Road trip! Part 3

Toronto!

After a wonderful weekend with my in-laws, it was time to begin making our way back north.  We would spend a night and a full day in Toronto, although originally the plan was 2 nights and 2 days.

Leaving their home around 8 p.m. that evening, we made the journey into the city courtesy of a lift from friends I had made on the immigration forum.  They drove the hour from their suburban city to where we were then we all went out to dinner, then instead of our original plan of taking the train into Toronto from their city, they drove us all the way into Toronto itself.  We were wonderfully surprised and very grateful for their generosity.

Like any other large city, Toronto is magically-lit up at night.  I had forgotten to pack my camera in my handbag, and ended up only having my phone available for taking photos.  Still, it was impressively beautiful to drive into and finally see the city I had only managed to "breeze" through the last two times I saw it.

We had booked a hotel downtown, quite close to Nathan Phillips Square.  How close would only become apparent the next morning!  That is New City Hall towering over the Square, the buildings are as iconic and symbolic of Toronto as the Empire State Building is of New York City.

You might be asking, so if there is a New City Hall, is there an Old one?  Actually, yes, there is, and our wanderings would take us right past it.

That marvelous Victorian building is not the only one of its kind in Toronto, many architecturally interesting buildings have been preserved at various points throughout the city, cropping up to surprise you in the midst of the functional glass-and-steel high-rises, like this beauty:

Once we were on Yonge Street (pronounced "young"), we decided to keep walking on it all the way to the waterfront.  During my "Canadian immersion" phase last year, I had watched the news on Canadian stations and many times had heard of "Yonge Street".  I would often wonder to myself just how long this street was, as it seemed to be just about everywhere.  In point of fact, it is.  To quote Wikipedia:

Yonge Street (pronounced "young") is a major arterial route connecting the shores of Lake Ontario in Toronto to Lake Simcoe, a gateway to the Upper Great Lakes. It was formerly listed in the Guinness Book of Records as the longest street in the world at 1,896 km (1,178 mi).^[2]The construction of Yonge Street is designated an Event of National Historic Significance in Canada.^[3] Yonge Street was fundamental in the original planning and settlement of western Upper Canada in the 1790s, informing the basis of the concession roads in Ontario today. Long the southernmost leg of Highway 11, linking the capital with northern Ontario, Yonge Street has been referred to as "Main Street Ontario". A large part of the route follows an ancient well-established Aboriginal trail that linked the Lake Ontario waterfront to northern parts of the region. It was also the site of Canada's first subway line.

Yonge Street is also the north-south basis point for determining East and West street numbering in Toronto.  We would visit a number of points along the street, including the famous Eaton Centre, Yonge-Dundas Square and the Hockey Hall of Fame (naturally, this is in Toronto!).  The first point we got to on our journey was the Hockey Hall of Fame, located almost unobtrusively in a former Bank of Montreal building:

I elected to keep walking rather than actually visiting inside the Hall of Fame, hockey not being one of the sports I watch or follow.  I know the name Wayne Gretzky, of course, and that there seems to be a great deal of fighting during hockey games that bears no relation to actually achieving the object of the game, but other than that I know little else.  Utterly un-Canadian attitude, I know.  I might have to work on that!

Continuing further down Yonge Street, some more of the impressive glass-and-steel towers that dominate Toronto's skyline came into view.  One of these is the TD Tower, named for the Toronto-Dominion Bank, one of the largest banks in Canada.  Formed from the merger of the Bank of Toronto and Dominion Bank back in 1955, TD is one of the best-known symbols of Canadian financial life.  According to their website, TD has some 11 million customers nationally in Canada.  That means every third Canadian you meet banks with TD.  Their financial prowess shows in their rather impressive headquarters building:

As we continued our walk towards the waterfront, at 18 Yonge Street I was pleased and surprised to come across a display of a bronze grouping showing a male and a female with a baby in her arms.  Upon closer inspection of the plaque displaying its name, I learned the grouping was titled "Immigrant Family" and done by artist Tom Otterness.  Naturally, I couldn't resist having my photo taken with it:

After what seemed like a great deal of walking, we reached the beginning of Yonge Street, the waterfront area of the city that presides over Lake Ontario.  At what must surely be a rather prestigious address, 1 Yonge Street, one finds the Toronto Star building, seen here:

From here, G decided we should see something of Lake Ontario, and so we ventured to the ferry terminals.  The Centre Island Ferry was our choice, a popular destination if the number of eventual passengers that joined us on the ferry was anything to go by.  There were at least three groups of students of early primary ages, all herded along by long-suffering teachers and parents as they purchased tickets and settled their charges in safety aboard the ferry.  Approximately fifteen minutes on the water would see us cross the water and arrive at Centre Island.  We took a number of photos during the ferry ride.  I was especially fond of views of the CN Tower, which only got better as we got further into the water.  Just a few of the photos we took:

As you can see, there are a lot of beautiful views.  It was lovely out on the waters of Lake Ontario, the day was warm enough that the breeze from being at the front of the ferry was not unpleasant, and yet cool enough that all the walking we did was not unbearable.

