The One Where I'm Obviously A Foreigner

Situation Número Uno

Setting: Montpetit 222, History of Religion in Canada.

People: Me, prof, Jenny and Christina.

What happened: firstly, Prof Anderson confirmed that there is no difference between the United States and Canada; this then caused Jenny and Christina to simultaneously turn to me and tell me not to get so smug and that there is a big difference. (Now I know there is a big difference, but it winds Canadians up something chronic if you say there isn't). Anderson also commented that Canada is a British Colony. Emphasis on the 'is'. Hannah 1; Jenny and Christina 0. Also I may have lost that point later that class. Christina finally brought me some food to class and I offered a hungry Jenny some of mine. Because I am an idiot who didn't think that pepperoni pizza from the University Caf might not be kosher. Oops...

This pizza is not kosher. 

Situation Número Dos

Setting: Morisset 2-something or other.

People: Me, Jenny and another prof.

What happened: a few weeks back, my History of the Jews in Canada prof effectively blamed the whole Israel-Palestine stuff on the British. To diffuse the tension because I'm not a huge fan of the old awkward moment, I stuck my hand up and said, "Yeah but we do feel bad about it now." Which the rest of the class found hilarious. It's the accent. Anyway, today the professor implied that Britain was to blame for World War Two. As soon as he mentioned the British, he looked right at me, panicked and said, "Er, I'm looking at you, but I'm not looking at you." He was so looking at me and looking at me. Anyway, as the class went on and people tried to justify Canadian anti-Semitism, I piped up with, "If I can just play the obnoxious foreigner card, why would Canada care about European Jews when they don't even care about the Natives living five minutes away?"

Oh yeah, I went there. If I could have found a way to bring up "free" Canadian health care, I would have.

What will I do next year when I speak up in class and no-one turns around to hear where the gorgeous accent came from?

The One Where Ants Are Distracting

First things first, I have found the most wonderful church here in Ottawa.

On to ants. Or more specifically, the ants from 'A Bug's Life.' One of the best things about my Bible and film class is that the professor is brilliant and Christina and I engage in a weekly debate over whose country is better. (I win, obviously). Anyway, whilst the rest of the class has slumped into a stupor post-midterm, (which was disastrous), Christina and I began doing what we do best, after arguing about the colonies: messing around.

Case A: Who has the more demented finger?

Case B: Who looks more like an M&M?

Case C: Canadians are violent.

Case D: Brits look frazzled post-midterms.

So back to class, and prof went on a tangent talking about 'A Bug's Life' when what we had been talking about was biblical allegory in films. Stops and then says, 'What was I talking about?' Ants are distracting.

The One With Joy

Alternative title: The One Where I'm Candid in Canada, (not that I haven't been being honest before now and this has now become an obscenely long title so I should think of another one). Glad I went with the new title, eh? Anyway, for those who have been following this blog from the beginning, which I think is mainly my mother and my friend Sarah, you may have noticed that some of my pre-Canada posts have disappeared, and that the ones which have remained, have a twinge of doubt and melancholy. I made the decision to delete a selection of posts because reading them back made me profoundly uncomfortable about a time when I was really struggling both spiritually and emotionally. Then, I rocked up in Canada. A combination of brilliant sunshine, prayer, discovering my corageous streak and making a bunch of epic friends all meant that my time in Canada has been overwhelmingly wonderful and, I'm going to say it, perfect. In fact, with the exception of some events from earlier this week and a time back in September when I cried in the middle of LobLaws, I've felt happy my entire time of being here.

Bus banter.

But, I do have some regrets. Namely, I regret the sheer number of times when I have prioritised banal things over church and God. It means I've missed opportunities to get to know God better and to get to know His Canadian Kingdom-builders better. Fortunately, because God is gracious and never gives up on me, He has blessed me with the friendship and occasional racial bullying of the wonderful Christina. Therefore, I've had fantastic exposure to a life lived with grace and love at its core, someone who is so kick-ass when it comes to the Gospel - it is my privilege to call her friend.

I am very good at pushing Christians away; church scares me and intimidates me, I doubt my "Godly Credentials" when compared with other Christians and let myself become defensive when discussing faith and related issues with my Christian friends, driving a wedge between them and me. But, when I was at my absolute lowest, I still relied on God. How could I not? I couldn't function without him! I spent every waking moment of the day crying out to Him, sometimes in my head, as my eyes glazed over to the real world I was supposed to be in; more often than not, literally crying and wailing and screaming for hours on end.

