The One Where I Run Canada.

I flirted with the idea of adding 'kind of' to today's title, but I'm going to stand by my statement. Yes, I now (essentially) run Canada.

Stephen Harper "works" here.

It all started with a sojourn to Canada's Parliament with a group of students including Lisanne, who was celebrating her birthday in style be checking up on Stephen Harper. Stephen Harper, for those of you not up to date on your Canadian politics, is Canada's Prime Minister and, according to Kelsey, is an idiot. She's Canadian, we shall trust her judgment. Furthermore, on my first proper day in Ottawa, I did see a plane flying about over Parliament with a banner hanging from it saying 'Stephen Harper nous deteste ca.'

Politicians; unpopular everywhere.

Perhaps the key thing to stress about Canada's Parliament is that there doesn't seem to be any real sense of security there. You leave by the same entrance the MPs do, and there are no cops patrolling the grass in front of the Parliament building. Besides having your bag x-rayed and going through a metal detector, these Canadians are seriously chilled about letting people intermingle with their country's representatives.

Ottawa's Parliament is like a Hogwarts clone. It's gorgeous, save for some scaffolding, has a clock tower which looks suspiciously like the one our Big Ben lives in and might as well have been designed by Christopher Wren's great grandson. Our tour guide was Alex from New Brunswick, and one might describe him as 'skippy.' Read irritatingly enthusiastic. Although, he has given me inspiration to write some kind of epic based on a smalltown New Brunswick kid trying to become Canada's Prime Minister, but getting into some scrapes with a moose along the way...

Ottawa, or London? You decide. (It's Ottawa).

In all seriousness though, Ottawa's Parliament is beautiful. And the library - oh, the library - I would do anything to have a library like that! My grandparent's had a library in their house in Wallingford, but it wasn't nearly as exciting and grand as Parliament's. Think the Bodleian, but shiner. Although it's the oldest part of Parliament, and the only original part thanks to a quick-thinking late-working librarian who closed its iron doors before the fire ravaged it like the rest of the Parliament building; it's brightness and cleanness distinguishes it from the grandiose feeling of the Bod.

It was in the library that we met Parliament's only formidable security in the form of a cop who hissed, 'no pictures!' You can mix with our Government but you mess with our books and you're in trouble. The library is a circular room with a gleaming statue of Queen Victoria in the centre, a reminder that Britian is basically in charge of Canada still. Though, I'm not quite sure the Canadians see it like that.

Skippy Alex rushed us through the tour, probably still shaken from his traumatic moose encounter on his journey to Ontario, devoting barely five minutes each to a tea towel with the picture of the House of Commons on one and the Senate on the other. I can't imagine they sell especially well in the gift shop. (Which is there in Parliament, on the same floor as the House of Commons, if you're wondering.) They look exactly like their British equivilant. Other British delights in Parliament include a model of our current Queen, riding a horse, as all good monarchs do.

House of Commons tea towel.

Man, I love being British! I love the Queen! I love her so much, I bought a Diamond Jubilee edition 'Solar Reine' in Byward Market - a solar-powered model of the Queen! She's in the same shade of lilac she wore to grace good old Exeter with her presence, and her handbag features a solar panel which powers her regally waving hand. Tacky yes, but I am a loyal subject.

Tour over, and Skippy scurrying back to his plans for political domination, and Lisanne and I headed up to sit in on an actual session of Canada's Parliament. Their Speaker looks like just as much as a tit as that Bercow moron we've got and there were hardly any MPs there. Probably about five on either side. They were also speaking in French - which I still don't understand why they go for French first when the majority of their citizens don't speak it - so Lisanne and I had no idea what was going on. That was until we realised there was a telephone-esque thing attached to our seats which offered the English translation on it. The discussion was about a bill to do with child poverty, so why there were so few MPs there, I shall never know. Coming in so late to the discussion, I didn't really understand what they were on about (they're not the most engaging speakers, these Canadian MPs), but I did feel the need to keep interjecting. I figured that may have been a bit colonial though. The Canadians are quite sensitive to that.

Basically, because I toured Parliament and saw MPs in action, I practically run Canada now. I don't have many improvements to make, although I will pass a law stating that it's illegal to add the tax on at the checkout and not before. Because that's really starting to get on my tits now. I spend ages meticulously counting out the correct change in 5 cents and 10 cents, only to be told a bigger price once I get there, panicking that the Quebecois behind me in the queue will lynch me for taking so long, and throw my loonies and twonies at the cashier instead of getting rid of that annoying small change.

I'd also get a pet beaver if I was Prime Minister of Canada.

Also this week...



• A tutorial with Prof Mayne on The Second Scroll which descended into a theological discussion.
• The world's most boring library introduction session with a librarian who both looked and sounded like that slug thing from Monsters Inc.
• Prof Anderson bursting into a Beyonce song and also slapping her arse, proclaiming she was a bad girl. Uncomfortable.
• Buying a book full of pictures of Canada's Northern Lights because they are gorgeous and because I have a complete disregard for airline baggage weight limits.
• Going to RBC and having the loveliest bank person ever who gave me free post-dated cheques. And it had nothing to do with my assets because she was a woman with a husband. It was down to pure, mutual loveliness.
• Booking Toronto and dog-sledding trips. Thank you British tax payer who contributes indirectly to my student loan which I am spending on sight-seeing. You are great!
• Walking along Rideau Canal in all its beauty.
• Having to queue to get into the library. And also somehow racking up extortionate late fees - 28$ say whut? Yikes, I was only four hours late...

And then there's that awesome realisation that maybe, just maybe, you're beating depression and that your constant state is happy.

That's pretty awesome, eh?

The One Where I Have A Whale Of A Time

Hi. I'm really tired; I'm also really happy, so I can't really complain. Although I did tell Kelsey and Yvet this morning of my fears that I couldn't sustain sunny Canadian optimism much longer and that my true British dourness is steadily seeping back in.

But I have had the most wonderful weekend, and done a lot of that introspective stuff that you've come to know and love me for.

On the induction day for exchange students (the one I never blogged about because it was so dull) wasn't actually all dull. There was a guy there called Stephane who was hilarious, a breath of fresh air and spoke English with a comprehensible French accent for us Brits who can't cope with foreign languages. He was there to promote the outdoors recreation activites run by the GeeGees (the uOttawa sports people/group/thing. And a gee gee seems to be a made-up horse, chosen as a mascot purely to make big knob boasts on the football and hockey jerseys). So beguiled was I by Stephane, that I ran - more lollopped - back to my apartment to sign up for the whale watching tour, from which I have just returned.

*Warning! The following blog post will have those deep introspective moments as seen in previous posts!*

But I'll keep making whale puns, so it's not all bad.

As some of you may know, and some of you will have had the utter joy of experiencing, travelling on short term trips brings out my most fantastically anal qualities of my personality. Since achieving a small amount of courage since coming on my year abroad, this past weekend was an opporunity to test the boundaries of that courage. At the time of signing up for a weekend whale watching in Tadoussac, coming home via Quebec City, it sounded like a great idea. Whale watching? I bet I'll have a whale of a time. But as the trip drew steadily closer, doubts started creeping into my mind. These intensified after the pre-departure meeting.

This is where I now have to be exceptionally careful, as this blog is on Facebook as are all the people who went on the trip!

