The One With A Theologian Not In Canada

Does anyone remember when I lived in Canada?

I've been back in Blighty now for what feels like a million years. It's rained. I went to Tesco. I remembered why I hate people. Just kidding, but I did remember why my claustrophobia spikes when forced into giant supermarkets where the non-spatially aware of Didcot flock like a murder of crows. But, I did also get to play with five-month-old babies who sneezed on me and then infected me, and my favourite gathering of people, well, gathered, Chez Lawfull on Tuesday night and it reminded me of why I love people. So, y'know, Jumble Lawfull counter-acts the grocery-requiring pensioners of Oxfordshire's most terrifying ghetto. Anyway, Canada feels like an age ago which is terrifying when I think about it.

Fortunately, thinking is one of the things I do best. As is being awkwardly introspective and engaging in internet over-share. This time last year I was thrilled about the prospect of the third year abroad experience. I was bascially finished with the most horrendous second year imaginable, complete with plenty of uncertainty over whether or not I would even get a place at an international institution for a year. However, one thursday last May, any worries about being forced to go to Waterloo were banished with one email: an email saying I had been accepted to Ottawa. (As an aside, if anyone can tell me where Waterloo is, I'd be very grateful. I did ask the Canadians, but even they weren't sure).

Following a summer horrendous enough to equal my second year of university, my depature to Ottawa could not come soon enough. In fact, I only began to feel nerves one Sunday after church.

"Shall we pray for Hannah?"

At this point, I had asked one person for prayer about my elbow.

"Lord, when Hannah is terrified and lonely and sick with nerves..."

"Father God, we know plane travel is dangerous..."

Cheers, guys, what perfect prayers.

Anyway, I could completely feel God's hand on me as I went Heathrow to Ottawa for the first time. My nerves evaporated once on the plane and, as I had my study permit stapled into my passport and stepped out of the airport into the late August searing heat, I knew I was home. I knew I was in an incredible place. And I knew phenomenal things were about to come. And I was right.

The adventure began with a demonstration of sheer bravery on my part; I took myself into town and got exploring, checked out the Parliament Hill which was soon to become the site of many fun memories, met eccentric pensioners who'd had unfortunate accidents and took to the Rideau Canal for some slightly cooler exploration. I also got to explore the University of Ottawa campus for the first time and was stupidly excited by my brand spanking new university card, even if my photo did betray my sweatiness after a day traipsing around in plus 30 degrees.

My memories from the first semester are wonderful and far too many to recount now in just a few sentences. I lived the countryside cottage life with Krista, taking to the lake and examining beaver dams; I spent a balmy evening on Parliament Hill watching the history of Canada be projected onto the centre block edifice and trying to digest the culinary delight that is the beaver tail; I took my first of many visits to the boutiques of the Byward Market and went back in time to Upper Canada Village, taking a look at life pre-Confederation. Then I went further afield, into deepest darkest Quebec: to Tadoussac with its seedy fishermen and the Atlantic Ocean with glimpses of whales and sea-sick Aussies; to Quebec City and the authentic French colonial life and all-you-can-eat buffets with people eligible for the Eurovision Song Contest.

Then there was Thanksgiving with the most generous people you will ever meet, where jelly was served with turkey and it transpired that my tastebuds do enjoy pumpkin pie and the forfeit of sining 'O Canada' in the street in Surburban Ottawa. And who can forget Toronto? Glorious weather and incredible views both out and below from the CN Tower, a favourite diner and meeting with a favourite professor. And managing to then choose the wettest day to visit Niagara Falls, meeting pilots and eluding lecherous tour guides, getting soaking wet from both rain and spray and rocking the blue poncho look. And ice wine and chocolate-covered strawberries and amazing company.

Zak's Diner become the embodiment of #YOHOYA, as did late-night library banter, comedy evenings and dodgy sex therapists with sticky-out ears. Moose-hunting in Parc Omega was full of joy, as was trying to persuade wapitis that you were friendly enough to pet them. Celebrating my 21st birthday in total Ottawa style, hanging out with Cooper, my new best friend and his gorgeous owner, Sam; reminding Yvet about the memo not to be too touristy and having the utter priceless and heart-breaking experience of visiting the Akwesasne First Nations reservation. Then there were lights across Canada and the first snow falls; impromptu sleepovers with Christina and befriending a stuffed hamster. Falling in geeky love with AM Klein, sniffing far too much sweetgrass thanks to my Native Studies class, getting to learn from Harvard's finest graduates and trying, with Christina, to woo a student who doubles up as a trainee soldier.