Moving to Canada filled with fear and relief in equal measure. Fear because, what's calming about country-hopping? Relief because, I wanted to distance myself from what had been a rubbish year.The fear was the biggest emotion, so I stuffed close to fifty Bible-passage cards in my suitcase and they were the first thing I unpacked upon arrival. And they're everywhere in my room. To the untrained eye, they've been blutacked liberally around my room. But to me, they're just at the right eye-level and angle to act as a sort of divine smack around the head. I found a church that showed me extraordinary kindess and love. And I was happy. So so very happy.

I didn't doubt my happiness or take it for granted, but I was accutely aware that I wasn't growing in my Christian life. I stopped reading my Bible, my prayers were sporadic, and it took being attacked in a demonic dream pulling me to a place of rock-bottom in the early hours of one morning to make me re-realise just how much I needed God. I don't claim to be a good Christian - I never have and I never will. Things burst out of my mouth or my fingertips; I don't show enough kindness or patience; for a Theology student and a Christian, my Bible knowledge is appalling; and when I make to-do lists, God doesn't often come top.

This evening, Christina took me to her church's Healing Clinic. Ominous name, but it's a wonderful thing. It is what it says on the tin: a walk-in clinic where you receive prayer for healing; physical, spiritual and emotional.

Nine years ago yesterday, I became a Christian. I'd gone to some random Christian event run by an organisation I had never heard of. The event was called Soul Sista, run by Soul Survivor. I was with a group of girls all older than me, all at a different church to me, and I didn't know any of them at all well. It came to final meeting of the day and the speaker, Beth Redman, had just preached up a storm. Ironically, I can't remember a word she said! Sorry, Beth! It then came to a ministry time. There I was, sat cross-legged on the Watford warehouse floor, when I suddenly felt the most phenomenal all-consuming love and massive presence. My youth leader came over to me and I realised I was crying.

"What's the matter, Hannah?"

"I think I've found Him."

"Who?"

"God."

She smiled.

"That is the most amazing and brilliant thing I have heard you say all day!"

I didn't find God, He found me.

When I look back at the nine years that have followed, they have been some terrible times and some glorious glorious times. God is good, all the time.

Back to the Healing Clinic. I walked in to the room with my designated pray-ers, and I immediately felt the Spirit of God resting in the room. I was given a word by the lead guy, Jacques, which was Colossians 1:26. To paraphrase it: Christ, who is in me, is the hope of glory.

Christ is in me and He is the hope of glory glory glory! And after that time of soaking in God's word, being reminded of how God's promises to me are "amen" and "yes" and how much he has totally lavishly adorned me as His daughter; and I just can't stop smiling. And, more importantly, I feel joy. Pure, total, underadulterated, God-given joy.

Because it's not about how much I pray or how I often I go to church or how many Bible passages I can recite, it's about knowing and living in the love of God.

And joy is increased by the craziness of Zak's Diner dinner with Christina and Josh. Even if they do both lie to me, like psychopaths...

Being bullied with brownie sauce.

P.S. Canadian keyboards have the " and @ keys the opposite way round to British keyboards. My brain has now learnt the Canadian way so that typing on my British laptop leads to much cursing. Christian cursing...

The One With A Boston Tea Party

The three words Boston, tea and party, mean different things to different people. To the majority of British people, the three words strung together conjure up some date from way-back-when, when no-one’s not quite sure what happened, but that some Yanks got annoyed with us Brits and thought the way to express their anger was to pander to racial stereotypes, and mess around with our tea. To the average American, however, Boston Tea Party is the catalyst for the Land of Liberty, Home of the Brave and other such vomit-inducing expressions of misguided patriotism. But, if you are a student of the University of Exeter, particularly if you are a Christian at the University of Exeter, Boston Tea Party means Heaven on Earth. Or rather, it means a small chain of coffee shops in the South West of England which features a sprawling dining room of mismatched chairs, and the best chocolate brownies you will ever taste in your whole life. Unfortunately, on my trip to Boston, there were no organically-made brownies in sight, but lots and lots and lots of vehement American patriotism. 



I just like Britian.