From Centre Island, we headed into the Arts/Design and Fashion Districts by walking along to Bathhurst and then Queen Streets.  We bought lunch at a suitably arty cafeteria with the rather astonishing name Clafouti.  My egg salad on a croissant was nonetheless quite tasty.  Enjoyed on a park bench with a bottle of water, it made for a nice respite from all the walking and sightseeing.  Being as G had grown up in and around Toronto, we were in his childhood backyard, so to speak, so there was a lot he wanted me to see.  A couple of places included a community centre that had once featured a mural of his on the exterior wall and the "halfway house" where he was reintegrated into civilian life following his tour of duty in Afghanistan, while attending classes at George Brown College to earn his millwright certification.

As the afternoon wound on, we decided it was time to do some shopping, so we headed back up Yonge Street to check out the stores in the famous Eaton Centre.  My first stop was the restrooms, which turned out to have quite the line-up.   It moved efficiently enough, and when I was out we made our way around, looking into various stores.  In the end, most were considerably more up-market than we needed, what works in Toronto would not work in E.L., after all, the high fashion looks sported by the store mannequins would be quite out of place for me.

With what shopping we wanted to do out of the way, we ventured into Yonge-Dundas Square for more sightseeing.  The views there are instantly recognisable to anyone who watches Canadian morning television, as a number of the channels have studios overlooking the famous square.  Here are two views from our time there:

With the afternoon slipping away, G decided on one final treat for me: Marble Slab Creamery.  The name is actually quite literal, the ice-cream is worked on marble slabs which have been frozen, this preserves the integrity of the ice-cream while the employees mix up your favourite compositions.  I choose chocolate ice-cream liberally sprinkled with M&M's, and we enjoyed it sitting outside the store in deck chairs provided by businesses participating in a promotion to lure pedestrians into relaxing on the street.  The lane next to the sidewalk was blocked off by flower planters and chairs were placed outside the stores, allowing weary pedestrians to sit for a few minutes, enjoy traffic cruising by them on the one hand, while surveilling their fellow passersby on the other hand.

Treat done, we made our way back to the hotel for a rest and a change of clothes after a shower.  We would cap off the evening with sushi for dinner, at a restaurant on Queen Street, appropriately named Sushi Queen.  Service, price and ambience were all excellent, and it was a worthy cap to a beautiful introduction (a proper one) to the city of Toronto!

After dinner, it was time to pack our bags and get ready to back to the Metro Bus Terminal.  We boarded our bus shortly after midnight for the 1:00 a.m. departure.  It was just after 6:30 a.m. that we arrived back in Sudbury, tired from a long, somewhat cold (to me, anyways) night on the bus.  With limited choices for breakfast that early in the morning, we opted to wait until we got home to eat.  We were collected in Spragge by the same jocular bus driver who had ferried us there in the school bus five days earlier, and arrived back in E.L. just after 10:00 a.m.

Next time: the arrival of fall and fall fashion survival guide!

Road trip part 2

Having been "there and back again" (huge Tolkien fan, I just had to say that), I am now prepared to offer my opinions and observations on the joys, or lack thereof, of road tripping by bus in Canada.

Aside from the whole experience of being on the road, there is also the fact that this trip culminated in my first ever face-to-face meeting with my in-laws.  Although my husband and I had a very 21st century romance, meeting online as we did, I did not meet my in-laws until this trip and I felt not a little unlike an arranged bride, or mail-order bride.

I was warmly accepted, however, and whatever nerves I may have been prone to as the very first woman my husband took home to meet his mother soon dissipated under their unreserved welcome.   At a summer party held the day following our arrival, I was introduced to everyone as "G's wife, newly-arrived from Jamaica" and everyone was likewise polite and welcoming.  I was able to tell the story of our meeting and marriage once or twice, and told how it all sounded very fairy-tale like!

That I was the only non-Caucasian present did not make me feel the least out of place, and as the party-goers were all likewise in their 30's and 40's (save for my nephews by marriage), I was able to relate to the topics they found to speak on and mingled freely, much to G's delight.  He even teased me later that I was quite the social butterfly and did very well in putting aside my natural reserve on meeting new people.

Back to the road trip, though.  Given the fact that we had some 565km (351 miles) to cover, by necessity our trip started early.  I was already packed from the night before, G chose to do his the morning of travel.  By 6:55 a.m. we were quite ready to leave, and found ourselves on the porch staring out at the rain misting down.  My breath began to frost on the air!  Naturally that put paid to our plans to walk into town with our backpacks, so we ended up calling a taxi to take us to the bus depot.

