as use of a conference room) are required.

“It’s nice to have at least one day a week where we’re all together in the same space physically,” said Kinasevych, an evaluator with Leading4Impact.

Cassandra Montanino (left) and Bohdanna Kinasevych work in a shared workspace after the company they work for decided to forgo a permanent office.

She doesn’t miss the lifestyle of working full-time in a Bannatyne Avenue office. This hybrid model provides more balance, she says — after all, she still gets to visit with co-workers weekly.

A few steps away, Dustin Brickwood resumes his post at a standing desk. He’ll be there every weekday this month.

Home renovations forced the computer engineer to search for a new workspace. He’s been a remote worker since 2017, and watched as the world adapted to the COVID-19 pandemic, creating offices in their kitchens and spare bedrooms.

In May, around two-thirds of 70,000 local workers had returned to their downtown offices full- or part-time, Downtown Winnipeg Business Improvement Zone chief executive officer Kate Fenske says.

Meanwhile, downtown visitation has jumped roughly 28 per cent — to nearly 176,000 visitors daily — in June, compared to the same month in 2022, according to the BIZ.

“Over a long period of time, it is really nice to have human interaction on a daily basis,” Brickwood says. “You miss out on water cooler talk… When you come to a space like this, you kind of get that back.”

This day, his desk held two computers, a coffee, morning smoothie, water bottle, notebook and a succulent — a plant Launch added to show customers the desk is reserved.

“I might extend (my stay) ‘til end of fall,” Brickwood adds.

The co-working facility offers a variety of spaces, from standing desks to booths to conference rooms.

One-quarter of Canadians prefer working from home full-time, and another quarter preferred full-time office work, a recent Angus Reid Institute poll found. The majority — 50 per cent — supported hybrid.

Meantime, downtown Winnipeg’s office vacancy rate is 16.3 per cent, the latest figures from commercial real estate giant CBRE show. In 2002, 6.7 per cent of downtown Winnipeg’s offices were vacant.

The number of people utilizing the Launch location ranges from day-to-day.

Kinasevych says she has been the only person in its fifth-floor space, at times; on other days, upwards of 30 people have filtered in.

“It’s co-working, so sometimes there’s surprises,” Kinasevych says.

She flips open her laptop and gets to work.

— Gabrielle Piché

The players who make up Winnipeg’s newest pro sport entry are on the third floor of the Sport for Life Centre, at 145 Pacific Ave., finishing a weight-training session.

From there, the Winnipeg Sea Bears — featuring talent from across North America — make their way to the basketball courts on the second floor to practice.

They’re preparing to take on the Vancouver Bandits the following night just a few blocks away at the Canada Life Centre.

While the players work out, team owner David Asper sits down for an interview.

Sea Bears owner David Asper says the team plays a role in helping the city’s downtown rebound.

The Sea Bears aren’t just an investment in pro basketball. They’re also an investment into downtown.

“We decided to take a bigger risk than what we wanted to when we first started this thing, to try to locate in the downtown and be a part of (revitalizing it),” Asper says.

“I said it in November when we launched the team, I said very specifically that you can talk all you want about wanting a better downtown, but at the end of the day, businesses and people have to actually do something, and we did.”

The first three home games at Canada Life Centre drew between 4,089 and 7,303 fans. Prior to tipoff, the Sea Bears host pre-game parties at nearby True North Square. It’s still early days, but the new entertainment option is a downtown draw.

It’s no secret crime in the core is on the rise, but Asper doesn’t think it’s too late to turn things around and get more people downtown. But it will take a combination of political will, private enterprise and public initiatives, such as the efforts pursued by Downtown Winnipeg BIZ, he says. Basketball is just one option.

“As a community, we have to place public safety as a priority. There’s been too many instances of people getting randomly attacked downtown and I consider that to be an assault on our community, in addition to the individuals. And my reaction is, we are allowed to defend ourselves as a community from this threat,” he says.

“I hope we’ve got political leadership that won’t be timid about saying that, because if our investment is going to work… and all the other initiatives are going to work, then you have to convince people that you mean it when you say, ‘Come downtown because it’s a safe, fun place to be.’”

The team has been based out of the Sport for Life Centre, the signature legacy project of the 2017 Canada Summer Games. The 124,000-sq.-ft.- building combines old and new — an empty, century-old warehouse transformed into office and meeting spaces connected to a gleaming high-performance facility in the heart of the inner-city.

Michael Okafor is spotted by E.J. Anosike in the weight room at the Sport for Life Centre. Winnipeg Sea Bears players worked out in the gym before hitting the basketball court for practice.

