Paint and Poutine

Funny how when in England, ‘home’ is people who you went to school with, grew up with, family, as opposed to those from your alternative uni life.  Here, it’s pretty much anyone over that side of the great ocean.  That place where life is continuing on without you.  Lectures full of people you actually know the names of.  People who don’t give two hoots about your accent (shocking that when you sound just like them...).  Where to buy alcohol means a 2 minute walk to Saunders (rather than an hour long round trip).  Where people make tea in tea pots and have a hobnob (or four) with it (rather than an Ice-Cap and a cookie/muffin/bagel/all three).   Don’t think it’s fitting to say I’m homesick, but I also cannot deny that one epic night out in Arena would not go amiss... However, give it a few more months and I’m sure I’ll be thinking of all sorts of way to get my final return ticket back to the land of custard (apparently they don’t have the proper stuff out here.  A terrible revelation) refunded. 

Other news, I have a job! Now I can actually afford all those bagel, fro-yos and trips round this country.  Oh and don’t forget the double Ts that ensure you pay almost double what you actually anticipated the cost would be. Tips and Taxes. The bane of life out here.  Not tipping a bar man for pouring you a shot will have you waiting an extra half an hour to be served again. (Yes.  I know such an epic task is tough, but surely you don’t have to spill most of it on the bar and then expect me to give you another $2 for the honour? Please.)  Anyway, the cohort of Carleton now has the pleasure of me pouring their coffee (literally all over myself half the time.  But don’t worry, I’m not expecting them to tip me for that....) and taking their food orders (‘Bagelwich’? ‘Western’? Right. Yes.  I’m assuming that is food in some form and I’m sure it’s just splendid...).  Lucky them to have the privilege of a permanently beaming (...yes that is just my normal face.  I don’t actually want to kill something), always a ray of sunshine, British gal serving them.  (One customer literally couldn’t finish making his order he was laughing so hard at the way I said bagel.  Yes, no need to then attempt to imitate me either.  You sound far more stupid than I do.)

The paint party and homecoming.  Feeling like a slimy slug and having my clothes and hair dyed pink whilst dancing away (stunning those standing around me with quite how excited I can get and how many people I can hit when I’m ‘in the zone’).  Getting drenched tailgating, watching all two seconds of the football game and subsequently loving life on the nectar of jungle juice at a house party.  A successful weekend I would say.  Unfortunately, the jello-wrestling party was not experienced as drinking for a solid 12 hours took its toll too much for us to continue onto it.  Though the famous Canadian dish of poutine was encountered (chips, gravy and cheese curds) with a spontaneous rave to Avicci in the underground campus cafe. Memorable to say the least (both for us and the taken aback locals).

Overall, this subsequent week has been a slight struggle as I have indeed been struck down by ‘Froshers Flu’.  Now would be the ideal time to pop home for a few days to my own bed and copious amounts of that tea-pot brewed tea and those biscuits... Yet, it is not to be.  Instead, on to Montreal is the next adventure to be experienced and I’m sure I can ‘man up’ and wholeheartedly take whatever delights that city has offer/throw at me.

Settling In Canadian Style

Two whole weeks done.  My bed with actual bedding (zebra print, if you were interested. So me).  Wearing a Carleton hoodie.  My photos on the walls.  A list of textbooks to buy.  Tickets for Carleton Homecoming sorted (my impression is that it’s pretty much a football game plus alcohol...facepaint could be involved? Who knows.  Probably lots of chanting and we know how much I love that). Overall, I feel like I’m here for the long haul.

The gradual acclimatisation to life out here has occurred.  I feel slightly less like an aimless wanderer with my mind constantly a ball of fluff, which is appreciated.  The classes have been registered and its all go from here as I now vaguely understand how to navigate campus (I even gave directions to someone today! It was to the university bar which says something, but still).

So far so good really. 

Ottawa’s sights are being discovered slowly but surely.  The canal is literally a thirty second walk from my halls (lesson: do not go running, sweatband, red face and all, when there are hundreds of people streaming through campus to get to their 8:30 class. I apologise to them. Not exactly a sight anyone would want to see that early in the morning... or ever).  Excitement is building for when the canal freezes and we can ice-skate from campus to Parliament (displaying all my skills learned from about two lessons when I was nine.  It’s going to be great).  However, having to wear a coat already mid-September makes it just terrifying thinking of what is waiting to descend on this country.  Literally, the phrase ‘winter is coming’ is extremely applicable. I have been told to be afraid, and I am.  