The depot in town is an office just off the highway.  The Greyhound office is small, but was wonderfully warm to be in considering the wind, drizzle, and temperatures outside and the fact that under my hoodie I wore only a t-shirt over my underthings.  I had neglected to add a second layer on top (to make three in total) and I was feeling it.   Naturally I had a good laugh at the idea that I was feeling this way on an August morning!  First and second travel tips: dress for the weather, and make note of the minimum pre-boarding arrival time requirement.  Greyhound's is at least an hour prior, especially if you are purchasing/collecting your tickets the same day as travel will occur.

The bus to begin our journey turned out to be one of those smaller yellow school buses.  Again cause for much hilarity, as I would for the first time ride "the short bus".  However, as more people began to arrive, it became apparent that the short bus would not do at all, so with only twenty-five minutes to go before our 9:00 a.m. departure time, the driver departed with the short bus and returned with a standard sized school bus in the recognizable yellow.  Yes, I have pictures:

Greyhound Office, Elliot Lake

The short bus!

Standard sized bus

With everyone ensconced aboard the second bus, we departed down Highway 108 and drove the nearly 30km that took us to the junction with Highway 17, otherwise known as the Trans-Canada Highway, because it runs across the country.  At the junction we actually turned west and headed in the direction of Sault Ste. Marie, but only going as far as Spragge, the next town (not sure, it might be best described as a village or a hamlet, it's that small) on the highway.  In Spragge, we off-loaded and waited for the Greyhound bus coming from out west.  Yes, the bus we took was coming from other cities and towns all the way from British Columbia through the prairie provinces and on into Ontario!  Here it is:

Spragge layover

Greyhound bus to Toronto

From Spragge, we departed east for Sudbury around 9:30 a.m., the next major stop and the major Greyhound depot in the region.   The trip lasted some two hours and a little bit.  It was an overcast and cool morning throughout, rain dogged our miles from town to town.  Before we got to Sudbury, however, we would make stops in Spanish and Espanola.  The Spanish stop was a drive-by, basically, as no-one was waiting for the bus and the ticket office is located in a building fronting the highway.  In Espanola we did a quick loop around their city hall and paused long enough to collect a few more passengers.  The rain was coming down in a steady drizzle at that time.  Here is Espanola's city hall:

From Espanola we then headed for Sudbury with no more stops.  At around 11:40 a.m., we pulled into the Greyhound depot in Sudbury and were advised our layover would last until 1:00 p.m.   We had time to get lunch, stretch our legs and acquaint ourselves with the rest rooms at the stop.  Most persons chose a conveniently nearby McDonald's for lunch, some made use of the vending machine fare offered inside the depot, most selections being priced around $2.00 (a toonie).  There was also a coffee/tea/sandwich shop, where I managed to get a cup of hot chocolate for $1.75.  It was a Keurig machine, but the shortage of milk left a little something to be desired, to my taste anyways.  

We opted to get lunch at the Greek eatery across the street from the depot.  The pork savlaki (a kind of wrap) with tsatziki sauce was worth every penny.  Ask them for extra sauce, they will add it.  They also do chicken variations, if you are not fond of pork.  I took these shots of the Sudbury Greyhound Depot and Herc's Eatery:

Herc's Eatery

Sudbury Greyhound Depot

Traveling tip number 3: Carry a selection of coins on you for purchasing items from vending machines and cash-only vendors.  Unlike Jamaica, loonies (one dollar Canadian coin) and toonies (two dollars Canadian coins) and the smaller fractions, quarters (25 cents), nickels (5 cents, the larger) and dimes (10 cents, smaller than the nickel!) are actually useful for making purchases.

1:00 p.m. arrived with no sign of our bus, which had departed for servicing after decanting us at the depot.  We were advised to leave our bags on board if we so preferred and also to mark our seats, as persons who had previously been on the bus would be boarded in priority to persons starting their journey in Sudbury.   A number of other buses arrived, picked up passengers for Ottawa, Montreal and other points, still with no sign of our bus.  Some forty-five minutes after we were supposed to have departed it finally showed up, delayed by a traffic accident, the driver said.  This meant that we departed Sudbury fully one hour later than originally scheduled.  

It was at this point in our journey that I began to feel apprehensive.  We had barely an hour between our last stop in Toronto and the departure of the train which would take us out to where my in-laws actually resided. As it was the last train of the day and our tickets were economy, non-refundable and non transferable, we would be severely inconvenienced if we did not get to Union Station in time to catch the Via Rail train.  With an hour lost to the stopover in Sudbury, I worried we might be left stranded in Toronto overnight.  G was not happy, and determined that if we did miss our train, Greyhound would surely hear about it.