After a busy morning of meetings, training and practice, the players return to their apartments in the Exchange District.

They include guard AJ Hess, a 29-year-old from Phoenix who has played professionally across the United States and overseas, in Bulgaria, Belgium and Switzerland.

“I’ve been to a lot of interesting places in the world… I’ve been able to enjoy myself downtown and just take it for what it’s worth,” Hess says.

— Taylor Allen

At Union Station, two American couples patiently wait for a boarding call that will kick-start an adventure that has been on their bucket lists for years.

Travelling separately, Adele and Jeff McClain of Apple Valley, Calif., and Nancy and Scott Stearns, from Zumbrota, Minn., are on their way to the wonders of Churchill.

The only thing between the tourists and Manitoba’s northernmost community is a Via Rail journey that will take about 45 hours through prairie, boreal forest and the subarctic.

How does one pass the time?

“Watching the world go by,” says Nancy, who is surrounded by suitcases and bags on a bench in the waiting area. “When you’re on a train, you just have to sit back and relax.”

Rail enthusiasts Nancy and Scott Stearns, from Minnesota, look around the historic dome at Union Station while waiting to board their train to Churchill, Man.

Nancy, 70, and Scott, 66, are rail travel experts and train enthusiasts, to say the least.

They’ve brought a scanner to listen to railroad radio communications. At home, the retired pair has a large model railroad that occupies a garage.

For both couples, the sleeper car journey is its own highlight of the trip, which is taking place outside of polar bear season.

Biology teacher Jeff, 55, is looking forward to a boat ride on Hudson Bay. School principal Adele, 54, is keen to see birds and the landscape.

“I’ve always had a fascination with the north,” she says.

Union Station, which opened in 1909 and designed by the same architects behind New York City’s Grand Central Station, harkens back to a time when railways were the economic engine fueling Winnipeg’s dizzying growth at the turn of the 20th century.

Adele and Jeff McClain, from California, eagerly await their journey.

Soon, more passengers arrive. Most of the 20-some people in the waiting room are scrolling on their phones, reading books or eating lunch.

They include Rhonda Opheim and her daughters Deidra, Krista and Pamela, who are excited to see beluga whales.

“The train ride is just an extra. This is going to be an adventure,” says Rhonda, from Medicine Hat, Alta.

Travellers such as Jiacheng Wu, 30, will plan their days when they arrive in Churchill.

Wu, a resident of Suzhou, China, who has been studying engineering in Canada, decided to visit after seeing a video that showed repairs to the rail line.

“I thought that’s an interesting place to go,” he says.

The train ride to Churchill will take about 45 hours.

The 12:05 p.m. departure has been delayed, but the McClains, Stearnses and others know the wait will be worth it.

Not all passengers are Churchill-bound, however.

Winnipeg resident Ev Fawn, 31, will disembark in Kamsack, Sask., to take part in her first sun dance with her grandmother in Cote First Nation.

“I’m so excited,” Fawn says. “I’m looking forward to sharing this experience with my grandma.”

— Chris Kitching

With a practiced hand, Justin Kalinski takes a knife and slices several times into a sizzling smokie before handing it to another satisfied customer.

“It just makes them easier to bite into and chew, everybody likes that,” says Kalinski, whose family hot dog cart has been a summer Broadway fixture for more than three decades.

It’s barely noon, 31 sweltering degrees, and Kalinski has already sold nearly two dozen smokies, hot dogs and burgers from his regular station in front of the Workers Compensation Board building.

At age 22, Justin Kalinski is already a 10-year veteran of the hot dog cart business.

At 22, Kalinski is a street vendor veteran. He started working alongside his grandfather Walt when he was 12, taking orders and making change while Walt manned the grill.

“It was good, I got to spend a lot of time with my grandpa, and a lot of memories with him,” he says. “We had fun. It was my first ever job.”

Walter retired about four years ago at age 81 and Justin, who was entering his first year at the Asper School of Business, took over his spot at the grill. And with that succession, Walt’s Western Hot Dogs became Mister K’s Hot Dogs.

“I have so many regulars, some who come every week, some who come every day. It’s great,” Justin says. “I get to know them, too. Some of these customers I have known for 10 years now, and they keep coming back.”

Lawyer Markus Buchart stops by Kalinski’s food cart for lunch nearly every workday.

“In 2022, I didn’t miss a day,” he says after enjoying a classic hot dog combo.

“The food’s very good and (Justin) and his grandfather are super nice people,” he adds.

Justin and his father Darren own three hot dog carts, with Justin staking out Broadway and Darren handling the catering and festival side of the business.