There are few things more uncomfortable than a 12-hour Greyhound ride from Ottawa to Boston. Firstly, you’ve got to put up with the entire population of Ottawa wanting to get to Montreal on a Friday night, which means crazy Canadiens, flaring claustrophobia, and severe delays. Secondly, you have psycho bus drivers going through acrimonious divorces, which don’t make you feel like the safest passenger ever. Thirdly, there’s the quandary of how to make an arthritic and a slipped disk comfortable, (this is difficult, and lucky that neither Gabby or I are uncomfortable with physical contact). Fourthly, violent, aggressive border security peeps in Vermont. Fifthly, bright lights of the bus being put on without warning at 3am and nearly blinding you. Basically, Greyhound rides are a nightmare.



Gross and dishevelled, mine and Gabby’s first day in Boston took us to the New England Aquarium. We were asked about a hundred and sixty-eight times, “Do you know there’s building work going on?” Oh really, the drilling and scaffolding were perplexing me, I couldn’t work out what they were there for. The result of the aforementioned building work is that the aquarium was missing lots of animals and exhibits. Good job I love jellyfish, eh? I feel like I’m doing the aquarium a disservice – there were mini penguins; I found Nemo and Dory; there were jellyfish and starfish and I got to tickle both of them; I also got up close and personal with some stingrays and sharks; and I saw an aquarium-worker try to wrestle a sea turtle. Oh, and a seal yelled at me. That was quite frightening. We also met Willy, of the trolley tours, who coerced us into buying trolley tickets that we never ended up using. At least I got some free cough sweets out of him, though. Then we collapsed into a heap in our hostel, tried to make ourselves vaguely more human, and ventured out for dinner. We also came across the most humungous American flag flying from a hotel. Literally, it was excessively large. Then, to the dulcet sounds of the brashest Aussies who were are roommates for the weekend, we fell fast asleep. 



Blizzard time.

Not that I don’t love Ottawa and Canada in general, but I’m starting to get pretty sick of snow. Foolishly, I thought that venturing down south-ish to the Thirteen Colonies, would be south enough to escape the snow. How wrong I was! Instead, I ended up in Boston a week after Snowstorm Nemo, and Sunday saw a blizzard in Boston. FYI, Boston can’t deal with now like Canada can. For one thing, they don’t grit their pavements, and for another, they pile up snow to the sides of the roads, but don’t think about where they’ve piled it. Therefore, there are gigantic piles of snow right where the pedestrian crossings are. I mean, duh, Boston people, duh! Anyway, when you’re in the middle of a blizzard, what attraction better to visit than the USS Constitution? Gabby and I managed to confuse the soldiers with our weirdly-coloured IDs and I set the metal detector off because I forgot about some rogue batteries in my pocket. The ship itself is an historic ship. So it’s historic and a ship. Google image is your friend if you want more details. The most fun part was the museum, complete with hammocks, which Gabby took a nap in and which I got trapped in. I’m best on stable ground you see. The museum also featured lots of anti-British sentiments. But meanness is okay when it’s against those blasted Brits!





Boston was a very educational experience. I learned that ‘Cheers’ was set in Boston and not New York City. In fairness, I used to watch ‘Cheers’ when I was about 9 and it was shown during the day on Channel 4. I can only remember watching it at my grandparents’ which must mean I only either watched it in the holidays or when I was sick. Anyway, I learned that ‘Cheers’ was set in Boston because I had lunch at the bar where ‘Cheers’ was set. How exciting. The food was amazing, which makes up for the fact that I just about recognised the surroundings and can’t really remember anything about the show other than that it featured Kirsty Alley. I think…Seriously though, the food was amazing. I like food, a lot.

Without doubt, the highlight of the day was a visit to the Boston Tea Party ship. For some reason, our cab driver didn’t or couldn’t drop us off in a normal place, so abandoned us on a highway. One of the weirder moments of life was being helped over a road barrier by a woman in period dress. Actually, I lie, that happens to me all the time! Gabby and I were the only English people – and you should’ve seen the look in the eyes of the two main actors when they realised where we were from. We soon came to realise the reasoning behind their fear. I do love a good bit of audience participation though, especially when made to call out things like “Huzzah!” and “Fie!” In fact, I’m considering introducing both of those phrases into my everyday vernacular. The ship itself was hilariously fun. We got to play at throwing tea in the river! Literally, I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun in my life! But there were two major awkward moments: the first was when someone yelled, “Kill the English!” The second was what happened after the tea-throwing. In the video exhibits, the Brits suffered blatant anti-English propaganda. Loyalists were made out to be stuck-up snobs, King George III was portrayed as pompous and gluttonous to the heroic Samuel Adams, and the exhibit finished with a rousing rendition of ‘Land of Liberty.’ Y’know, that song that stole the tune to the British national anthem. It was all just very uncomfortable at that point. But nothing that our following cup of tea didn’t solve! Rule Britannia. 