We continued south through more of the Georgian Bay area, what is commonly called "cottage country", where many southern Ontarians own weekend/summer cottages where they spend warmer days in outdoor pursuits.  It is a very picturesque area, but as we were mostly on the highway, I saw little more than glimpses.  We had one very short stop in Parry Sound, where I was able to take these pictures:

Highway

Travel Centre at rest stop

Boat on display outside Parry Sound travel centre

Further south, we entered what was obviously farmland.  Large tracts of land covered in corn began to roll past, with farm houses and barns being typical features.  We were by now in Simcoe county, and G said that if we made it to the city of Barrie around 5:30 p.m., there was still a chance we could make the train.  We began rolling past Barrie around 5:40 p.m. and he said it was good enough.

Signs began appearing welcoming us to Toronto, and it was soon obvious we were on a major artery leading into the city.  One sign proclaimed the population of Toronto as 2,500,000, which is essentially the same as the entire population of Jamaica, give or take a a hundred thousand or two!  We made it to a highway leading to the Yorkdale Mall, and observed planes overhead going to Lester Pearson International Airport, where I had landed about 10 weeks earlier.  There was a brief stop at the Yorkdale Mall, and then it was on to our final destination downtown.  Another fifteen minutes served to bring us to the last stop at the Toronto Metro Coach Terminal, on Bay Street.

Plane on the way to LPIA

Yorkdale Mall

Yorkdale Bus Terminal (inside)

Yorkdale Bus Terminal (outside)

Unfortunately, at this stage of our travel I had little time to take photos and did not manage a photo of the Metro terminal.  Immediately we disembarked from the bus, we were headed down a flight of stairs and hurrying through Atrium on Bay, a set of shops below buildings on Bay Street that also had a subway station.   I had to stay hard on G's heels as he moved quickly through the crowds.  We paid for our subway tickets at 6:36 p.m. and were on the platform for barely a minute when the subway pulled up.  Two stops later, we were inside Union Station.  It was 6:46 p.m., our train was leaving at 7:05 p.m.

We raced through Union Station to find the kiosks where we could scan our online confirmation barcodes and receive our tickets.  When we found them, we quickly scanned the pages and received our tickets, two pieces printed for each traveler.  We were then directed to a distressingly long line as being the one going to our train, and joined it somewhere in the middle as it snaked its way onto our train's platform.  Our car was the sixth and last, and barely had we made it onto the train and sat down, before the bell was being rung and the train signalling it was pulling away.  We had made it, after all!

On the platform

Safely on board the train

Traveling tips number 4 and 5: Pre-book your tickets for the bus and train whenever possible.  Travel light, you never know when you might need to make a run for it!

An hour and three stops later, we had arrived at the suburban city my in-laws call home.  We were greeted outside the train station by G's mother and sister, then driven the short distance to their home.

In Road Trip part 3: Toronto!

Road trip! Part 1

We are off to visit with the in-laws.  I find it odd to remind myself that we haven't actually met in person!  Having become accustomed, even after arriving in Canada, to talking to them via video messaging, the idea of going to actually visit in their home is quite exciting.

The big deal about this trip, of course, is the distance.  9.5 hours on the bus, including layover time, to cover three stages.  At the end of that, a dash across town to catch the train for the hour-long ride to the city where my in-laws make their home.  In Jamaica, a trip that long would suffice to see me across the island.  In Canada, I am covering a small part of what is not even the largest province.

The sheer size of country I'll be traveling through does not bother me.  Nor does the idea of traveling for that amount of time.  In general, I am a happy traveler.  On the road, in the air, no matter how, as long as I am going I find the journey itself interesting, and take pleasure in watching changing scenery and people.  

I make sure that by whatever means I am traveling I am comfortable, which for me means as little luggage as possible (only a backpack), a camera close to hand and snack items suitable to my comfort.  In Jamaica I am plagued by car sickness and make it a habit to not eat during trips, except for granola bars or candy bars or some such once the part of the journey most likely to set me off is past.  In Canada I do not expect to be as uncomfortable, given they are not prone to the Jamaican propensity for building roads with hairpin curves at every turn.  However, I am still restricting food items to a bag of trail mix, a granola bar, a Snickers chocolate bar (loaded with peanuts, very good for suppressing hunger for hours) and a bottle of water.  During the layovers I do not wish to be preoccupied with finding food or a bathroom, hence the one bottle of water over 10 hours of travel.