You will all have gathered by now that I am about as cool as a packet of Tesco Value microwave chips. I'm the worst typical student ever in that I hate late nights, can cope with mornings sans-caffeine, don't really drink alcohol unless I can seriously counteract it with food, and think of clubbing as a type of torture akin to water-boarding. Thus, it dawned on me at the pre-departure meeting that I was probably going to be the loner of the group, the one no-one likes. Furthermore, everyone seemed to be going on the trip with friends, and I knew absolutely no-one. Cue major fear! That horrible, suffocating fear that is some poisonous concoction of self-doubt and self-loathing, and that really has no place in the heart of a courageous theologian in Canada.

Yet, it was there.

The other problem was having to be at Montepetit Hall on campus for 6am, which meant having to set seven alarms, with the first going off at 4am. Trying to apply mascara when there's sleep gunk in the way is difficult. But it's obviously one of those skills which separates women from the girls. Or something like that!

At 6am, we discovered the overwhelming character trait of our fearless leader, Stephane: unwavering energy and optimism. As our collective heads lolled in broken snoozes, Stephane was shouting, microphone in hand, about how much fun we were going to have over the weekend. The first pit stop presented me the opportunity to tick something off my Canadian bucket list: to have a Tim Horton's. Tim Horton's for those of you not in the Canadian know, is a coffee chain here which is basically worshipped by Canadians. Fortunately for me, the non-drinker of coffee unless it contains copious amounts of vanilla, Tim Horton's does do vanilla lattes.

Sitting next to Mark for nearly ten hours on bus was his lucky day for learning about all things British and the line of succession to the throne - it's slightly worrying just how much I know about the British monarchy. As a Seventh Day Adventist, Mark allowed my inner theologian out for some theological fun and I couldn't have asked for a better bus buddy for such a long trip. Those Americans, they're alright y'know!

Lame men walk.

Another break from the road took place in Ste-Anne, just a short while from Quebec City. It's one of those towns which is almost like a knock-off Las Vegas, such as Branson in Missouri. There's a Jewish centre which looks like a gambling hall right next to door to a vivid-white, gaudy monstrosity that is a Roman Catholic basilica. Bless those Catholics, but they do have some of the most tastelessly designed churches...The basilica of St Anne is world-famous because of a statue of its namesake which is said to cry tears of blood, occasionally. Thousands of pilgrims flock to her stone likeness each year to ask her to pray for them and their healing, and inside the church are two wall brackets bearing dozens of crutches, walking sticks and splints, and even an oxygen mask, all left there by healed believers. Whilst there is stunning stained glass inside, the church does have a touristic mark on it, one which sits quite uncomfortably with me. But I'm not a Catholic; some things of their way of worship and saints and churches I will just never understand! But then again, I'm supposedly a member of the Church of England, and we get up to the craziest "Christian" crap!

Fall is here!

The best thing about heading so far North was heading straight into fall. And boy are the colours of fall stunningly gorgeous! The rows and rows of endless trees are a mixture of deep green, shining orange and gleaming red - utterly, utterly gorgeous! To reach Tadoussac, we have to catch a five-minute ferry ride across or a one-hour detour if they're on strike. (Striking, obviously a French thing!) The air was seriously fresh and the lake which just continues to the ocean was a far cry from the Ladygrove Lakes of my housing estate in Oxfordshire where your eyes are drawn to the discarded Tesco shopping trolleys as opposed to the organic beauty of nature. Tadoussac 1, Didcot 0.

Tadoussac itself is somewhere I could never live. It's small-town, middle of nowhere, everyone knows your business claustrophobia-style and where Stephane genuinely had to warn us girls against the leery lecherous seamen who wanted to take us out for one-on-one midnight boat rides. But that's the charm of the small town! Plus, I know I am looking for my future husband,but toothless, Quebecois fishermen aren't really my type! Having said that, the most danger Tadoussac presented me wasn't those seamen, but this one European girl from out group who seemed to take an instant dislike to me and who grudgingly agreed to be in a dorm with me - how I didn't get murdered in my sleep, I shall never know! Although she wasn't the only member of the group who was a bit, um, interesting. There was a French girl who had this unnerving facial expression that was a smirk, coupled with piercing eyes that looked you up and down and then sharply through you. And then there was a trio of Belgian girls who were just obnoxious. And an Aussie who was a bit standoffish. Then again, I probably bored them or inadvertently offended them!

Meriem and me on a hike in Tadoussac.

As for the wonderful people I became friends with: Meriem, Sara, Roxane, Tonje, Kat, Nicola, Claire, Geog, Lihan, Hanna, the other Brits - they were great!

Less great? Tadoussac hostel. Cold, with the most unstable bunk beds ever designed, I pulled my mattress from the top bunk and put it to the floor, having to shove a good third of it underneath another bunk so as not to provoke murderous European even more. I'm 5ft8. I need all three thirds of a single mattress! That night I took the Pain Train to Arthritic Agony! Fortunately, courtesy of Stephane, we had earlier toasted the trip with a shot of Caribou (a red wine/whiskey combo) and that was a sleep-inducer of the best, most throat-burning kind.

Saturday morning was D-Day. The day for which the trip was conceived and for which we poor international exchange students had forked out quite a few of those Canadian dollars for. In order to be somehow protected from Atlantic Ocean, we were kitted out in the most full on waterproof phenomenon of plastic trousers and a luminous over-sized orange montrosity of a coat which made me look like an Oompa Loompa having an anaphalactic shock! Bet those toothless Tadoussac seamen would've been gagging for me right at that moment!

We nearly drowned on the promenade leading to the "boats" as they were floating, so when there was an odd number of people on each section, the next section would start to sink! The "boats" were more like slightly solid rubber dingies. My legs were equally as rubbery but totally un-solid!

But I have never done anything so fun!

Casusal Atlantic boat ride.

The boat ride was great! Freezing cold air, ocean water splashing over us, waves so violent we were thrown from out seats and you had to play the game of grab-the-nearest-Norweigan's-thigh to stop yourself from being thrown overboard. (Great game, can be played with any European.) The Captain took us fast and furious and it was exhilarating and felt like flying. I genuinely would have loved for that run into the ocean wind and waves to have lasted forever.

When we came to halt, in the middle of the sea, we were the first boat there and the silence and vastness of the scene around us was awe-inspiring. The Captain told us to look out for bursts of spray as that would be the whales. Unfortunately for Nicola and another girl, the constant rocking of the boat by the waves sent them to Chundertown and a rather unfortunate shade of green...

But then we saw the burst of spray, several feet high, on the horizon! We raced over there, ignoring the safety regulations of staying seated at all times, desperate to see a whale. And we did! Yes it was brief each time, a glimpse of massive body and distinctive fin - but we saw them! We went whale watching and we watched some whales! Mission accomplished, money well spent.

Post-whale watching and looking pale!

After a good couple of hours on the water, when Nicola had thoroughly expelled her morning toast, we were whizzed around some more and taken to a gorgeous waterfall, the romance of which, the Captian destroyed by saying it was 'caribou piss'. Charming man. I wish I could have stayed on that water all day, even if I was starting to lose all feeling of my ear tips and toes. It was amazing!

Back on relatively dry and stable land, and once Nicola had recovered, it was soon farewell to Tadoussac and its eligible bachelors and back South-ish to Quebec City.