Longtime customer Markus Buchart, a lawyer working in the area, buys one of Mister K's Hot Dogs.

The business took a hit during the pandemic, but Justin never stopped firing up the grill.

“It was obviously a lot slower because no one was in the office and everyone was working from home, but we still managed, came out every day and stayed consistent,” he says.

“People knew we were here, so people made special trips, lots of cars driving by (and) people stopping in.

“This building over here,” Kalinski says, pointing to the former Canada Revenue Agency building at 325 Broadway, “it’s been closed for a couple of years, so I lost a lot of customers there. That definitely hurt me.”

Downtown will only return to normal when more people start working there again, Kalinski says.

“You need people back in the office and making downtown busier again. Prior to the pandemic, they had farmers markets downtown, they had live music and there just isn’t as much of that as there used to be. I think if you did that, you would bring more people to the area.”

— Dean Pritchard

A steady stream of office workers — some with takeout orders in hand — quickly passes through the concourse beneath Winnipeg’s most famous intersection on a hot weekday afternoon.

Folks who enter the “circus” under Portage Avenue and Main Street from the Richardson Centre are greeted with reddish brown tile and a rounded cement wall that features carvings. Metal gates block off a closed restaurant and a shuttered coffee shop.

A drab esthetic greets pedestrians as they navigate the ‘circus.’

The site could use some investment to attract new businesses to spots that emptied during the pandemic and the “very drab” esthetic could use some sprucing up, one area employee says.

“It hasn’t changed that much (in appearance) in the last 15 years. I’d like to see it developed even more because it (offers) year-round use… I think we could advertise the concourse, make it better and really market it as an underground mall,” Barb Nault says.

Since newer concourse visitors often become lost, she’d also like to see better signage. And ground-level outdoor entryways to the underground area need some work, she adds.

“(The) entryways are really dirty and scummy. If you open it up… it could be bright cheerful and inviting,” Nault says. “It’s the iconic corner of the city. It deserves investment… both above and underground.”

Barb Nault notes the look of the concourse hasn't changed much in the last 15 years.

As with the rest of downtown, she believes more investment is also needed to address homelessness and mental health crises.

Anne Haines, 25, a first-time visitor to the concourse, says the businesses and security made her feel welcome.

“It’s lovely… I didn’t realize there was so much stuff down here,” says Haines.

But she would hesitate to visit after dark, if that option returned. (The concourse was open 24-7 before the pandemic but is now restricted to daily hours of 6:30 a.m. to 10:30 p.m.)

“At night, I don’t know if I would want to come here alone… but (that’s the same) for a lot of places downtown,” Haines says.

"I didn't realize there was so much stuff down here," says Anne Haines, visitng Winnipeg Square for the first time.

Some investment is expected for the intersection soon, since a 40-year-old waterproof membrane that separates the concourse from the road above has been deemed beyond its useful life.

Since that work must be done from above, the city is seeking public feedback on streetscape designs it may also pursue. They include a giant orb, lookout towers and a circular walkway high above the intersection, along with the removal of the unsightly concrete barricades.

But there is still no plan to open it to pedestrians. Their only way to navigate Portage and Main remains the concourse below.

— Joyanne Pursaga

The 42nd-floor rooftop of 300 Main St. affords a view of the full graphic logo of Canada Life Centre that stretches across the rooftop of the downtown arena.

The vantage point atop the tallest building between Toronto and Calgary – at 141.7 metres – makes the arena’s dimensions look adorable by comparison.

Although construction was significantly behind schedule – it’s more than two years late by some accounts – residents will start to move in to the first 20 floors of the building, which is owned by Artis REIT, next week.

(The remaining 20 floors of suites will be permitted and ready by the end of the year.)

During a tour of the building with Brenna Morfitt, Artis’s director of construction and development, residents-to-be, who were dressed befitting the grandeur of the building, talked earnestly with leasing agents Tuesday afternoon.

Artis’s director of construction and development Brenna Morfitt: ‘We want it to be a beacon of hope for the downtown.’

Everyone had a look of excited anticipation.

And why not? The prospect of moving into the newest — and one of the only true downtown high-rise residences in Winnipeg — might make one forget about what else may ail the city.

“We want it to be a beacon of hope for the downtown,” Morfitt says.

Yes, monthly rents are the better part of $2,000 (and more for the larger suites, especially on the higher floors), so it’s not cheap.

Morfitt could not say how many of the 395 suites had been spoken for, but she did say they have booked as many move-ins as they can for July and through most of August.

“There are so many people who want to live somewhere nice and something like this does not exist elsewhere in the city,” Morfitt says. “We think it can be something to help re-invigorate downtown and maybe get some people who might not otherwise live downtown.”