My camera is charged and ready, so is my iPod.  My travel comfort depends on having music at hand, in the event I do not wish to engage in conversation.  Since I will be traveling with G, conversation will be inevitable in this particular trip.  However, my iPod is also my comfort for sleeping, I listen to audiobooks and it soothes me to sleep.  Sleeping in strange beds gives me Strange Bed Syndrome as I label that curious discomfort that arises from a new bed, and having a comfort of home will help to ease that.  I hope not to finish 10 hours of traveling only to find myself unable to sleep because my body refuses to relax into unfamiliar surroundings!

I am already suffering some separation anxiety, oddly enough.  I have settled into E.L., I am happy here, I know my surroundings now.  Only a couple days ago I took one of the dogs for a walk and was able to simply wander from street to street with him and orient myself back to home with barely a conscious thought and no debate about whether the way I was going was indeed correct.  Going back to the "big city" of Toronto now throws it back into stark relief that Canada is still very much a stranger to me.  I will be dependent on G's direction and knowledge, and my recently found independence will become irrelevant.

I am looking forward to traveling about in Canada, however.  I will be seeing a bit more of it close up on the ground, I will be seeing more of the city that is the heartbeat of the country (no, Ottawa is the capital, but Toronto is where everything happens) and I will be seeing my in-laws.  I will get an idea of how ground transportation works in Canada, and taking the train for the first time here.  I rode the subway in NY and didn't like it much, but I hope to find a new pleasure in this experience.

To bed shortly, and early to rise to set out.  Part 2 when I return!

Challenges

This isn't easy to do, you know.  It's a huge undertaking, to move your entire life to a new country and settle somewhere completely different from what you've known all your life until then.  However, it's obvious from looking at human history that immigration is do-able, and not only have people endured it for millennia, they have thrived on it, too.

I still find time for the immigration forum.  At first I was sure that once arrived in Canada I would have no time for it, but the truth is that the subject interests me, quite apart from my own personal experience.  I follow it avidly in the news: whatever changes Canada makes to its immigration regulations may impact us one way or another, or someone I know.  I want to stay informed, and I want to pass on to others what I know so they can navigate these waters too.

What I see sometimes on the forum from others who have completed their processing is that their period of adjustment is harder than they expected, and the couples must work really hard to overcome the challenges arising from being together all the time.  Some of these couples never spent any appreciable time living together in Jamaica, and others have.  Some have even lived together in Canada before.  Still, there is a period of adjustment after the immigration process is complete that calls on them to remember their commitment to each other and why they made this choice in the first place.

Our challenge comes in the form of G's health.  He is used to navigating the Canadian health system, I am not.  It is routine to him to endure monthly, weekly or random treatments as necessary for his health condition.  He knows the nurses, the doctors, the hospitals.  I do not.  So, of course, I have to ask him questions that might seem redundant or perhaps ridiculous, and I have to observe closely everything that happens to him to understand what is going on.

Given that he hates the treatments, although he has endured them for the better part of a decade now, and given that he will need them for the rest of his natural life unless some miracle cure is found for his body's persistent rejection of the iron necessary to form his lifeblood, I expected he would be more resigned, so to speak to his treatments.  Instead, he resents each one as if it is the first, as if the "weakness" that results is a fresh, unforeseen betrayal of what he expects from himself and he does not understand why things are the way they are.

Perhaps it is the Jamaican in me that fatalistically expects struggle and believes one should simply forge ahead once hard times are encountered , grim-faced and with gritted teeth perhaps, but always accepting that things are as they are quickly and moving to with dealing with them.  Or perhaps it is some other part of my heritage manifesting itself.  Whatever it is, something in me becomes exasperated at his railing at his body and his illness, and simply wants to press on and deal with it as best as possible.  

Then I think to myself about how I felt about my asthma when it was worse, and I rein in my feelings and try to walk more in his shoes.  I hated the occasional betrayal of my body that was every attack, no matter how mild.  Yet I had lived with asthma since I was nine years old, surely I should have been used to it!  I acknowledge then that I need to empathise more, to see more of his reactions in myself, and it makes me ashamed of my impatience with his reactions and I allow that he has full as much reason as I ever did, and quite likely more, to feel as he does.

It is this empathy that I will need to cultivate and draw on more if we are to deal successfully with all the challenges that will come in this settling in period.  I may be the one who did the moving, but we are both adjusting and sometimes I have to consciously remind myself of this and use it to examine his actions and my reactions and vice versa.

Challenges are a part of any marriage.  No matter how well-suited and how compatible they might be, every couple is two very different halves working to be one whole, happy unit.  Add the stresses of life and the choices we make such as immigration, and the mettle of any relationship can be tested and pushed beyond anything the couple themselves might have expected.  With this in mind, I remind myself, daily if need be, that when all is said and done, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else but by his side, so I will always work at gaining all the skills and qualities I need to meet him in his own efforts to secure the strength and happiness of our union.