The approach to Quebec City was miserable, dark skies and gloomy. On first site of the city, it looked to me like a knock-off Paris. The high-rise buildings were devoid of architectural presence; it was just grey grey grey. To put it bluntly, if you go to Quebec City, only go to the preserved Old Quebec - the rest, it would appear, is a bit shite...



What's 'grrrr' in quebecois?

But Old Quebec - what a stunner! Every other street is like being in old London Town or somewhere like Lincoln or York, and the rest of the streets are straight out of idyllic Paris. It's bona fide Europe, especially as there aren't really any Canadian flags to be seen. Those Quebecois seem intent on separation and the prevelance of the Quebec flag everywhere was testament to that. Separate and be screwed, Quebec. The same goes for you, Scotland! Dinner in the fasionable district with the crew, late-night walk back in the rain with Meriem (who I adore so much) and a Sunday in the sunshine exploring the Old Quebec. The highlight was just being with my new friends, taking photos and messing about near the Quebec Parliament. One of those only-on-a-year-abroad moments that I shall cherish. Quebec City's tourist attraction may have won me over, but the rest of the city - well, I wouldn't go there!

Our final meeting as an excusion crew was to an all-you-can-eat buffet where Kat literally stunned with her stomach capacity! But time with friends is all you can ask for.

***

It's taken me all week to write this blog, and when I started it on Monday morning, I was feeling all self-conscious that I hadn't made any friends. It's not Thursday evening. And I can look back on the weekend now and see it for all the good and fun and laughter that was there. Heck, even the quasi-murderer can be turned into banter!

Happy. Happy happy happy.

Friends.

The One Where I Experience Winter - And It's SO Cold

Lots of little things seem to happen each day; each individual thing is undeserving of a blog post dedicated to it, so before I get to the story behind today's title, here's a little run-down of the past few days!

Nice things about my week:

• Sneezing on my walk to church and a man shouting 'bless you!' out of a white van.
• Church.
• Lunch with Julia and Abigail, that was actually the breakfast menu of Father and Son's, where everything came with fries. Oh North America!
• Hanging with Julia! (Told you I'd write about you!)
• A relaxed study group and drink with Samantha and Lydia.
• Church on Campus.
• Having Kelsey as a friend in Intro to Ab Soc.
• Completing my first bit of hand in work for Canada.
• The glorious sunshine and a temperature not too cool and not too hot. A Brit blogging about weather; unusual...
• Mac's getting butter tarts back in stock. (Oh Krista, why why why did you introduce me to these delectable treats?)
• The Anglican church opposite my house plays 'Guide Me O Thou Great Redeemer' on its bells on Sunday mornings and Thursday evenings.
• A really nice cashier in the bookstore who loved my accent.
• Moving Jewish Lit. to the Study Lounge.
• Blog compliments from Caitlin Moran. Yes, the actual, amazing Caitlin Moran. And also from Kelsey and Julia - shout out guys, I know you're reading! Google stats tell me so!

Less nice things about my week:

• Religion and Multiculturalism in Canada. I don't care about the ethnic demographics of Edmonton! Woop-de-doo that Sikhs live near airports.
• Not being able to find any books in the library, nor a help desk. Consequently, I don't know how to use the library. Exeter includes this in its induction days, would be great if Ottawa could too!
• The realisation of just how much work I have to do this semester...

1. Multiple, lengthy readings each week for each of my five classes.
2. Two learning log pieces for Exeter.
3. Two paper proposals.
4. One research prospectus.
5. One presentation
6. Five papers.
7. Three tests.
8. Four exams.
9. Three midterms.
10. One analytic assignment.
11. Two book reviews.

That's a lot! I mean, seriously, that's a lot. Furthermore, they ask for 'X number of pages' and I'm sat there thinking, 'it would be much more useful if you specified words.' Moreover, the whole pages concept basically makes limits on content a fluid concept and encourages laziness in writing. Writing to word limits is a skill, Canada!

Thus far, I've done my paper proposal for Women in North American Christianity. I'm looking at Kateri Tekakwitha, who's name I've written so many times now, my phone is predicting it! Hoping prof likes it! I need to be careful I don't go too heavy on what I deem Catholic propaganda and try not to put my own projections onto what I think First Nations should be thinking and feeling. Hannah, stop being so colonial!

But Hannah, you said you've experienced winter, tell me more!

Wednesday evening, it was my utter joy and privellage to go Chez Kreuzer and sleepover with Joanna and her most adorable dog, Keesha. Now, I'm not a huge fan of dogs, bar Jumble Lawfull; but Keesha Kreuzer is by far and away my favourite dog in the whole, entire world. She's so placid and soft and cuddly and she spent the night turning between me and Joanna for cuddles - and it was gorgeous! Oh, I love her!

Today, Joanna and her mom took me winter shopping, after having supplied me with scarf, gloves, slippers and blankets (thank you thank you thank you!) I got to experience the overwhelming sensation that is Walmart again and I just don't think I will ever feel comfortable in that kind of store. Plus, there's a kind of Asda feel about the place which is unnerving... But the total success was the purchase of one winter coat and one rubber ducky! I'm probably more excited about the latter, but the former will hopefully save my finger and toes from a frostbitten death. The coat is unlike anything I've ever had before, in that it's super warm and I kind of, emphasis on kind of, want it to get cold enough so I can wear it. Kind of.



As the three of us went off in search of winter boots (to no avail) we went into a store which had a winter simulator, where you can stand in this freezer contraption and test the clothes in the store against the Canadian winter. Grabbing the nearest Bianca Jackson-style puffa jacket, I tried out -20 and it is so cold! I got brain freeze just after a couple of seconds. Brave, hardy Joanna tried out -30 - but not for long! It was so so cold! So cold! So so so so so so cold!

Anyway, I have a coat. But more crucially, and joyously, I have such great friends in Joanna and her family. I feel so unbelievably blessed by their generosity. And, d'you know what? I'm happy.

Yep, I'm happy.

The One Where I Go Back In Time...Ish...

I remember being in Year 11, and going to the Sixth Form subject fair at my school. Walking into the Frideswide's Gym, I made a beeline for the Modern Languages stall, skirting to the left of the table to talk to Mr Harvey about French A Level. The course, Mr Harvey assured me, would take me to a level of being bilingual. It later transpired that this was a lie. By the end of Year 13, as I picked up my B grade in French, I could only barely scrape together the mildly racist phrases peddled out in my oral on why ghettoisation should be encouraged.



Bilingualism makes you a god in Ottawa. Especially at UOttawa, the oldest bilingual university in Canada. At the welcome lunch for exchange arts students on Wednesday, jealousy and awe consumed me as the staff and all non-British students flipped seamlessly between mother tongue and English. The only time I can switch so easily between languages is if I need to say 'kinky slug' in Spanish. (Barbosa morbosa, if you're wondering.) At the lunch, I met Yvet and Lisanne, who are both Dutch; Lydia who is Chinese and Mark who is American. All of them, bar the latter, are masters of two or more languages. Meanwhile, I have only a basic grasp of this language called English and a predelection for using the Oxford comma.

Melancholy over my mono-lingualism over!

Today I went back in time. Ish. Y'know, to one of those olde village set up things. I went to one in British Columbia a couple of years ago, and today's really wasn't as good!