To that end, Artis REIT has laid on the amenities that are included with rent: membership to the GoodLife Fitness location on site; membership in Peg City Car Co-op (Artis REIT bought Peg City a car); in-suite washers and dryers; and free access to the 40th-floor tenant lounge that has a kitchen, fireplace, pool table and arcade games in what otherwise would be a high-priced penthouse location.

A dog park with a view is one of the amenities offered to 300 Main residents.

As well, there is a 10,000-square-foot outdoor space on the second floor that has barbecues, pizza ovens and a small fenced-off area for dogs.

This is a full-on pet-friendly building, and one that now boasts the best view of the city.

— Martin Cash

Every visitor who enters the main doors of Sister MacNamara School is greeted by a wall of welcoming remarks, from soo dhawoaa in Somali to the popular Cree expression wachiya.

“It’s a much friendlier school here than the Philippines because you have many cultures. You can learn about new, different cultures here,” says Reginald Martinez, as he waited on the elementary playground for his 10-year-old to be dismissed on one of the last days of the school year.

The Martinez family is — not unlike many of Ervine’s Grade 4 classmates — fairly new to the downtown community and Canada at large.

They moved to Manitoba from Laguna, a province southeast of Manila, six years ago.

Reginald Martinez picks up his son, Ervine, at Sister MacNamara School.

One in five families at Sister MacNamara, located on Sargent Avenue between Balmoral and Kennedy streets, are landed immigrants or refugees. One-third of the approximately 300 students identify as First Nations, Métis, Inuit or a combination of the above.

Principal Debbie Lenhardt Mair calls her school “a special and vibrant place” owing to the wide variety of Indigenous and newcomer experiences and cultures shared inside.

Staff members at the nursery-to-Grade 6 building rely on multiple language interpreters to communicate and build relationships with families, be it at parent council gatherings or otherwise.

English aside, Tagalog, Tigrigna and Somali are the most popular languages spoken in student homes.

“With the international flavour of our student body, it’s not surprising that many of our students are passionate about soccer, and are involved in the inner-city soccer league,” the principal says.

Lenhardt Mair notes their unique central location allows for countless community partnerships and field trip opportunities within walking distance. Many students, including Martinez’s middle child, participate in drop-in programs at the nearby Boys and Girls Clubs of Winnipeg.

Mark Ben, with his daughter, Kaylyn, 7, enjoys the convenience of having a school close by so theycan walk to and from class.

For father Mark Ben, living in a high-rise condo across from Central Park is ideal because of the walkability it provides his family.

Ben’s elementary students’ classes, Portage Place and Young’s Trading — the household’s go-to grocer — are all under 15 minutes away from their doorstep by foot.

The father of four says he usually walks his children to and from school throughout the year, but made an exception this week so they could be in the family’s air-conditioned van.

Martinez echoes his support for the convenience of downtown living and schooling.

The factory worker, who was a computer engineer in the Philippines, squeezes in school drop-off and pick-up between daytime naps when he is on the night shift.

Not long after the 3:30 p.m., he picks up Ervine after the chatty boy bids farewell to his friends, who hail from various African countries.

The father-son duo walk home together, past crowds of families reuniting on the back lot of the downtown school building covered in graffiti — many of them catching up in languages unfamiliar to the English ear.

— Maggie Macintosh

The hot wind whips up a mix of elm tree seeds and trash, including a Ziploc bag full of cherry pits, at the busy Graham Avenue and Vaughan Street bus stop at peak afternoon commuter time — 4 p.m.

A dozen or so people stand in the shade of an overhang, away from the blazing sun beating down on the empty bus shelter.

The Graham Avenue Transit Mall is buzzing at 4 p.m.

Navneet Kaur is midway through her hour-long trip home from work at a jacket factory in the North End. She’s waiting for her second bus, but she has no complaints.

“I can feel the fresh air,” she says, adding it’s the winter commute she doesn’t like.

“It’s too much,” Kaur says. “It is really, really hard to stand outside.”

Some bus shelters are heated, and it’s not uncommon for them to become temporary homes for Winnipeg’s homeless, especially in the winter. Kaur doesn’t want to intrude on their space.

Art Zuke says the same thing.

“It sucks in the winter,” he says. “The shack is not usable half the time.”

Zuke said he understands and empathizes with those who find themselves seeking shelter at covered bus stops, but it doesn’t make taking the bus — and trying to be an environmentally conscious citizen — more appealing.

“You shouldn’t have to drive everywhere in Winnipeg but you kind of have to,” he says, noting he and his wife share a car, so they take turns driving and taking the bus.