Loss, and my first Canada Day

When you live in or are from a small town, you get used to no-one except the people living there or from there having much to say about the place.  Your focus narrows to the daily doings of your small town, and you expect that the world at large will mostly ignore you and these daily doings, as they are neither earth-shaking nor very important, to the way of most people's thinking.

I was born in a small town, for even though it is the parish capital of Westmoreland and a town of venerable age (established by the Spaniards prior to the English conquest in 1655, hence the name of the town, which means "grassland by the sea"), and in spite of its recent building boom in the last decade or so, Savanna-la-Mar remains very much a small town.  I received all my primary and secondary education in this small town, so I am very much a small town girl.  In spite of almost six and a half years in Kingston, I still identify with small town people, small town ways and small town thinking.

As a consequence of my upbringing, or perhaps as an advantage of it, I am very much at home in E.L.  I don't mind that there's only one mall, that selections and options are limited so far as restaurants, activities or entertainment, I grew up with that.  I am very good at amusing myself, as a consequence, and have a high tolerance for what most people would describe as boredom.  More to the point, all the "necessary" modern conveniences are here, especially the internet, so I feel like I lack nothing.

What I have not built up a tolerance for, is loss.  And loss came to E.L. with a vengeance 8 days ago, and took with it some of the security, and a great deal of the anonymity, that is treasured in small towns.  You don't wake up and expect that by the end of the day your small city, barely a dot on the map to most, will be all over the national news because a building fell apart and took with it some of your fellow townspeople.  Yet, that is exactly what happened on Saturday, June 22nd, to E.L.

Now, just over a week later, there are families grieving their loved ones, as two lives were lost, and the mall itself is now lost to the community, taking with it the employment of almost three hundred people.  For awhile, as the questions linger, our anonymity is lost, as news crews try to get opinions, as government officials search for answers, and both publish these to the wider community.  

As a consequence of the mall tragedy, there is a pall over my first Canada Day.  Or perhaps, not so much a pall, as a solemnity is cast over the day that is not associated with such celebrations of nationhood.  The sense of patriotism and national pride usually felt on these days is dampened by the knowledge that there are families among us mourning, feeling the loss of loved ones not present to share in yet another memorable day.  Events in town have been cancelled, rightly so to my mind, and persons are left to their own devices insofar as how they will mark the occasion.

In time, the questions will be answered, and E.L. will go back to being a small city, and of not much notice to anyone who doesn't live here or isn't from the town so as to be familiar with its ways and doings.  Until then, a sad something lingers in the air, and a day of national joy comes with tears.

Longer days and my sleep rhythm

A feature of being in the temperate zones is that you actually have changing seasons, as opposed to merely rainy and not-so-rainy in the tropical zones.  With the arrival of spring came an event I have not observed in more than a decade and a half - the moving of the clocks forward for daylight saving time (DST).

I actually love DST, when I am somewhere it makes sense.  I remember as a very young child when Jamaica still observed it, that I would be awoken at an unconscionably dark hour of morning, assured it was 6:00 a.m. and told I needed to get ready for school.  Where the diurnal difference in sunrise and sunset varies only about 1.5 - 2 hours at most during the year, DST was doing no-one in Jamaica any favours.  As it is, we did away with it sometime during my primary school years, and I was none the poorer for it.

Here in the northern climes, though, DST makes all the sense in the world.  The diurnal difference in sunrise and sunset can get up to as much as 22 hours (in the extreme north, or Arctic regions), but here in northern ON it is about 5 hours (by my inexpert reckoning).  And it is wonderful!  I wake at 5:30 a.m. most days, and don't go to bed until say 11:00 p.m. usually, and here in Canada, that means it's only been dark for about an hour by the time I am crawling between the sheets.

Of course, all this daylight has caused a shift in my sleep rhythms.  My mother has often referred to me as her  "chicken" child, because with the coming of sunset I am ready to find a nest and roost.  At this time of year, with sunset in Jamaica sometime around 7:00 p.m., I am yawning my head off by 8:00 p.m. and ready to settle in by 9:00 p.m. at the latest.  It makes it hard to stay current with any TV programmes that come on at primetime, because by then I am falling asleep.  If I force myself to stay awake, I usually crash by the end of the show and miss the best part, when all is revealed in the last ten minutes.

On the contrary, here in Canada I find myself staying up as late as midnight before I feel sufficiently sleepy enough to get into bed.  This is brought on by the fact that the days seem to go by quickly, and it is still light out at "late" times of night, so much so that I feel little to no tiredness, and feel distinctly odd to think of going to bed before it is dark out.

This change in my sleep rhythms has me quite interested to see what it will be like in the wintertime.  I recall that in NY I suffered perhaps a mild form of seasonal affective disorder (SAD) and hated being indoors during the winter.  This time around I am preparing myself to be more outgoing, to enjoy winter rather than endure it, to revel as much in the early sunsets as I do now in the late ones.