Upper Canada Village is a heritage park in Ontario and is 19th Century Canadian life living and breathing in this 21st Century. All the houses and commodities you'd expect are there: bakery, mill, shoe maker, flour mill, school house, dress maker, farms complete with sheep and pigs and cows etc. The theologian and Anglican within me had a moment of pure delight at seeing a Church of England church in this village! Furthermore, there was no red, white and maple leaf Canadian flag at this point, so there was a chorus of 'God Save the Queen' to the backdrop of many Union Flags. You can take the girl out of Britian, but we were an empire once and don't you forget it!

Lydia and I took afternoon tea; good old English cream tea. Several problems:

1) Cheese?

2) Whipped cream, not clotted cream.

3) Current jam, super sour.

4) I don't enjoy tea at the best of times, so I certainly wasn't going to inflict the dishwater than North Americans pass off as tea on my tastebuds, so I went for ice tea.

5) It's just not cream tea if it's not in England. Period.

Now I have a confession to make: I would love to travel back in time! For one, I'd get to wear period costume like corsets - and I wore a corset in Les Mis, and it made my boobs look like they'd been pumped with silicone implants! I'd also get to participate in old-fashioned, romantic courting, and work as a kindly school teacher with chalk and blackboards, in cute one-roomed wooden school houses. So there was a temptation in Upper Canada Village to stay and sneak into costume! Alas, I'm back here in Sandy Hill in 2012 with boobs that are just beginning to show signs of becoming aquainted with gravity.

Today has also made me think about this living abroad lark and the ex-pat life; could I ever do a perminent move away from Blighty?

The problem is, my likes and dislikes form a mass of contradictions.

I like space, but I don't like isolation.

I like an unspoiled view, but I also like buildings.

I like the outdoor attitude of Canada, but I like the home-centric attitude of the UK.

I like Shaniah Twain, but I don't like Justin Bieber.

I'll come back to this question at the end of the year abroad!

The One With Homesickness

The temptation has been to completely refrain from admitting to homesickness on this blog; but then, if I only ever blog about the good times and ignore the more difficult one, that turns this blog into a total facade, and that would be an insult to all those praying for me. Moreover, to ignore the hard times would be to do a grave disservice to me on this year abroad quest for courage. Therefore...

Hi, I'm Hannah, and this week I've felt homesick.

To be fair, I've only felt it twice: once, when Matthew Cuthbert died and Marilla goes and hugs Anne and tell her how much she loves her. The second time was Friday, on a cold, rainy day, when I burst into tears in the middle of an aisle in LobLaws, the Canadian Tesco. I could have (probably) refrained from weeping by the detergent, but being unable to find toilet rolls, tipped me over the edge. I just about pulled it together in time to hold back from a full-on scream upon discovering LobLaws doesn't sell butter tarts (WHY WHY WHY?!)

After two weeks, I think I am allowed to feel a little bit homesick. And in all honesty, it's not that I miss home, it's that I miss hugs. I'm very tactile. (I'm also fat, which means you can cuddle me and it's super comfortable.) And my friends are very tactile and my mum is the world's best hugger. I think I'm just craving the intimacy of close friends and family when leaning on people spontaneously and just random (but not inappropriate) squeezes are just the norm. To be frank: somebody (who's not creepy or prone to BO) hug me!

Personally, I think there's something wrong with people who don't feel homesick, or who are able to completely detach themselves from their upbrining (if their upbringing hasn't been traumatic, of course). Mind you, I don't understand parent-child relationships where there is an absense of intimacy and hugging. You'd never guess I was an only child from a single-parent family, would you?

I don't feel homesick per se; and I'm not experiencing overwhelming culture shock to the extent of phantom aches and pains; I just need a hug.

And I need that hug to be from my mum!

The One On Jewish Canadian Writers

And now it's time for my final class review of the Fall: Jewish Canadian Writers. So this class kind of appeared out of nowhere. Basically, I figured I couldn't really get away with the first year course The Making of Canada and fancied the look of a couple of English modules. There was no space on my first choice, which meant I'm not one of 19 special people taking Jewish Canadian Writers. And one of 19 lucky lucky people who gets a three hour class on a Wednesday evening from 5.30-8.30 in a classroom with the most uncomfortable chairs ever!

Reaction to this class from my British friends has been mainly,

'Are there any Jewish Canadian writers in Canada?'

Yes. A lot. It's an enormous part of Canadian culture and literature, particularly on the East Coast and the Montreal-Ottawa belt. For an extensive list of Jewish Canadian writers, click here to open the most important website ever (after this blog)!

It's probably my most challenging class in terms of content and what is expected of me. (Multiculturalism is my most challenging in terms of enjoyment). The texts, poems and novels I have to read require a lot of background research on Jewish theology and culture; furthermore, there is, inevitably, a prevelant Holocaust strand in pretty much all of the texts.

But, I think it will also be a hugely rewarding class. The prof is one of the highest regarded in the university and is a celebrated author and esteemed academic - what more could you want in an educator? He's one of the people whose student I feel privellaged to be, much like with Tim Gorringe at Exeter. I was in a tutorial with him today; he's funny and wise and helpful and really wants to push his students which is something I completely thrive on. I even had to out myself as an English theology student, and he was really receptive to it, encouraging me to bring in my theology to my work and the seminar presenation the tutorial was about.

Although it's probably the hardest course, it is one of the ones I enjoy the most because of the small class size; the fact there's only one obnoxious girl in it; and because Lydia is in the same class and I've made a new friend in it too, called Samantha! Look, I've made friend! Three hours on a wednesday evening is intense though, especially as my day begins at 8.30am with a class - definitely a full on day!



So right now, I'm working on a presenation with Samantha and Lydia on A M Klein's 'The Second Scroll' which is a book I'd wholly reccomend you read, and I'm quite excited to look at it from a theology perspective; especially as I wrote an essay on the Holocaust in Esther's module in first year. Jewish Canadian Writers; not a class I'd normally pick, but one I reckon I shall look back on and be so enriched by it that I could never imagine not having taken it!

The One With Finalised Module Choices

I promise promise promise that this is my absolute final class selection!

Fall:

Introduction to Aboriginal Societies and Cultures.

Religion and Culture in Canada.

Religion and Multiculturalism in Canada.

Women in North American Christianity.

Jewish Canadian Writers.

Winter:

A History of Religion in Canada.

Leonard Cohen.

Creative Writing.

History of the Jews in Canada.

The Bible and Film.

No more time shall be spent in Simard 128 with their ridiculous ticketing system and unfriendly staff!



The One With With Women, Christianity And North America

Or as the class is actually called, Women in North American Christianity.

There are three reasons why I chose this course:

1) I like Christianity.

2) I'm in North America.

3) I spend most of my theological energy talking about women in Christianity, also known as, God calls women to be priests shut up you misogynisitc, ignorant fools. (In a loving Christian way...)

WINAC as I shall refer to it henceforth, is the other half of my Emma Anderson-day and is the better half. There's no annoying first year in this class plus I prefer the subject matter. It does what it says on the tin really; it's about women in North American Christianity and I think the course looks fascinating. It will look at women from Canada's "birth" all the way through to the present day! I'm probably most looking forward to studying Kateri Tekakwitha who will be venerated in October. She was an Algonquin-Mohawk Catholic. A fervent practiser of mortification of the flesh, she died tragically young, aged just 24.