Home of clever clogs.

The next day took us out of Boston and into Cambridge, home of Harvard University. I think that I am now more intelligent thanks to osmosis. We ended up in the Science Centre and I’m not sure we were allowed to be in there. Oops. There were lots of clever people around, it was very intimidating. From Cambridge, we hopped on a train courtesy of the Massachusetts Bay Transport Authority, to Salem. You’ve heard of Salem, right? They had some trouble back in the day with some bratty teenage girls who caused the unfair deaths of nineteen people by accusing them of witchcraft. Ah, community spirit! Salem is creepy on a Blackpool scale of things. It’s tacky and full of tarot readers, and I found it to be a thoroughly uncomfortable place to be. We went to a dismal witchcraft museum with poorly-crafted models and seemingly run by Wiccan apologists. As far as I was concerned, I couldn’t get out of that place fast enough.

The One With Reviewapalooza, Valentine's Day and the Flu

Dear friends,

I feel like death warmed up. Scrap that, I'm in Canada, the most ridiculously cold country on planet Earth. So I feel like death that has been thawed and re-frozen. I am afflicted with some sort of hybrid flu and would quite like to make like Sleeping Beauty and go on an extended nap. Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to do so. Thus, it's the night before my midterm, the night before an extensive week of foreign travelling, and I'm shivering and sweating and downing Tylenol and every part of my body aches. On the plus side, I did get a lovely email from my professor in which he went all parental on me. It made me cry in the middle of the library and people stared. At least, they were either staring at me crying or at me snotting all over the place.

Look how adorable my prof is!

What a way to spend Valentine's Day eh? I did get a present though, from the one and only Gabby who bought me peach sweets. She knows the way to my heart. We also ate ice cream, justifying it by pointing out that I am sick and have a fever, and therefore, I should eat ice cream for medical reasons.

So, tomorrow is my first midterm. It's meant to test my knowledge of aboriginal religion in Canada, the Grand Derangement and the Canada Fire. In reality, it will test my ability to blag. In first year, I calmed all assignment and exam related nerves by reminding myself that I only needed to pass the year, I only needed 40%. This year, I'm like: dude, this whole year is a 1/7 of my entire degree, chill. So my midterm tomorrow is 20% of a module which is 1/8 of 1/14 of my whole degree. I can't do the maths to work out how much it contributes overall, but I think I can afford to be sick and collapse in a congested heap in the exam room.

On the plus side, the midterm did mean Anderson's special midterm review class happened this week, or as she called it, Reviewapalooza. Here's her exam advice:

1. No chicken scratches, be legible, I'm not going to read an exam that looks like two cocks have done the nasty over it. 
2. Hey if you screw up, I like a laugh. 
3. No leaving in the first hour, there's nothing more distracting than trying to write an exam when it sounds like there are Tom cats mating. 

Wish me luck. Wish me health! 

The One With My Awesome Prof

Prof is espousing critical analysis of a poem by Leonard Cohen, in which the speaker alternates between trying to get his lover into a bath with him so they can do the nasty with almond soap in hand, and then saying that he's murdered the pharmacist.

Prof then stops and informs us that he has to tell us his favourite pharmacist joke. (I am intrigued to discover just how many pharmacist jokes he knows). Here is the joke:

A duck waddles into a pharmacy, goes up to the pharmacist and says, 'Excuse me, but do you have any grapes?'

'Any grapes?' Retorts the pharmacist, 'This is a pharmacy, of course we don't have any grapes. Go away, you stupid duck!'

So the duck waddles away. But the next day, he returns. 

'Do you have any grapes?' The duck asks the pharmacist. 

'No! This is a pharmacy, of course we don't have grapes. You were in here yesterday, weren't you? If you ask me for grapes once more, I shall nail your flat feet to the floor. Go away?'

Off waddles the duck. And the next day, he comes back. 

'Excuse me,' says the duck, 'Do you have any nails?'

The pharmacist looks incredulous. 

'This is a pharmacy, of course we don't have any nails.'

So the duck says, 'In that case, do you have any grapes?'

The end.

Canadians are comedians.

The One Where I Walk On Water

Casual canal stroll.