Let's talk about...the weather

No discussion about moving to Canada from Jamaica would be complete without questions on the weather.  Of all the contrasts between the two countries, perhaps that would be the most immediate and uppermost in minds.  I have been here just under a week now, so it's about time to have that discussion.

Officially, it is spring, and the northern hemisphere's summer starts in just 9 days.  From Canadians, including G, I keep hearing how "hot" it is, and inwardly I smile.  Yes, I suppose for people used to temperatures in the minus twenties (degrees Celsius), it may seem hot now, with the sun shining and the humidity hovering around 50%.  For someone used to temperatures hovering near 34 degrees with 80% or more humidity, the weather now is simply pleasantly warm.

On my first day, it was windy and cool, say around 22 degrees, so I wore a long-sleeved workout top and yoga pants and was comfortable.  I plan to acquire some more long-sleeved shirts, knit or jersey, as I was very happy to have that single shirt (the only long-sleeved shirt I own) on Thursday.  Saturday morning was another morning to be happy for long-sleeved shirts, as it dawned cool, foggy and wet, and stayed that way until late afternoon.  On Saturday, with my long-sleeved shirt in the wash, I had to resort to a hooded sweatshirt over my t-shirt to remain appropriately warm.  Surprisingly enough, the temperature rose, the rain and fog cleared off and the evening was very fine.

People you meet in stores and on the street will comment on how "hot" it is, and try to forecast the summer's heat.  Having experienced a northern summer before, I know something of what is to come, and I am interested to see if this time it is the same or worse.  I cannot expect it to be better, although perhaps the fact that I am in the rural part of the province, as opposed to being in a city, as I was then, will make a difference.  It remains to be seen.

Today it is windy, and somewhat cloudy, which over-shadows the warmth and heat that arose earlier in the day.  It is cool, in the mid-twenties, low humidity, altogether an agreeable and tolerable temperate day.  As time goes on, of course there will be more to say on the weather, but for now?  It's quite nice.

Landed!

I spent a very hectic week and a half in Westmoreland with my mother and was able to see my brothers and Grandmother as well.  It was worth all the running about just to say I was there and able to see them.

Yesterday was the all-important day, the day I landed in Canada as a permanent resident.  After a harrowing landing from what had started as a routine international flight, followed by an involuntary 2-hour confinement on the tarmac in the plane while the airport recovered from the thunderstorms that so terrified me during the landing, I was finally able to enter the airport and process through the various final steps to becoming a permanent resident (PR).

First, the Canadian Border Services Agency examined my declaration card that I was required to fill out on the flight, and directed me to Immigration.  Immigration went as expected, and perhaps even more smoothly than it would normally, as I was already so familiar with the requirements of the Act that the officer was relieved of the need to make any explanations, needing only to certify my various documents and then send me on to the next stage.

Stage 3 was declaring my accompanying and to-follow goods and property, and again, preparation made that a smooth process.  I had already prepared the necessary forms, so all the Customs officer needed to do was certify them after double-checking they were correctly and completely prepared.

Stage 4 was running to catch my next flight, which was delayed and delayed again until the two hours spent sitting on the tarmac were fully lost and never made up.  I arrived in Sudbury at 2:30 a.m. when it should have been midnight, and we were home in Elliot Lake two hours later.

Today has been about settling into the house, getting used to the location of things and re-establishing routines we used to have, such as my doing the dishes after meals because G is the cook.  The comfort of these routines  will ease me into accepting my new surroundings, and I look forward to each as they come back to us.

G minus 13

What a hectic few days this has been!

I expected packing up and closing off my private clients to be not quite as hectic as they turned out to be, and can only breathe a sigh of relief that the clients are over with except to be paid for my efforts, and the packing up is more or less completed for the major items.

To officially mark the end of my sojourn in Kingston, I went out to dinner with my closest female friends in Kingston.  There are only two of them, as such it was a small but enjoyable dinner that was had.  Of course, in keeping with the tradition G and I established, we went to have sushi, because that is what we do when he is leaving for Canada.  Now that I am the one doing the leaving, my friends and I did the same.

Along with dinner, I left my friends with small tokens to keep as reminders of me.  For one, a small book of practical advice for every woman; for the other, a book journal to record all the books she is reading, from one reader to another.  I will be able to look back and say, how cool was it that we could do that?  Very cool.

Tonight is my last night in this apartment, tomorrow night I fall asleep in my mother's house.  I have lived here for 19 months, and of all the addresses I had in Kingston, it will remain my favourite.  No, it wasn't the best apartment, but it certainly was the most conveniently located, and the one I felt safest going to and from.  I had the least issues here, and really few things annoyed me, and now they are of no consequence.  I am looking forward to my new address, but will remember this one fondly.