Today, his second bus is late.

“Do I look frustrated?” he asks as a Free Press photographer takes his photo.

Art Zuke waits for a late bus.

Still, he’s grateful there’s a Tim Hortons nearby. “If I have to hang around for an hour at least I can get an Iced Capp,” he says.

A moment later, two women and a toddler in a stroller arrive. They’re from Ukraine — the now-Russian occupied Kherson region.

“My family is still there. My brother and nephews,” says Olga, who declines to give her last name. “The last few days… our city was bombed.”

Olga, along with her mother, Tatiana, and three-year-old daughter, Sophia, were heading home after Olga’s day at welding school.

Welding is new.

“Actually, I’m a PhD,” she says, laughing. “But in Canada, it’s forced me to learn something new, absolutely new, that’s not connected to my previous life. It’s good for me.”

Tatiana and Sophia, 3, wait for the bus.

The trio miss their bus while talking to a reporter but there’s another one coming in a few minutes.

The same fate nearly befalls a man in a button-up shirt and dress pants who sprints to a bus. The driver holds the door and he gets on just in time.

— Katrina Clarke

When the clock strikes 5 p.m. — give or take 10 minutes — a half-dozen students between the ages of 16 and 25 congregate at Martha Street Studio.

The multi-level artist space, kitty-corner to the Manitoba Museum, has facilitated a weekly Youth Outreach Program since 2006. During the 12-week program, students learn several different printing techniques, including screen, etching, cyanotype and lino cutting.

“It’s kind of cool, because we do have graduates of the program now teaching the program,” says Sarah Crawley, the studio’s community programming co-ordinator.

Instructor Jonathan Green demonstrates printmaking techniques to (from left) Ellice Kynman, Anna Deal and Louis Stevens.

In the upstairs gallery, Monique Fillion’s Embedded exhibition brings the white walls to life. After a “happy accident” in her studio some winters ago, Fillion began using tissue paper as her primary medium.

“There was a blue light coming in the window from the snow. The bag, which is white, was blue, and then gold inside because of the lighting on top,” Fillion says. “I like working with the familiar and the things that are around it, so I thought, ‘what a great subject.’”

Embedded, she says, is about “finding the extraordinary in the ordinary.”

To the right of the gallery, one group of students observes this week’s screen-printing demonstration: a multi-colour gradient tutorial.

In the cool basement, the other group takes refuge from the sweltering, outdoor heat to try etching. Louis Stevens, a textile artist by trade, carefully carves a design into the thin etching block he started in a previous class.

Artist Monique Fillion stands with her work in Martha Street Studio.

With only two weeks left in the program, he’s grown an affinity for cyanotype, which creates prints through the chemical magic of an iron compound and sunlight.

“I didn’t know how simple of a process it was,” Stevens says. “I probably do, like, one cyanotype a day, now.”

As it requires following intricate, step-by-step instructions, printmaking isn’t always easy. But at Martha Street Studio, it’s about community, not the final product.

“We have youth from all across the city… so all areas of the city and quite a wide range in backgrounds and experiences,” Crawley says. “But they all like art. That’s the one common theme.”

— Cierra Bettens

By 6 p.m., the hustle and bustle of the daytime has set and the hobbyists of the evening rise to take advantage of the few hours of sunlight that remain.

McDermot Avenue has decongested from rush hour but inside the Pan Am Boxing Club, Winnipeg’s oldest boxing gym at the intersecting Arthur Street, is a packed house and a lively community.

The Pan Am Boxing Club's landmark punching fist.

Nearly 30 amateur pugilists, diverse in nature with men and women ranging from early 20s to their 40s, drip perspiration as the sounds of calculated spurts of breath, shuffling feet and leather gloves smacking heavy bags fill the basement suite.

A bell rings.

“Switch!” exclaims trainer Ian Brown, as he circles the room to cheer on his students one at a time. “Get on it! Let’s go!”

The music picks up and the jabs and uppercuts resume in a high-paced cadence.

“I’m trying to give people the best workout they can get,” says Brown, also a member of eight years. “I really encourage them to meet someone new today.”

As the 5:30 p.m. session cools down, students in the 6:30 p.m. class shuffle into the club, already sweating from the scorching weather outside. They know they’ll soon be drenched, but it’s an outcome they’ve happily come to terms with.

Pan Am is the oldest boxing club in the city.

“The community,” says 38-year-old Patricia Gonzalez, of why she returns three evenings a week.

It’s an answer you get from just about anyone who walks through the door.

“From instructors to people that come, people at the desk, all the volunteers, they’re really encouraging,” she says.

