Canada has now been my home for a month and it is a strange when you feel like you have been in a place for both a long time and no time at all. It’s the limbo period where you still have to ask questions, but it’s no longer ten thousand a day, and maybe you could point someone in the right direction of Freshco.
While I’m buying my milk there, which I really hope is semi-skimmed, and is bizarrely in a bag, heads turn at my English accent. English, eh? But not everyone has recognised the accent, and being mistaken for both Scottish and Australian tickles me (maybe it’s the Northern accent, who knows but I’m not getting rid of it anytime soon.)
I’m not sure who said it, but somebody significant probably did, there’s joy in simple things. Like the fact that Trent University (basically Hogwarts; there are 4 houses and a Great Hall) looks picturesque everyday, playing scrabble in Nata’s Cafe or running through fresh snow. I’ve forgotten the colour of grass, but that’s ok because the snow still surprises me. Especially when there’s a layer of ice underneath it.
I haven’t, however, forgotten the temperature; -41 degrees (with wind chill) in our first week, or the fact that the yellow school bus which picked us up from the airport had frozen windows… on the inside. If I had a loonie, choonie, or toonie everytime I got asked why I came to Canada at this time of year, I would be rich (or maybe not, because I’m not sure if choonies even exist.)
I spent a lot of loonies and toonies in Toronto. I don’t mind because it was stunning; and the view from the CN Tower made up for it (I wanted to bungee jump off it), so did the really smiley stingray at Ripley’s Aquarium. Maybe I’ll write a poem about him, titled “Ik Hou Van Jou Stingray” (I’m learning Dutch.) The buildings were overwhelming.
I thought Sheffield was big. New York is going to be even bigger, all 5 foot 5 of me wonders if I will shrink. I must admit, I was slightly heart-broken; not to leave our girly weekend, the nice New Zealand folk or homely bunk beds at the Canadian Backpackers hostel, but because I didn’t see Toronto Batman. He didn’t show up; for reasons unknown.
It’s 5am in England so I’ll conclude (I can’t help it; my laptop is still set to GMT). Tim Horton is my new best friend; “I have measured out my life with coffee spoons” – T S Eliot. There are pianos everywhere, and I am trying to find time to play in between the five novels a week, 2am poutine stops, exciting ice hockey matches and frequent thrift store visits. And I still don’t know how to pronounce Gzowski.
But I love it here, I’ve not met anyone who I don’t like (except maybe the mardy woman who scowled at me when I asked for chips instead of fries), and while I’m in no rush to go home, I really could do to pop in, have a quick cup of Yorkshire tea, and give everyone a big squeeze.
“How to make love in a new country? One way to make love is by writing.” – Robert Kroetsch in “On Being an Alberta Writer”
Holly Stark 
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