Wednesday 28th August
As ever, the first insight into Canada that I am afforded is their customs system. I'm quite nervous about this- partly because I'm not even sure I have the right documentation, and partly because I've been stood in the queue for ninety minutes, whilst officials pore over the papers of everybody else in front of me. I get called to the front by the lady at one of the booths...'Edward.... Beautiful British name'.
Al Murray, is that you?
'They should have called the Royal Baby Prince Edward'.
Am I being let in? Nervous laughter should endear myself.
'Ha. Ha. It gets shortened a lot though, my name'.
'Are you an Ed, or an Eddy, or a Ted?'
Can't I just have my papers back? I don't feel I need to reach nickname levels of chat with a customs officer.
'There you go... 'Edward'. Enjoy your time in Canada'.
This is a bizarre theme. There doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason to what people say when they discover where you're from. So far I've had two discussions on the Royal Baby, one on cricket, one on the break-up of Oasis, and several on the 'EPL'.
When I finally get to the baggage carousel, my suitcase has been dumped in a pile with arrivals from Hong Kong, which is definitely not where I came from.
My hotel appears to be in the middle of a Chinese shopping centre, which may or may not be a euphemism for 'brothel'. I have to walk from the lobby through the 'Relaxation Zone' to my room every night, so I'll leave you to decide that one. There also seems to be a bizarre number of people with orthopaedic shoes wandering about the hotel, but I'm not sure if there's a connection there.
I found the university, despite my terrible affliction whereby I can barely read a map, and do my best to stay awake until it's an acceptable hour to go to bed.
I manage until 8:30.
Thursday 29th August
After waking up in the middle of the night for the fourth time, I take the advice of Twitter and go and explore the city at the crack of dawn. It's not quite 'the city that never sleeps', but it's thriving nonetheless. From certain angles, the city looks like it belongs in the future, but then there's also a fair amount of inequality, particularly in the Chinatown district, which is where my hotel resides.
Things don't really get going, both in terms of this blog, and the university experience, until Monday. Friday, Saturday and Sunday are tough, in all honesty. Deep down, we all knew there would be parts of the Year Abroad that would test us to our limits, encompassing anything from homesickness to navigating the token dispenser on the subway. And as a sensitive soul, I'm no different. I've always craved routine, things to do, people to see, and once I've sorted the mundane stuff such as insurance, I'm left twiddling my thumbs a little bit.
Sunday 1st September
Moved into my house today. I don't think there'll be a tougher moment on this Year Abroad than when I first saw my room. A dirty (but admittedly huge), graffiti-d, smelly basement with a bin bag instead of a curtain and pipes sticking out of the wall like a Soviet Union interrogation chamber wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I applied to the accommodation, and it took a while to compose myself.
Monday is Labour Day, a Bank Holiday, and as such, there's not much to speak of. The room appears a million times better, and my housemates, so far exclusively Canadian, are lovely. Still no sign of a cleaner for my room, mind.
Tuesday 2nd September
Probably the first day where jet-lag wasn't an issue. I'm taking part in St Michael's College 'frosh' week, similar to British Freshers' in that everyone is getting to know each other, but different in almost every other respect.
For a start, it kicks off at 8am. It's very 'North American', with chants, happy clapping, and oh my word, the attention I get over my accent.
'BRITISH DUDE!'
'OH MY GOD, SAY THAT WORD AGAIN!'
'TALK MORE, WE WANT TO HEAR YOU TALK MORE!'
It's incredible. For someone who has very much a Droitwich accent with a Brummie lilt, brought upon by cumulative hours moaning at St Andrews, it's so, so welcome to realise my accent is loved. Feel free to bring this up in a year's time, but I don't think I'll ever get bored with people giving me attention over my accent.I've also been told I look like Steven Gerrard, and, surprisingly, people seem mad-keen on football (soccer). When I tell them I'm a Birmingham City fan, the most common reaction is:
'Yeah, but who's your EPL team?'
When I read the outline of the 'Frosh' schedule, I was highly dubious. Chanting 'hoikity-choik' and 'everywhere we go' sounds like a nightmare to a lot of people, but by midday, having forgotten all inhibitions (and sat through a Mass sermon- imagine that in the UK?!), I was thoroughly enjoying myself. Dare I say it, but as someone who isn't a massive drinker (or at least wasn't when I was a fresher in 2011), I think I prefer the Canadian Frosh to the British Fresh.
There's also old-style games. Not even ones that involve alcohol (most at Frosh are under the age of 19, Canada's drinking age), although I've definitely played versions of some of them whilst inebriated in the past. In that respect, it's good to get back to the roots.
Later on, we headed down to the multi-purpose Rogers' Centre to see the Toronto Argonauts take on the Montreal Alouettes in the CFL (Canada's version of the NFL). The differences between my experiences at the Blues and my experience watching the Argonauts could fill a book, but for now, you'll have to wait until a forthcoming blog. All I'll say is this: it sounds incredibly naff, but when I was standing for the Canadian national anthem at the start of the game, in a relatively full tier, surrounded by friends I'd made that very day, I definitely had to hold back some tears. Working towards a Year Abroad is a tricky experience to say the least, and for it to finally come together is a genuinely emotional feeling.
No comments:
Post a Comment