The mother of two is simply trying to keep an active lifestyle. Others are there for more serious reasons.

“I’m trying to get back to what I used to be like,” said 35-year-old Leo Banag, who walks in at 6:20 and promptly begins wrapping his hands with gauze to protect his knuckles.

Leo Banag, 35, is working on getting back into fighting shape.

Banag’s experience shines among the smaller 6:30 group, as he prances around the floor, bobbing and weaving in-between punches.

“We’re all under the same roof, let’s just play,” Brown emphasizes.

A bell rings.

The session is barely 10 minutes old before this group begins to sweat and scramble for their water bottles. They throw punches by themselves but know they’re in it together.

— Joshua Frey-Sam

At the southwest corner of the Manitoba legislature grounds, a speaker blaring the Guess Who’s greatest hits beckons cyclists to muster for a “bike jelly.”

“It’s like a bike jam, but it’s a lot smaller and it’s on weeknights and it’s a little bit more accessible,” Daria Magnus-Walker says.

Although it feels like 40 C with the humidity and a thunderstorm watch is in effect, the crowd doubles in size, and then triples by 7:30 p.m. with all kinds of bikes assembling for the 8 p.m. departure.

“It’s dad-themed tonight,” fellow organizer Lee Klimpke says. The ride is recognizing Father’s Day from two days earlier, with classic Winnipeg rock music playing in the background and a barbecue stop planned on the route.

Lee Klimpke (left) and Daria Magnus-Walker wait for riders to meet up on the Manitoba Legislative Grounds for their dad-themed "bike jelly."

On cooler nights, the sprawling grounds of the legislature are often packed with people picnicking, playing Frisbee, and even cricket. Tonight’s heat doesn’t keep Evelyn Watts, 27, and Abby Ushakas, 29, who live in the Osborne Village area, from meeting up.

Sitting on a tarp in the shade of a giant elm, they sip cold drinks from a nearby Starbucks.

“It’s nice, it’s close… there are only so many green spaces,” Watts says.

“This place is good — there’s security here,” Watts adds, referring to a pair of protective services officers on foot patrol. The grounds are also monitored by officers inside the legislature with surveillance cameras.

The only threat, jokes Ushakas, are the geese who currently outnumber humans. “Watch my back,” Ushakas says before they get up to toss around a Frisbee.

Abby Ushakas passes a frisbee to Evelyn Watts on a warm summer evening.

The benches near the cooling mist of the ornate fountain on the south side of the legislature are filled with families, friends and seniors chatting as young children on tiny bikes ride around the water feature — an oasis in an urban area where many apartments lack air conditioning.

Friends who fled the war in Syria are having a bit of reunion. They gather in front of the fountain to capture the moment, with Jouri Al Nasar, 5, taking the photo of her mom with her friends.

“I like the view — it’s relaxing and it’s not so noisy here,” Jouri’s mom, Daren Al Nasar, says through her friend and translator Sarah Hussen, who arrived in Canada eight months ago from Lebanon.

The fountain is a gathering place for families living nearby.

Hussen lives in Steinbach and is visiting Al Nasar and her friends, who arrived in Canada three months ago and live downtown. The diversity of the Winnipeggers sharing the peaceful space near the fountain is something Hussen says she can appreciate.

“It’s many cultures, many religions — it’s good.”

— Carol Sanders

True North Square didn’t exist the last time William Ogbu was here. On his way through the outdoor plaza to grab a bite at Hargrave St. Market, the former University of Manitoba student said the space makes Winnipeg feel like a big city. Surrounded by mirrored skyscrapers, he clocks the plaza’s concrete corporate vibe.

“There should be more facilities for the public here, more public space,” Ogbu says.

Although privately owned, the square was designed to be publicly accessible with patios, restaurants and outdoor gatherings spaces.

The privately owned space was designed to be publicly accessible. Three outdoor patios are now open, and since True North Square opened in 2018, the plaza has hosted pre-game parties, live music, yoga classes, dance performances and even movie nights on its massive LED video screen. At this hour, a live local band has already come and gone, the plaza bar is closed and most patrons have headed indoors.

Diners on the upper level food hall at Hargrave St. Market have an expansive bird’s-eye view as grey clouds threaten to rain down over the all-but-empty square.

Seated on tall stools along a long, narrow countertop, Nosa Omoregie and Ola Abijo are finishing up some work on their laptops, their Gusto North pizzas by now reduced to crumbs on their plates.

At the food-court-style network of restaurants behind them, patrons with pints talk loudly over the music, and a food-delivery robot rolls through to a soundtrack of Jessie’s Girl. But the two men have snagged fairly serene window seats.