What's the biggest selling point Ottawa Tourism goes for? That has to be the Rideau Canal. Or, as they call it in bilingual Ottawa: Canal Rideau Canal. (As an aside, here they pronounce bilingual as bi-lin-gyoo-well). If you are an avid reader of this blog or know me in real life, you may recall that on my first proper day in Ottawa, I took a boat ride down the canal and it was absolutely gorgeous! It was so hot that I think my sweat possibly contributed to the rising water level, but let's not spoil the beauty of that summer's day with my gross, jet-lagged self. Today, I walked where once I had boated. Yes, I walked on water. Just call me Jesus!

Because by January/February, Rideau Canal is no longer just Rideau Canal, but the world's largest skateway. People come from miles around to skate on the canal because, let's face it, it's a great big frozen river in one of the most beautiful cities in the world - what is not to love? To put it into perspective, the whole canal is ice. Some of the ice is a bit thicker in places than others, but you can pretty much skate on the whole thing. Plus you can get beaver tails and poutine and maple taffy - it's a Canadian heaven.





I'm not trying to make Jon fall...

Now, I'm quite a clumsy individual, and not massively sturdy on my own two feet when I'm on normal ground, so the prospect of being on skates on a frozen river was somewhat terrifying. Thus, whilst Jon donned his skates and went zooming off,  I went for the tactic of let's just go for a nice walk. One of life's more mind-blowing moments is walking a long, minding you're own business and then realising, I'M WALKING ON WATER! And this kept happening to me. Not that long ago, I had been on a boat to be where I was at that moment, and now I was just stood there. And, I didn't fall over! This is an achievement and a half!



Nose and toes froze.

Of course, it was mortifying when all these tiny Canadian children whizzed past on ice skates like it was different to walking. But hey, with sixteen broken bones to my name in a mere 21 years, I think just standing on ice deserves a medal. It was possible to rent a mini-sleigh which was very tempting, but also a bit cruel on Jon to make him push me and Gabby along. We also got into long conversations with the beaver tails seller and random people who wanted photos taking, all asking if we were from Australia or New Zealand. Yep. Maybe I should just put on an Australian accent and then see where people think I'm from?

So there you have it. I did it! The biggest thing Ottawa is known for is going on the frozen canal and I went! And I survived! And I was corageous! And I was flipping cold!



The One With Winterlude

You've got to hand it to these Canadians, they don't let potentially fatal temperatures get in the way of life. Unless they're from British Columbia, in which case they're hibernating right now. (Check out how Canadian I am that I am now cracking in-jokes at the expense of people from other provinces. Watch out, Newfoundland, you are next in my firing line of acerbic wit). Anyway, it's Winterlude here in Ottawa! Winterlude is a celebration of all things winter and snow and ice and cold and frostbite and hyperthermia! It's also a lot of fun.



My twin.

The main celebration takes place in Confederation Park, still lit up from Lights Across Canada from December. Now, though, it has been further adorned. There are amazing ice scupltures, crazy paper animals, and an oddly hypnotic ice drop display with haunting music and mind-altering mood lights. It was so pretty. Yes, such a description doesn't quite convey just how alluring the whole display was, but take my word for it, it was like a winter equivelent of the Demon Headmaster, just slightly, (hopefully), less sinister.



Cinderella on ice.

If I could have one obscure talent, it would not be ice sculpting. Now that I wish to denigrate the impressive skills of the world's ice sculptors, but can you imagine painstakingly crafting something akin to one of the great wonders of the world, only for it to be destroyed? Admittedly, that's how God must feel, post-Eden and all that, but it must be soul-destroying! The sculptures for the competition were insane! Some of them were so intricate, it was mind-blowing. I had to favourites. One was Cinderella themed, complete with pumpkin carriage, and the other was a topless mermaid who I tried to compete with, because I am mature and busty. I quickly put mine away though, because it was cold. They've all been lit with this gorgeous pink light which makes them look like something out of a Disney film and there is, to be so very very corny, a magical feel to Confederation Park as you walk around.

Winterlude this year includes a Chinese-themed section with a series of paper creations and a tunnel of lanterns which was great to walk through at night and further added to the whole mystical, wondrous aspect to Winterlude. There was a great paper turtle which I tried to imitate, again because of the whole maturity and secret desire to be a turtle thing I've got going on.

You know when you just get to experience things that you know you'll never experience again? That. You know that third year abroad feeling when you realise how blessed you? That times a million.