In today's class, we looked quite closely at women and self mortification in Christianity. It's the kind of thing that sent the Womens' Studies majors into a frenzy about how dreadful it is, but from a theological perspective, it's really rather intriguing. Now, I'm in now way glorifying self-harm or promoting physical suffering by way of becoming closer to the suffering Christ (he took the pain, so you don't have to), but from a colonial perspective if we're being specific to Canada, and from a general Christian perspective; if you're being persecuted, mortification of the flesh takes the control of inflicting pain away from the persecutor and restores the power to the persecuted.

Personally, I'd never go for the hair shirt or self-flaggelation or forced-TOWIE watching; to me, it kind of undermines God the healer. I feel like these past two posts haven't actually been that informative about my classes, for which I profusely apologise!

The One On Religion And Culture In Canada

Sounds really similar to another of my courses, but is in fact really different; mainly because I like the prof for this one! Her name is Emma Anderson and she's on the wall of fame in the Arts building - I don't know why - but it makes her pretty special for sure! I feel a bit like her stalker in that I'm in two of her classes this semester, which both take place on the same days. So for Tuesdays and Fridays, I name them Emma Anderson-days. I am not a creepy student, I am not a creepy student...

Anyway, Religion and Culture in Canada. It's about religion. And culture. In Canada. (I seem obsessed with that country recently). I mean, the problem with the course being about religion and not Christianity, is that, to put it bluntly, I don't really care. Of course I do for the sake of community and respect; however, as an academic interest, I'm really not that fussed about Hinduism or Paganism etc. Furthermore, because Canadian students are seemingly indecisive and flit about classes in the first couple of weeks, there's a lot of housekeeping at the beginning of each lecture which slows the whole pace down.

So the course is basically a crash course in the religious groups of Canada and where and how they fit in, beginning with the primordial Aboriginal spiritualities all the way through to the contemporary "New Atheism." It'll be interesting to see just how much (or if it even does) overlap with the Multiculturalism course. Yeah...I don't really know what to say about this course yet!

ACTUALLY, I do! I'm thinking of doing my book report and research project looking at Christian-Aboriginal relations in the Colonial period. Or maybe the contemporary period. Ideally, I'd like to focus on Protestant-Aboriginal relations, but the prof's area of published expertise is in Catholic-Aboriginal relations, so we shall see!

It's nice to know I have been paying attention! Seriously though, the lectures are all either 1.5 hours long or 3 hours with with no breaks and it is torture! Think two hours of Introducing Paul but one millions times worse. (I hated that module, absolutely hated it!) Although this might be the course which deals with the Shakers, so I might explore that and leave Christian-Aboriginal relations for the next course...(Coming soon!)

The One With An Introduction To Aboriginal Societies And Cultures

One of my non-Religious Studies classes now: Introduction to Aboriginal Societies and Cultures.

I've had an interest in Native American/First Nations since as long as I can remember. The first time I remember discovering about this group of fascinating people was in my grandpa's bedroom, looking at the cross stitch sampler my mum had made him, with them both explaining to me the meanings behind each picture. One of the pictures was a teepee. The reason for its place on a sampler of my grandpa's life was because his father (my great-grandfather) moved to Canada as a missionary to a First Nations tribe and then his job took him to North Dakota in the USA where my great-grandmother was a nurse to a Sioux-Indian tribe and where my Grandpa was born on an Amerindian reserve.

This family history is exciting. And also very British that I have a colonialiser for a relative...I'm never ever revealing this in class; especially as my prof is an Amerindian himself and has endured much persecution. Boy do humans suck sometimes.

Core reading material.

Basically, I've always been intrigued by Amerindians and this was ignited further after my holiday to Calgary a couple of years ago, where I went to Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump and got to experience a simulation of being under the stars in a teepee - I love stars! And I love that idea of really connecting with nature. So I really jumped at the chance to sneak in a Native Studies module into my year abroad class schedule!

It's a really interesting class, however, the prof is nearly impossible to hear as he has such a deep voice and no real projection; plus the tone is really soothing so I do need a caffeine injection before and after! He's got a great, dry sense of humour though, so his classes are never dull. And today he brought in some sweet grass, set light to it, then passed it round the class for us to smell! He is what Tim Gorringe would be like sans Exeter's health and safety rules! And, y'know, I've lived in halls so I, y'know, know some of those smells...yeah...Life's not dull inside the campus classrooms in Sandy Hill!

I have to say, Ottawa is pretty old school in its use of chalk and blackboards - seriously! Although I do feel at times like I've stepped into the classroom scenes of The History Boys when the chalk comes out!

Back to Intro to Ab Soc and Cul - from a theological perspective, there is a lot to be gained when looking at the Christian doctrine of creation from the circular thinking of the Amerindians where there is a reverence towards Mother Earth. What both traditions share is this idea of stewardship and that human existence is the result of some other "will" - ie either God or the universe. It's certainly uncomfortable at times to examine the history and beliefs of these Aboriginal societies from a theological perspective and it almost feels like any attempt to establish links between the two ways of thinking is another hammer of desecration to the Amerindians.

At what point do we say conversion is wrong? From a Christian theological perspective, can we ever say that it is wrong? Is the inate sense of stewardship exemplified by the Amerindians an indicator of a divine communication Christians call Yahweh? I'm just throwing out these rhetorical questions; I don't know the answers, that's for sure! I'm experiencing some kind of inner theological turmoil whereby the Great Commission fights Love Thy Neighbour.

We've been split into one of the eight clans of the prof's tribe, the Wendat or Huron, and I'm part of the Turtle Clan. The Turtle is said to have carried the world on a her back, an idea which resonated with me. (Does that sound arrogant?) It just reminded me of the woman at Soul Survivor this year who said I had broad shoulders and that God had designed me to carry and support and comfort others. I just heard the broad shoulders comment...So now I'm a turtle. Could be worse, I could be a loon! Other clans are bear, fox, hawk, wolf, beaver and another I can't remember!

I think this class is one of the most interesting, but probably ones of the most challenging from both a personal and theological perspective. How does the descendent of a coloniser who is convicted of the Great Commission react in the face of a culture enduring probably an extended fight against legislateed genocide against them?

The One About Religion And Multiculturalism...

Or why Religious Studies as an academic area is totally stupid.

My blogging aim for this week is to provide you with a run-down of all my classes here at the wonderful University of Ottawa. However, as I will be only in the second/third class for them, you're going to have to bear in mind that I am liable to change my opinion of them at will because I will mature and because I am fickle.



The first class I'm going to introduce you to is Religion and Multiculturalism in Canada. I'll be honest, I chose it mainly from Krista saying how big multiculturalism is here in Maple Leaf Land, but I do find it to be quite dry thus far. Perhaps the main thing I've discovered so far from this course is that Religious Studies really is a whole different kettle of fish to Theology - and I flipping well know which I prefer!

We were discussing in class today about what we define as our culture. The more obnoxious in the class forewent describing themselves as Canadian for some precocious, wishy-washy answer about diversity of heritage. Vom. I outed myself as a Brit; I said I preferred to be idenetified as English (which will of course change if Andy Murray wins the US Open this evening!)

However, as the discussion went on, we moved to talking about how culture is often seen as being synonymous with religion. We discussed about France where what is a perceived attack on culture is actually on religious practice. The prof brought up several example of non-religions, ie atheism, cults, spirituality etc and asked whether religion and spirituality and superstition were one and the same. I put my hand up to say that identifying a person's culture as religious may not be how that person would choose to identify themselves.