And not to forget the incredible people I met that first semester: Dee, Grace, Bikram, Christina, Emily, Devon, Lydia, Jon, Gabby, Yvet, Lisanne, Lihan, Mark, Nicola, Beth, Gen, Kat, Tonia, Geog, Kelsey, Sam, Joanna, Vicki, Hazel, Jolene, Julia, Keegan, Mel and a whole host of others whose names I can't recall write now in my still jetlagged state.

As for second semester...piles of snow taller than me; being a part of the Idle No More protests and repping Exeter to uOttawa. Getting to grips with the sheer amount amount of food Christina brings to class and enjoying uOttawa's Snow Festival despite the temperature falling to minus 40; supporting the Sens and living the Canadian dream by hopping on a dog sled and flying into the Quebec sunset. Plus Winterlude with magical ice sculptures and tentative steps onto the frozen Rideau Canal and much much much post-colonial banter with Christina. Going to Boston despite the snow storm warnings, the Canadian War Museum followed by wonderful wine, yet more Idle No More protests and Parliament visits. Leonard Cohen tribute acts ReSSA journal fun, Christina and her obnoxiously large pen, Strathcona's swings and destroyed shoes.

Falling in love with baby goats and survivng bus crashes, meeting beavers, albeit stuffed beavers and watching Jenny try to run away from terrifying dinosaurs. Crossing into Gatineau  and being terrified by giant black widow spiders; my creative writing class being the most fantastic creative group of people you will ever meet and getting to learn from truly incredible professors. And as for all the people I met - Jenny, Rebekah,Angie, Larisa, Josh, Selina, Jordan, Simone, Leah, Colin, Mark, Bradley, Adrienne, Bridgette, Emily, Kyle and everyone else I've forgotten - you have all been wonderful.

Maybe I should use this third year abroad concluding post to sum up and speculate how I've changed, which I did quite a lot of with my six-month anniversary post. What I will say is this: this has been the most incredible year of my life, and I say that with total honesty and completely devoid of hyperbole. I know I am braver and more-assertive, more determined to pursue my passions the year of adventure has re-ignited and I have been so supremely blessed by all the people I have met. My heart is so full with joy right now and I am confident that the memories from this year will continue to top-up my joy levels for the rest of my life.

But the adventure didn't end with hopping on the plane in Ottawa. Oh no, it began with hopping on the plane to Ottawa last August and it won't end until the Lord calls me home.

It's all very well to come home and to say how incredible and life-chaning my year in Ottawa was, but it will all have been meaningless if I don't know live my life in light of that change with Canada worked in me. So I was brave in Canada? That means it's time to be brave in Blighty? So I was out-going in Ottawa? Better be out-going in Exeter then.

It's time to grab the phenomenal memories from Canada and add to them; from the third year abroad adventure to the rest of my life adventure. Let's do this thing!

The One Where It's Time To Say Goodbye

This post comes to you from Ottawa's airport; it's my final post from Canada. The third year abroad adventure has actually come to an end and to say I'm devastated is a serious understatement. But, what a wonderful final day in this crazy beautiful life-changing city.

 

 

It was my absolute joy to be able to go to All Nations for one final time, to say goodbye to the special people who have shown me such unconditional love over the past year and who I will get to spend eternity with. There's no such thing as goodbye with Christians, it's always just, 'until we meet again!' It was great to be prayed for by Hazel and Joanna, and I felt a real sense of commissioning for the next season of my life.

 

 

And then I spent my afternoon doing what you should do on a plus 30 afternoon in Ottawa: grab a beaver tail, grab a spot in the park and gaze up at Parliament.

 

And whilst I did just cry at my landlord and in the taxi and at the check-in desk and in the duty free shop, I think that's just my impatient heart.

 

Ottawa, it's not goodbye, it's just 'until we meet again!'

 



The One With Tulips

Today was my last full day in Ottawa. So I decided to make like my first full day in Ottawa and go exploring for a final time. And boy did I see a lot of Ottawa! In fact, I saw everything from Rockliffe Park to Lac Dow and everything in between. A heat wave has come to the city and it's bemusing to be sitting in Colonal By Park with all the sun bathers and frisbee players when just one month ago the ground was still covered in snow. What a crazy city this is!

What a completely and utterly incredible city this is.

I had my final poutine, a delicacy I'm definitely going to miss. Maybe I'll try and recreate it or else it will have to live on in my memories as the calorific delight I know and love and have consumed so much of this past year. I spent what must have been hours just staring out over the Ottawa River and Parliament. It's a view I will never ever tire of. Ever ever!