Other tourist events have included city luncheons, seeing the Ottawa light show on the Parliament buildings, visiting the rival university’s nightclub (basically the Canadian version of Exeter’s Lemmy. Fantastic) and copious amounts of Froyos (not exactly Canadian but it is becoming a weekly tradition out here). Oh and to add to the list of foods are the bagels (a cheeky cinnamon and raison with strawberry cream cheese as an evening snack, why thank you very much) and ice caps (frozen coffee to the British) between lectures.  It’s going to be a grand year (Beaver tails and Maple syrup treats are just some greatly anticipated events to occur shortly).

 Ottawa

To top off my two weeks of getting involved in Canadian life was a weekend trip to a cabin, by a lake, in the middle of some woods (in other words, the ideal setting for a horror film).  Nonetheless, this was the kind of stuff that I came to Canada for. Canoeing and campfires.  The small detail that the group was made up of twenty-one British and Australians does defeat the year’s objective of meeting people actually from Canada... Indeed, it was a slight ‘Oh yes we are in Canada’ upon hearing the bus driver’s accent on the return home.  Awkward but what can you do? 

So this weekend shall be filled with sorority parties, a paint concert/ party /thing, homecoming and tailgating (drinking out of people’s car boots. Classy right?), oh and a jello wrestling party. 

Now I’m the excited one.     

There (just about).

And so the Canadian borders have finally been breached.  It only took over an overweight bag (thus its contents strewn across the airport floor as ruthlessness was the only way to get me on that plane without paying an extortionate amount of money), a delayed flight and consequently missed connection, subsequently two (also delayed) transfers meaning a nice twenty-four hour trip.  Excellent start Year Abroad.  

Arriving at midnight here, feeling like a zombie and then not being able to get into my bed (a bed without bedding at that) for a further two hours was a brilliant topping to a fantastic journey.  Despite still only sleeping in borrowed bedding, however, life is starting to settle down. My 99p British flag is pinned up so that says it all. And my pillow did arrive today.  In a big purple box for 88 nappies. Drew just a few stares across campus. And there I was just trying to blend in...

However, in regard to the accent concerns I vocalised previously... so far, so good.  Though it does quite the opposite of helping me blend in.  The stereotype is true, we are loved for our ‘cute’, ‘amazing’, ‘awesome’ accent, I just thought Canadians were that bit more cool and blasé about it than Americans.  One only needs to say a few words and immediately “Oh my god, is that an accent I detect?!”  I have been said to sound Scottish once but I’m going to say that’s just an anomaly... Really it’s no bad thing and can be utilised to one’s advantage (3 British girls trying to sort out phones in a shop drew a crowd of about 10 workers there to coo at our ‘fantastic’ accents, while helping us of course..).  I’ve even been told it’s the ‘best accent in the world’ by the bank man.  Well, it’s more like the people who have it that are the best but anyway, i'm sure that's obvious. 

Onto far more important information, the university itself seems rather good, not as pretty and green as Exeter (delightful 1970s buildings everywhere) but I shan’t complain (that will start when I’ve been surrounded by snow for 5 months and have frostbite or something).  The last few days have been an absolute mental blur (someone out there definitely did not want to me to get a phone out here and how on earth does the epic place of Walmart sell out of bedding and coat hangers??).  Thus, today is the first that I have properly been able to get to grips with the place; starting with the mission to discover where my first class was held... (minimum stress involved with that which was thoroughly appreciated).

As to the Freshers, sorry ‘Frosh’, of Carleton.  Well, it’s different to say the least.  My first day of extreme jet lag and a melted brain from general life had me spending about five hours surrounded by people (many only 17 years old, making me feel ancient) in orange, chanting, shouting and screaming as creatures from the Enchanted Forest (I was a Cyclops, and I’m ashamed to admit, not exactly the most committed one of the crew).  Apparently it’s all about ‘school spirit’ out here or so it seems... (just to say that is a slight understatement if you couldn't tell).  Upon my return, the life enthusiasm, chant knowledge and all round school-keenness of mine will be off the English charts.  Promise.  One amusing and totally un-English aspect of the ‘chant-off’ between, for example, the Cyclops and the Gingerbread Men, was the end chant of ‘We are all best friends, we are all best friends’.

How adorable.  

In comparison to the haze of fancy dress and messy nights of Freshers, it’s not all crazy nights out here (all the Frosh events being dry) and I’ve been told not to expect much from Ottawa nightlife.  However, I’m from Exeter, it’s a familiar situation and I’m sure we’ll work it somehow.

Overall, you know you’ve made it to a North American university when you’re drinking out of the classic red plastic cups.  Furthermore, the lingo is being learnt, its ‘Res’ not ‘Halls’ and ‘courses’ not ‘modules’ gees get with it.., I’ve already had a cheeky marriage proposal, the campus is being navigated and I’m going to my first ice-hockey game tonight.  Canada fully has me now.