Fascinating compulsory read for the class.

I gave myself as an example. I am a Christian. To the world, my church-going, bread-breaking and Bible-reading is identified as being religious. However, I would define myself not as religious but as someone with a living faith, a relationship. The prof meanwhile basically called me out as some follower of superstition and weak spirituality and basically completely didn't grasp the crux of point at all. And this is why I think that Religious Studies is a totally banal field. What really struck me out the RS majors in my class was their complete lack of empathy and how they completely detach themselves from the lived experiences of the religions they're studying. At Exeter, whether you are Christian, atheist, agnostic, every theology student has an inante ability to to look at the who behind the what. This is what, I think, sets theology a part as an academic discipline, and is where RS simply cannot compete. RS is a clinical discipline which seemingly manages to study people without understanding the very essence of what makes a human a human.

If I had been in a theology class this morning, giving the earlier example, my point would have been totally understood. In the hands of a theology student, they would take from my example that I'm referring to a practical application of the doctrine of the Trinity - the mutual indwelling at the heart of Christianity which transcends Christianity as a dictionary defined religion. But in a class of Religious Studies students, they just think I'm some goofy foreigner.

Perhaps I'm taking what happened in class today too much to heart? However, I cannot help but feel that theology is a much richer discipline that creates much better employees if nothing else. These RS students I'm stuck with for the next year hold steadfast to their views but without the empathy that renders them arrogant as opposed to having integrity.

A girl called Christina came up to me after class to say she totally got what I meant - and I'm so thrilled her postgrad plans are to do theology!

One thing is for sure, theology is by far and away superior to Religious Studies!

The One Where I Sing Land Of The Silver Birch

Thursday brought my favourite pseudo-Canadian, Krista, into town and she invited me to her cottage for Friday-Saturday and it was amazing! I've spent many a moment sat in the Penny C corridor hearing Krista's stories of the lake she lives on and oh my days, it's beautiful! Lac Bernard is about an hour away from Ottawa in Quebec, in an anglophone bit! Apart from introducing to a traditional Quebec vennison pie and sugary tarts, corn on the cob covered in salt (delicious but seriously unhealthy) and Canadian cider, Krista took me out on the lake!

 

Krista is a true water baby; I am not. I can't swim after a traumatic incident aged five where my cousin, Phoebe or Antichrist, attempted to drown me in our grandparents' swimming pool, and ever since then I've just been able to find better things to do than get in deep water, just in case my psychopathic cousin should appear and try to finish what she started. However, armed with a life jacket, the sturdiest pedal boat known to man and the sea legs of Krista, we set off across the lake. I cannot tell you just how envious I am of Krista getting to live here! It's stunningly beautiful! We pedalled past beaver damns (I looked but couldn't find any. Devestated!) As we turned a corner, the sun was searing the clouds and I couldn't catch my breath I was so taken aback by the beauty.



Lac Bernard is enormous. I'm discovering that everything is bigger in Canada and its bodies of water are no exception! The Ladygrove Lakes complete with the discarded Tesco trolleys just cannot compete with Krista's lake. I had that great song Land of the Silver Birch in my head and felt like a true Canadian! Later, we went with Krista's parents around the lake on their speedboat and got up close to some loons (which are these black and white birds about twice the size of a duck.)

After dinner, as the tail end of Hurricane Issac battered the lake, we curled up on the sofa to watch the 1985 Anne of Green Gables film which brought back so many memories of being 8 or 9 and reading all the Anne of Green Gables books - which will definitely be brought out over Christmas and re-read. Sorry Harry Potter, you've been relegated for not being Canadian enough!

Wakefield, Quebec.

On Saturday, we went in town which was like stepping into a scene from The Waltons or Little House on the Prairie with its white washed wood structures and vintage General Store signs. I also bought my first earrings and my first dream catcher whose beauty is now being overshadowed by being hastily bluetacked on my light switch!

The rain was torrential; so heavy that it was hard to see and I slipped on a walkway, smacking my head hard on the conrete in the process. Headache to the max! Today has been total agony - I have a splitting headache, a lump on my head, a really stiff neck which I can't move fully, a practically purple bum and I'm seriously winded! And I'm not currently in possesion of a health insurance card so good job I'm not injured enough to need treatment!

 

Saying goodbye to my favourite pseudo-Canadian meant that today was the day for spending time with my favourite Canadians at the church I'm going to here! Joanna and Julia are the most wonderful friends and God has been blessing me so much more than I deserve with those two! Plus I got to have a hug from Hazel which definitely settled the slight pang of not having had a hug all week. I'm quite tactile and get all angsty when people don't hug me. I think that also makes me quite needy!

I LOVE IT HERE!

The One With Culture Shock

My attitude to culture shock is quite blase. I remember sitting in Tom and Gemma's sitting room for the St Len's pre-departure meeting and thinking that I wouldn't really get culture shock like the guys going to Europe. Whilst that is true to a large extent, there have been several different things which I'm labelling culture shock!

Crossing the road is a crime. Seriously. It's a stupid crime! Okay, jaywalking is the crime but what's so wrong about crossing the road when a a car isn't coming? Man, my Exeter escapades around roundabouts would not go down well here! Mind you, they don't even have roundabouts...

Canadians genuinely do say 'eh' and it's so cute and also pretty hilarious that they actually endorse such an endearing stereotype.

Classes are crazy. Mental contact hours and just a slightly weird set up. I walked into my first ever foreign lecture to be greeted with total silence and some unspoken rule that you must leave a chair between you and each person. Being a lawbreaker, apparently, I ignored this rule, plomped myself down next to an unsuspecting Candian "frosher" (yeah, don't ask, to be frosh doesn't even make sense whereas fresher does) and introduced myself. Her name's Kelsey and she's adorable and probably thinks I'm crazy.

The chairs are attached to the desks and it's the most irritating thing ever! The chairs are like the ones in the Exeter Alumni Auditorium but less comfy and really really squeaky and the only way I was able to stay near to the desk in one of my classes was by hooking my feet over the step infront for three hours. I cannot be dealing with these contraptions!

If a label says one price, it is actually higher price. Whereas the rest of the world has adopted an policy of honesty when it comes to shopping, Canada has not. No, in Canada, they dupe you by telling you a product is one price, then you turn up to the till and it's a completely different price because they add the tax afterwards. Such activity may be why Canada isn't a super power, just sayin'!



University is called school and I cannot bring myself to co-operate with this terminology. I've adopted classes over lectures and profs over lecturers but I left school in 2010 and that's final!

Fire engines are the noisest things ever over here and the noise of the horn sounds like a tuneful fart.

There is a propensity for double denim over here; the same goes for short shorts and clunky sandals. I heard it said that Canada is still stuck in the 1990s and whilst this isn't overwhelmingly true, there are elements of veracity to this statement!

Ottawa is bilingual with a bias towards being francophone. As a Brit, I refuse to countenance this. I need to work on this...

University here is a bit like school (which might stop if they ceased referring to higher education as school). In all of my lectures, the profs have spent a good half an hour telling people to come to class and have even included marks for participation to ensure attendance. This is totally different from the UK where there's a certain sense of it's your fault if you bite your nose off to spite for face. I guess part of this though stems from North American profs coming from a teaching emphasis as opposed to a research emphasis like is certainly the case in Exeter. I have a favourite prof already, by name of Emma Anderson and I am taking three of her classes this year (unintentionally, but we're obviously kindred spirits that we share academic interests!) and she's going to think I'm some kind of weird, forgeign stalker. This is not good.