I also went and checked out the Canadian Tulip Festival. It's exactly what it sounds like. Basically, during World War Two, whilst the British royal family stayed put in Buckingham Palace and risked getting bombed, the Dutch royal family hot-footed it over to Canada. But there was a slight problem in that Queen Holland was preggers and, in order for her child to take the throne, Baby Holland had to be born in Holland and not Ottawa. To combat this problem, Ottawa decommissioned a room in Ottawa and made it Dutch. And that is the story of how the former Queen Beatrix was able to be queen. As a thank you gift, the Dutch gave Ottawa a load of tulips, et voila, the Canadian Tulip Festival was born. You are very welcome for that insightful history lesson.

I styaued out until the sun went down and I spent a few more glorious hours on Parliament Hill, soaking up the sunset and the beauty of the Peace Tower by night. Finally, I ambled back along the canal, pondering my year from my favourite view of the city and just feeling so incredibly blessed.

Oh Ottawa, what a home you've been!

The One Where My Professor Makes Up Words

I got this semester's grades back today: A+ A+ A+ A+ A+. Yeah, you're not the only one who's shocked.

My creative writing mark was a total surprise; I thought I was looking at a B+ to A- for my portfolio so I'm both astounded and delighted right now. Especially as my professor coined a new word in my feedback:

"Parts of the story are wickedly humourous in a way that I can identify as the “Barrian” voice. (A full scholarly article needs to be dedicated to the “Barrian” utterance as an expression of the

post-post-modernist British sensibility.)"

 

My professor also used the word 'banter' because he is that much of a hero. 

And it was really sad saying goodbye to him. I've been so fortunate to have him as a professor and he truly has been an inspiration and a mentor. And he has laden me down/up with books which has necessitated buying another suitcase. Three suitcases, two hands: challenge accepted. Universities need professors like him. What a total legend. Especially as he was a little bit sozzled thanks to the generous reception provided by the symposium...

 

And another quote from one of his many wonderful and hilarious emails:

 

"It has been a privilege having you in my courses. If I could have a class with 25 Hannah Barrs and such a class every year I would be teaching until I can no longer hobble up to the elevator."

 

Yes, this has indeed been a very ego-stroking post. But I can't hear you over my A+s so, y'know...

The One Where I Miss Winter

Today it was too hot. Today, as the temperature soared to thirty degrees and my sweat contributed to the already flooded Ottawa River, I wished for -30 to come back. And then I remembered just how very cold that was. And then I tried to decide which was better: frozen nose hair or a sweat turning a generous cleavage into a water slide? I still don't know the answer to that. There was a plan for this morning and that plan was to go on the amphibus, which is basically the Chitty Chitty Bang Bang of city tours, it's a bus AND a boat! However, as I was googling hours and prices, I chanced upon a coroner's report. Turns out four people died on the amphibus because of shoddy safety regulations and dodgy equipment. And I thought to myself, I like the Ottawa River, but not so much that I want to risk drowning in it. So, naturally, when death thwarts one's original morning plans, the back up is the Bytown Museum. Naturally.

 

The Bytown Musuem is adorable and cheap. It's good that it's cheap, because it's not got that mich going for it. It's really cute, and the statue of Colenel John By overlooks the Musuem and you can see his old house and it's all very sweet. And the building itself is the oldest in Ottawa, so it's about fifty years old. I'M KIDDING! I'm just being British and obnoxious and your "history" Canada. Anyway, turns out livestock just used to roam the streets of Bytown - insert derogatory comment about Carleton Univeristy students here. Did I mention it was cute? And cheap? And had mugs declaring love for Britain and Her Majesty.

Choosing sun stroke over laziness, I walked along the Ottawa River from the locks to the War Museum, passing Victoria Island along the way. It sure is beautiful down by the water, and the view up to Parliament Hill is stunning. And such a gorgeous day to take such a splendid stroll. Also, man yelled at me that I looked hot in my dress. I'm not sure if he meant it figuratively or literally. I'm going with the former.

I also tried to buy a postcard from an anxious shop assistant where I had the following conversation:

"So where are you from?"

"England, but I've been living in Ottawa for a year."

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to be rude and suggest you weren't from here, I just heard the accent."

"It's okay, I'm actually leaving soon, so I'm quite sad."

"Oh no, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to bring up something so raw for you."

Bless.

Oh Ottawa, I do love you.