“It’s a really nice spot, and I like the open concept outside,” Omoregie says.

“The ambience is nice,” Abijo agrees, “Aside from the construction and finding a place to park.”

Three outdoor patios are now open.

A few stools down, Britney Dodge has been trying to convince her friends to come to Winnipeg. Travelling solo from Fargo, N.D., Dodge is visiting for the first time on a five-day trip, and has so far spent much of her time seeing The Forks and walking downtown.

“I felt pretty safe,” she says, making clear the European-style markets had already won her over, and her friends were getting on board.

Outside, friends Mandy Fenner and Autumn Sumner are the only ones chatting at a picnic table, and they don’t mind a bit. The intense heat of the day has just started to dissipate into a humid breeze.

“We’re in no rush tonight,” Fenner says. They often come through to enjoy the space. “On Sundays, they have salsa here!” Sumner says.

Mandy Fenner (left) and Autumn Sumner at True North Square.

But, as Indigenous women, both say they experience more prejudice when they’re downtown and feel unfairly scrutinized or looked down on by security guards or business people. Some people make assumptions about them based on the neighbourhood’s existing struggles with homelessness and drug use, they say.

“Always be kind, don’t judge one another,” Fenner says. “Talk to the homeless; I’ve done it many times… I’ve met a lot of nice people on the streets around here.”

“I think downtown’s a good place,” Sumner adds, “If you’re nice to each other, showing kindness.”

— Katie May

“Projectionists never die,” reads a 29-year-old quote posted above the door in the booth at the Dave Barber Cinematheque, attributed to someone named D. Little. “They just change over.”

Whoever they are, D. Little no longer works at Cinematheque, the Arthur Street indie film mecca that holds the only active screen in downtown Winnipeg. But Kristina Ansari does.

Fifteen patrons took in Veerana, a Hindi erotic thriller.

The 32-year-old belongs to a hallowed lineage bearing the ultimate cinematic responsibility: ensuring each film runs smoothly from start to finish.

“Say everyone leaves,” she says Tuesday at 9:23 p.m., as a Hindi erotic thriller called Veerana cuts to the credits. “You still let it play right to the end. Some people call it the projectionist’s law.”

Inside the booth, cloaked in the glow of pink fluorescent light, Ansari operates a laptop, the sound system and a massive digital projector, peeking through a small window to catch a glimpse of the action onscreen and to keep an eye on the theatre’s 85 seats.

There once were thousands more in the surrounding blocks: in the 1980s, nearly 30 screens lit up downtown. The Colony? Gone. The Capitol? Dark. At Portage Place, the Globe and IMAX theatres haven’t had a visitor for the better part of a decade.

When the Landmark-owned Towne Cinema 8 closed in 2022, Cinematheque became the only show remaining in the heart of the city, continuing to bring to Winnipeg the kind of contemporary and classic movies that chains like Cineplex or Famous Players never would.

Kristina Ansari abides by the projectionist’s law — the movie plays to the very end, even if no one is left in the theatre.

Housed in the Artspace building since 1986, it’s been a cultural haven for budding and grizzled cinephiles alike, sharing work by iconic directors such as Federico Fellini and Agnes Varda and modern auteurs like Kelly Reichert and Alice Diop.

For local filmmakers, having a movie screen at Cinematheque is a major achievement and career bucket list moment. And projectionists like Ansari play a key role in making those moments possible.

After the 15 Veerana viewers spill out, Ansari vacuums up popcorn detritus to get ready for a 9:45 p.m. screening of a film called Purana Mandir.

Cinematheque, downtown's only remaining theatre, is located in the Artspace Building.

Only nobody shows, and as the clock ticks toward 10, Ansari and the concessioneer on duty begin closing up, dumping out leftover popcorn, shutting off the projector and silencing its tranquil hum until the next projectionist presses play.

Outside, a man spots a bag of popcorn and looks stunned. “That’s a movie theatre?” he asks, bemused. A reporter nods. “That’s good to know!”

— Ben Waldman

At 10 p.m., Nelly’s Ride Wit Me is playing over the sound system at Club 200. Absent the music, it’s a quiet evening at the Garry Street mainstay of Winnipeg’s LGBTTQ+ community.

Standing by the bar, underneath an illuminated Bud Light sign, Gail Cels is explaining what makes the club so special. As she’s talking, a group streams into the bar.

“This place for me, it’s family,” says Cels, who has been coming to the bar for 25 years.