There are live, wriggling lobsters for sale in the grocery store. No word of a lie! In Tesco, you're lucky if you find an alive shop assistant, in Canada there are lobsters in a tank for sale. Live lobsters! How do you even get a live lobster home? I might buy one and keep it as a pet...

Canadians are friendly and by that I mean they're not afraid to just talk to strangers and ask how they're doing. Although, there are exceptions. And they're often French.

Canadians go to classes they don't have to go to - it's called auditing and it's where students with too much time on their hands/brains bigger than Manitoba go to classes where they get no credit, just to explore an interest. For example, I met someone by the name of either Jonah or Noah in Jewish Lit class who's majoring in music, minoring in pre-med and just has an interest in Jewish Canadian writers. Crazy. I mean, great for the currency of knowledge, but still, those quirky Canadians!

I love it here!

The One With Beaver Tails

(Let's have a mutual agreement to not mention just how behind I am on blogging about this past week, okay?!)

Monday took me on another excursion into town, but really by accident. The Canadian Tesco is called, well, actually I don't know what it's called. All these Canadians keep telling me to go to Blah Blah's and they have no idea just how what they're saying gets translated into my English accent. Blah Blah's is further away than I thought, but still not miles, so I kind of did a round trip from my house to town (buying first frivolous purchase of a moose Christmas tree decoration) to campus. Once on campus, I met up with Lydia, Gabby and Jon or as we shall henceforth be known, the Exeter Posse. That name may not catch on...

Monday was the first official meeting of the Exeter Posse. The others aren't too keen on the name, but I'm determined to make it stick. Never have I been so comforted by the British accent as I have when meeting up with Jon, Lydia and Gabby. We immediately got an opportunity to celebrate our British culture when it came to queueing for tickets for the International Office bus tour. Fear not, Britain, we're still the only nation who knows how to do it!

Despite being told that Ottawa was cold, the week has been anything but - on Monday, it was so hot and humid and I was sticky with sweat which was absolutely vile! The heat situ wasn't helped by being on the bottom of the bus, although the Exeter Posse made like hard year 11s and bagged the back seat!

A Brit lives here.

A bus tour was never going to really measure up to the boat tour from Saturday, but Ottawa is so pretty in general, that a couple of grey roads (over the border in Quebec) didn't spoil it at all. All I can say is, after passing the British Ambassador's house, I know what I want to do for my future career! It is gorgeous and something straight out of a fairy tale and right on the river and so so gorgeous and I think I am actually in love with a house! We also saw the Prime Minister's house and he gets a way better deal than David Cameron in dingy Downing Street, that's for sure! One of the things I really like about Ottawa (and which Tim Gorringe would absolutely love too) is that it will never become a concrete jungle like Toronto or New York City. There is a rule that no building can be taller than the flag pole on Parliament. Whether this law is out of concern for preserving the beauty of the city or some kind of subliminal 1984-esque gesture, I don't know, but it means that the landscape of Ottawa is totally unspoiled. Which, if you think about it, there really is no need for any grossly tall building in Canada - there is so much space! If you need more, you can go out, not up!

That evening, Gabby, Lydia and I went out to dinner. After much indecision, we settled for Barack Obama's favourite Canadian bakery - I understand from Twitter that this is of complete uninterest to Canadians who don't care about the USA! To be honest, we none of us actually wanted dinner proper, we just wanted to try a Canadian delicacy: beaver tails!

Yummy scrummy in my (expanding) tummy.

When I first heard about beaver tails and that they were edible, I put it down to that Canadian quirkiness; you know, the quirkiness that makes people choose to live with mooses in a wood cabin 20ft under snow. Turns out, a beaver tail is not a literal beaver tail (as that would be too gross even for a quirky Canadian) and are in fact Heaven on Earth.

Beaver tails are a calorific delight, just looking at one makes you put on 10ibs I'm sure. But I don't think I have ever tasted anything so completely wonderful! It's a pastry in the shape of a beaver tail, absolutely coated in sugard and then served with your choice of topping. The three of us went for chocolate and banana and none of us could speak as we were so consumed with ecstacy at this cuisine. Thank you very much to the British taxpayers who contribute to my student loan which I am using on beaver tails. Although I do fear I shall end the year with hips as wide as Canada itself and with less of a blood sugar count and more of us blood beaver tail count!



We then, with some difficulty owing to the sudden weight gain, dragged ourselves up to Parliament Hill where we watched a show of the history of Canada projected onto the Parliament building with lights. I have never ever seen something so clever! Whoever created the show is an utter genius! One of the major things I discovered from the show was that Canada isn't really embarrassed by its history. Whereas Britian completely overlooked its Empire time in the Olympics Opening Ceremony out of shame, Canada is seemingly open about the racist parts of its history and is seeking now to move forward from them without denying them. Basically, for a seemingly multicultural country, Canada has spent a lot of time closing its doors to certain groups such as Jews and Japanese. Canada even had concentration camps during World War II where it interred all it Japanese citizens, even if they were Canadian-born. And, of course, anywhere with an indigenous peoples has been ghastly to those First Nations at some point - and really paying the price now. Lydia, Gabby and I were all struck at the end of the show, given a standing ovation, by just how patriotic Canada is. Above all, there is a sense of community in the dislocation - so many nationalities moving forward as one nation. It was such a great evening! I found myself sitting on Parliament Hill pinching myself at how lucky I was to be in such a beautiful country and getting to call it home!

The One Where It's A Small World After All

After my successful display of bravery and independence on Saturday, it was time to try it out again on Sunday morning by going to a completely new church. So it may not have required a huge amount of bravery (initially I'm quite good at fitting in with Christians, it's only when they get to know me that the problems occur...just kidding!) But still, I did have to try and completely new church in a completely new place.

The first thing to say is, I love churches that aren't in designated church buildings, there just seems to be something so much more welcoming and much less intimidating about a meeting in a school hall compared to a stone, steepled thing. This was without doubt the impression I got from All Nations. Moreover, the guy at the door welcoming people was waving at me when I was still a good hundred yards or so away! Loitering awkwardly inside meant that two guys came and introduced themselves to me and were taken aback when I told them I'd not even been in Canada 48hours and had still made it to church. They introduced me to a wonderful girl called Jolene was is just hilarious and lovely and I met another "newbie" called Kim who's moved to Ottawa from Vancouver Island and is so outgoing and bubbly!

But the craziest thing ever happened a couple of minutes later. Jolene introduced me to the guy, Mike, who was leading the service that morning and he had a British accent. He then asked me where I hail from in the Land of Hope and Glory and I told him Didcot, adding near Oxford just in case he didn't know where the centre of the universe that is Didcot is. Smiling knowingly, he called his wife, Hazel, over, who's also British. She asked me where I was from, I said Didcot and...she's from Didcot! And she's a Didcot Girls' School survivor just like me! Hazel was the morning's preacher (woo!) so it was totally crazy to think that, last Sunday, I was in Didcot, with a preacher who went to Didcot Girls' School and that, this Sunday, I was in Ottawa, with a preacher who also went to Didcot Girls' School! It's a small world after all!