The One With Maman

The basilica in Ottawa is the most popular church in the city to get married at; first you set the date and then you find the mate - there's a three year waiting list. Upon leaving the church as a married couple, you are greeted with...a giant black widow spider. Called Maman. I think it's the creepiest thing ever, but Jenny, who speaks on behalf of all Canadians, disagrees with me. Apparently 'Maman also betrays this maternal trust to incite a mixture of fear and curiosity.'

Jenny and I went and got our cultured-ness on at Canada's National Gallery where, as with the Museum of Nature, it was school children, retirees and us. Because we are cool. Obviously. And, once again, we were stalked by the security guards - how shifty do we look? What to say about the gallery? Well, there was a lot of optical illusion art which had a Demon Head Master feel about it, and yet, we couldn't tear our eyes away. There was also a painting which was so obviously about rain, but Jenny thought it was about sperm. Honestly! How does this look anything like sperm?

Yeah, looks pretty sperm-like eh?

Canada has a group of artists called 'The Group of Seven' whom its pretty obsessed by and so their work featured prominently. Moreover, the work of the Lagare guy was there and Jenny and I both remembered him from Anderson's class - yay for learning!

Without doubt, the best exhibit in the museum was called 'Love Empire' which basically consisted of getting up on stage and speaking into a microphone. Being the shy, retiring, exceedingly quiet girl that I am, I raced up on stage and sang the Canadian national anthem. Or the first line of it anyway. It's very wordy. And half way through, it goes all French.

So that was that; we also recovered from the 30degree temperature by hiding in the shade in a Byward Market courtyard where I got friendly with a bear.

And then it was time to say goodbye to Jenny. To whom I confessed I didn't know her name until four months after having first met her, but that was okay, because she had the same problem with my name! Thank you, Facebook, for rescuing us both with regards to one another's name. Jenny is wonderful and hilarious and absolutely made History of the Jews in Canada so much fun, and she always remembers about the Armenians. NEVER FORGET ABOUT THE ARMENIANS!

The One With Totem Poles

I went across the border today to a strange land; Gatineau, Quebec. I was about to say that the language changed to something weird, but, y'know, I'm from Ottawa, so that French thing is everywhere. Anyway, despite the fact that my shoes are stained with blood thanks to the annual it's-summer-therefore-summer-shoes-rub-the-skin-from-my-feet, I trekked from Ontario to Quebec. It was an arduous journey. I lie. It's about twenty minutes away.

It was a gorgeous walk though; the Parliament buildings were glistening in the sunlight and the flooded Ontario River was looking extremely gorgeous also.

So anyway, to get to Gatineau you just have to keep going straight down from Parliament and cross over the Alexandra Bridge and then just keep walking. And, if you're me, keep looking behind you to soak up the eye porn that is Parliament Hill. I think I'm in love with a building...

What's in Gatineau I hear you ask? Well, if you're an eighteen year old from Ontario, then it's the opportunity to have a drink. Otherwise, it has the Canadian Museum of Civilisation, for the dorks/Canada-keenos of the world. It also has an amazing view of Parliament Hill, NO, I WILL  NOT STOP GOING ON ABOUT HOW GORGEOUS PARLIAMENT LOOKS.

The Museum of Civilisation is known for its room full of totem poles.

Told you. Lots and lots and lots of totem poles.

Obviously, the First Nations, Inuit and Metis groups of the land play a prominent role in the museum's exhibits, although, some of the displays are quite patronising in their portrayal of these groups. I can't tell if that's something unconsciously intentional, genuine prejudice, or me over-thinking these things because of all I've learnt about the First Nations over this year. There was a great moment, however, when I totally recognised one of the displays without having to read the accompanying sign to see what it was. Pictures above is Atahansic and below is the Mother Turtle, two key figures in the foundational myth of the Huron-Wendat people, as well as many other groups of First Nations. Yup, I learnt stuff this year!

What happens when you ask a bunch of First Nations, Inuit and Metis their favourite jokes?

To give the museum credit, it didn't shy away from the contentious issues surrounding Canada and its founding peoples. And to be fair to Canada, it's not as bad as Australia when it comes to indigenous relations. Nevertheless, it is still somewhat abhorrent in its dealings with the First Nations and there is a lot of prejudice against these groups. I was in town the other day when a group of immigrants were fighting with some Inuit. The immigrant shouted, "Why don't you eff off back to where you came from?" Which is ironic 'cause, y'know, Nunavut/Yukon/Northwestern Territories is Canada and Nigeria (the guy had a heavy accent and was wearing a baseball cap with Nigeria stamped on it), isn't Canada.

So there you have it. Gatineau, a museum and heinous racism, all in one post.