“It doesn’t matter the crap you go through, everybody’s so supportive,” she adds, gesturing to Kelly McIvor, the club manager, and bartender Tristin Ševerdija, who is wearing a shirt that reads: “Drag is not a crime.”

Club 200 has been a Garry Street fixture since 1988.

Asked for a photo, Cels turns to Anita Stallion, a matriarch of Club 200, who has been performing drag for 25 years. “You need a photo before me!” Cels protests. Anita isn’t performing tonight and isn’t keen on a photo, but she’s still circulating through the bar, talking with different people.

“The club is more than just a bar, it’s the meeting place. It’s the place where people can come and find other people like them,” she says. “And on hot days like this, we have air conditioning. That never hurts either,” she adds, laughing.

Since it opened in 1988, Club 200 has been that meeting place during the struggles, celebrations, and setbacks that marked the last three decades in the lives of queer and trans people. And Allen Morrison, who owns the club with his partner Joel Sarbit, has had a front-row seat to those changes.

And as certain segments of the community have become more accepted, Morrison says that it’s the club’s responsibility to reach out to the groups — such as trans people and people of colour — who remain marginalized, to “make sure that they’re feeling safe and that they have a place.”

“I think with this political climate right now, we have an even bigger need to make sure that we’re there,” he added, talking to the Free Press last week from his community, Big Grassy River First Nation in Ontario, where he’s the director of operations.

Club 200 owner Allen Morrison says today’s hostile political climate makes providing a safe place even more important.

By 11 p.m., the group that’s been filling up the bar starts gathering on the dance floor for a photo, posing under a disco ball, silver stars, and multicoloured tinsel.

They all work for Wawanesa Insurance and are in town for their company’s yearly conference, explains Sam Capone, who is based in Ottawa. A smaller group visited Club 200 the night before and told staff they might come back tonight, so the club arranged to bring in a DJ and an additional bartender.

“They were very hospitable,” Capone says.

— Marsha McLeod

Nickelback is finishing its sold-out show at Canada Life Centre in a blast of pyrotechnics and the pop-pop of fireworks. It’s the end of the night, but the energy is still electric.

Eleven thousand people with their fists up, screaming their throats raw. The fact it’s a Tuesday doesn’t matter; people have come to party.

The house lights go up, the air hazy with the fug of popcorn and beer. Some people have already left — gotta beat the traffic — but most have hung on to the bitter end. The crew immediately begins the work of dismantling the stage.

Tonight, the floor serves as the pit for a rock concert. Tomorrow night, it’ll be a basketball court.

Nickelback fans stream out of Canada Life Centre after the Tuesday concert.

Jennifer Little, 53, drove in from Portage la Prairie for the concert. This is her second time seeing the pride of Hanna, Alta. “It’s the energy,” she says. “They’re so awesome to their fans.”

London Gamble also put some highway behind him for the show. The 28-year-old from Thunder Bay, Ont., has now seen Nickelback seven times.

“It was absolutely awesome,” he says of the concert, voice hoarse. “Definitely worth the drive.”

This is the first concert Gamble has seen in downtown Winnipeg. “Oh yeah,” he says when asked if he feels safe. “Compared to Thunder Bay, it’s nothing.”

Ethan Kelly waits for friends and family to meet him outside the Canada Life Centre.

The temporary downtown within downtown begins to disperse, young women holding each other’s shoulders conga-style so they don’t lose track of who they came with. “Elbows out,” a girl advises her friend over the din of the crowd. The merch-booth stragglers are choosing from picked-over T-shirts (one reads “Nickelback: fan or liar”).

People spill out into the sticky night. Trying to find their friends, trying to find their phones. No one really lingers, people are in a hurry to leave, packing out the crosswalks.

Outside, Georgina Taipana is holding a sparkly sign that says it’s her birthday. She just turned 22. Her family made the trip from Rankin Inlet, Nunavut, for the show. “It was so much fun,” she says. “It was so worth it.”

In the evening air, Taipana is recovering from the post-concert crush. “Oh my god, it was so jam-packed,” she says. “I got a bit of anxiety because we were all up against each other, but we all got out safely.”

Georgina Taipana (centre left) and family members Jacqueline, Patricia and Tatyana traveled from Rankin Inlet, Nunavut, to attend the Nickelback concert.

Georgina wanted to stay downtown. Her mom, Jacqueline, did not. “I find it overwhelming even when there’s not a concert,” she says.

By 11:30 p.m., it’s a regular Tuesday night in downtown Winnipeg again, the blare of sirens in the distance and a few people waiting for the bus.

There’s no evidence that 11,000 people were, just hours ago, singing in unison, lighting up the arena with their phones like fireflies.

-Jen Zoratti