The service itself was unlike anything I've ever experienced in a "normal" church setting. I've seen the Spirit move in power at events like Soul Survivor, but I've never seen Spirit ministry done in the small scale and intimacy of the 60-odd people in a random school hall in Downtown Ottawa. Furthermore, it was hard to tell whether I was taken aback by the shouting out of "Amen!" during the sermon and worship was as a result of my faith or my acute British reserved nature. Time will tell. All Nations couldn't be more different than St Leonard's though, that's for sure!

I love Christlike Christians! Mike and Hazel invited me back to their house for a barbeque and I had a great time hanging out for hours and hours with them, Jolene, Kim, Joanna, Julia and Julia's parents. It was such an affirming afternoon, getting to soak up the sheer brightness that radiates from them all; they're so living as Kingdom ninjas unabashedly. My only real contribution to the Christian side of things was to introduce them to the British Christian tactile movements: the supportive Christian elbow, the affirmative Christian shoulder, the back pat of rebuke and the sister in Christ thigh squeeze. Sitting in Mike and Hazel's back garden, I couldn't quite fathom just how suprememl blessed I felt.



After hours and hours of chatting and laughing, Mike and Hazel took me, Kim and Jolene to Walmart to grab some essentials. Walmart is huge. Walmart is overwhelming. Walmart has the same clothing range as George at Asda and that was bizarre.

God has provided me a wonderful church to call home whilst in Ottawa and I am so so thankful!

The One Where I'm Actually In Canada

I'm here!

Turned up at Terminal 3 to discover that my bag was just 1 1/2 kg over the limit so Mumma Barr didn't have to pay anything in excess baggage. Result! It turns out that 23kg is actually a lot heavier than I thought it was. But the good times at Heathrow didn't last long. Mumma Barr and I had to go separate ways to get up to the departures floor and I, unthinkingly, raced through security. I went to go pick up my Travelex card and realised I'd gone to the wrong one and that since I was already scanned and secured, I would not be able to go back and say goodbye to my mum. Well, I burst into tears and sobbed hysterically at a security person who took a great amount of pity on me and allowed me to cross back through security and into the arms of my mum who I then continued to sob at some more.

Screw feminism; a girl crying got what she wanted.

The rest was quite uneventful. I bought perfume in duty free. (Why yes, I am gorgeous enough to wear something so tartilly named as Juicy Couture.) Boarded, got moved seats, didn't kill anyone trying to store a bag into the overhead locker. Take off delayed by half an hour because the hold door wouldn't open. The solution to the problem was to switch the plane off and then back on again. Seriously. That's what I do with my computer when it's being funny, that's not what you should be doing with something so major and dangerous as a flipping plane!

As for the flight itself...

Pros:

• Didn't cry during take off.
• Didn't puke on anybody.
• Zac Efron in "The Lucky One."
• Bagged a free blanket. I think. Otherwise I've stolen a blanket.
• Didn't die.

Cons:

• Grumpy person sat next to me who's pen lid I dropped and then couldn't find, which really didn't help to engratiate me to her anymore.
• Screaming children for nearly 8 hours.
• Airline "chicken" that should have read "plastic."
• No leg room and no bar on the seat in front to use as a foot rest.

Bag pickup was smooth. Once again, I inwardly mocked the fools who insist on flying with undistinguishable black suitcases as I smugly picked up my bright purple bag with flurescent strap. Before falling over under the sheer weight on 24 1/2kg which is approximately 22kg more than my arthritic arms can bear. Smiling sweetly at Customs Man 1 worked. Smiling sweetly at Customs Man 2 also worked. And Customs Man 3 stared at my tits as he stapled in my study permit, so smiling sweetly at him too, obviously worked.

Stepping out of the airport was like stepping into Madrid at the height of summer. Whenever I've told anyone I'm going to Ottawa, everyone's always commented on how cold it is there. Yeah, well it ain't cold now my friends. It's flipping boiling! My landlord, Dee, picked me up and demonstrated a distinct disregard for lane lines, but I'm alive, so it's okay. We chatted a bit about how cold it gets and how small Ottawa is - population one million. The house isn't Penny C standard, but then Penny C could give certain Monopoly Board hotels a run for their money quality wise. But I can't really complain about the location!

So, what for day number one in Canada land?

Small cry down the phone to the mother once the enormity of being thousands of miles away from home knowing literally no-one. A panicked Facebook message to Krista the pseudo-Canadian asking for help. Walking for what must have been miles to try and sniff out some shops. This was before Krista told me that high streets don't exist in Canada, so the amazing centre of shops I was hoping to stumble upon this morning, doesn't exist.

However, I did find Byward Market and lots and lots and lots of shops selling beautiful beautiful beautiful earrings. Please be super proud of me when I inform you that I resisted all temptation to even enquire about them, let alone purchase them. That resistance may not last long. Won't last long. Hashtag I love earrings.

At lunch, I made friends with an 80 year old lady named Esther, who has no skin on her bottom after falling off a window ledge (long story.) She loves Princess Diana. I thought I'd impress her with the my-mum-worked-at-her-wedding anecdote, but she wasn't that interested for an ardent Di fan. Other interesting/peculiar Canadians encountered include a roller-skating pensioner who was wearing knee pads to protect his (I assume) arthritic knees but yet was helmet-less and whichever Canadian(s) it was flying a plane around the Parliament buildings with a banner reading "Stephen Harper nous deteste ca." We'll name that Canadian Francois.

Unable to uncover anything useful such as a bank, phone shop, stationery shop etc, plus feeling very close to sun stroke, combined with the stunning scenery of the Rideau Canal, I went on a boat cruise. By myself. Yes I did. Me, the girl who won't go to the toilet without a friend, not only had lunch by myself (until Esther's appearance) and then went on a boat cruise, willingly, by myself. Be. Proud. Of. Me.

I didn't laugh at the boat conducter's jokes. We'll put that down to me being English and therefore having a superior sense of humour. That was until, right at the very end, he made the following pun phenomenon to which I did do a Sheldon Cooper-esque noise of humour recognition.

"Steve here went to Carleton uni, is $40,000 in debt and now has a great job as the driver of this vessel. Mind you, I'm at Ottawa U, and we're in the same boat."

It was funner when he told it.

Anway, Rideau Canal is super gorgeous and I was quite envious of the folks canoeing down it. Yes, she who can't swim wanted to get in a tiny boat, centimetres from km deep water. What has the Canadian air done to my sensibilities?

A quick look around the Ottawa U campus and I now have one student card for the use of. Sweaty and make up-less, but I don't look like a serial killer as I do in my driving license photo. At the student shop, the cashier said to me, "I love your accent! What part of America are you from?" Yep. Somebody who sounds more American than I do like the Queen, thought I was American. Quite frankly, I was insulted!

It's ok, I'm over it now!

 

 

It's been a super-long today and I'm so tired, and housemate-less which means no being forced into being sociable! Plus a reassuring phone call with Krista the pseudo-Canadian (born in France, grew up in Nigeria, boarding school and uni in UK but Canadian passport and accent, hence the psuedo) and the promise of church tomorrow means today has, all in all, been quite successful. I'm still lacking anything useful, tangibly useful. But the thing is, I've made it to a completely different continent all by myself and been braver and more outgoing than I could ever imagine I could be.

Maybe tightrope walking over Niagara Falls is a possibility?