I am moving again.  In the eighteen years since I became an adult (legally, anyhow), I have had twice as many addresses as I did in the previous eighteen years.  I am obviously something of a rolling stone.  I have always been willing to pull up stakes and move to the next place in the hope that I will find something better than obtained in the last place.  In some cases, it was work, in other cases it was quality of life.

One more appointment and some bill paying tomorrow, then off to the West!

G minus 17

My colleagues gave me a send-off party yesterday.  It was so unexpected, it came as a complete surprise.  By dint of some slick manoeuvres, they got me out of the office so they could get the decorations and cake into the meeting room, which is located directly behind my cubicle.  I even walked past the team members who chose the card they all signed while they paid for it and was not one bit the wiser.

I was astonished, and honestly have never had a nicer send-off.  Considering that I have worked with them for the shortest period I have ever been employed full-time, it speaks to the quality of the team spirit at this particular place that they felt it was necessary to do this for me.  I was not the least bit reluctant to give the expected "speech" and spent it praising them individually and collectively for the welcome, the training, the encouragement and the camaraderie I was so fortunate to experience.

So, now we're at G minus 17, as a clever friend of ours described it, a description I was pleased to adopt.  I am going fully into moving mode now.  I hope to get a few boxes to start packing away my books, and I will pack away all the clothes I won't wear in the following week and those I don't plan to take with me.  I need to have my spaces clear so I can begin cleaning them down.  I intend for cleaning to be a multi-day project rather than a one or two day event, as I will be scattering some appointments through the various days.

One such appointment is to see a dermatologist.  While I am fortunate enough to be married to a man who literally loves me "warts and all", I have long wrestled with self-consciousness over those on my face and neck and have decided to have them dealt with.  I think it's appropriate that I start my new phase in life with a fresh look, and not carry some of the image issues I have had here with me.  This treatment is unlikely to rid me of all of them, but at the least the most obvious ones will go.  There are some that look like freckles, I find those unremarkable and do not care if they remain.

Another appointment is to see to my bank account, as I have some monthly commitments attached to it that I need to sign paperwork for it to cease.  Not looking forward to that, getting service at my branch involves waiting for an hour to be seen for 10 minutes.  I will be staying with the same bank in Canada, and plan to keep this account open to do any business necessary in Jamaica.

So, on with the show!

Immersion and Miss Marple

I have been on my "immersion" therapy for my transition to Canada for a couple of weeks now.  I read the news every day on CBC's website, I also catch the odd article or editorial from other newspapers online when they catch my eye on the news stream on our website's Home page or Social Lounge page.

The sheer size of the country guarantees something is going on somewhere, so it's impossible to keep track of all that is happening.  I find myself sticking with news from around Ontario, and trying to get a hang of the various levels of government and how they interact and function.  I have a ways to go, getting to actually having the hang of that, I think.

One thing that is at least looking familiar, though.  Some weeks ago my eye caught on an article reporting on meetings of the Public Accounts Committee.  Since what I do now has direct relation to that, I read the article, and since then have become hooked on following this story.  I have come to an inescapable conclusion now, since following these articles, that there is at least one thing I will have no trouble recognising: government operations!

Yup, doesn't matter where you are in the world, there is nothing like an Auditor General's report for embarrassing non-compliant government ministers and their ministries, and no excuses so lame as the ones propounded for these failures, and no employees so apologetic as the low-level staffers about to be thrown under the bus for carrying out the orders of higher-ups.  I could have been reading a report from the PAC here in Jamaica, all I had to do was substitute names.

I read a lot of Dame Agatha Christie's Miss Marple mysteries, and one of the constants of Miss Marple is her firm conviction that people are the same no matter where you are.  She believed that experience in one place can hold you steady somewhere else, as long as you let yourself see the patterns in human behaviour.  The names will change, but the actions and reactions are the same.  I am seeing how right she is, and now I feel one step closer to confidence and a step further away from worry that I will not acquit myself well in EL.  People really are the same, no matter where you meet them.

I will be honest, it feels like time has got roller-skates on after crawling along for months!  I have a long list of things to sort out to be ready to leave and at first it seemed like the time we allowed ourselves was more than enough.  But since last week the days have been speeding along, and as I tick things off the list one by one, I feel the time looming ahead.  Not looming in an ominous sense, but as if I should have allowed myself more and this is not enough and everything that needs to won't get done!  Meh, I am sure it will be all done.

I am just feeling weird, I guess.  I cancelled my utilities yesterday, and today I give my landlord notice.  I feel like I am chopping loose all my "mooring lines", all the things that keep me anchored to my life as I know it, and that I will float far away to a place I don't know and a life I don't know and it's all very scary for someone who has tried to maintain a lot of control over her life.

I know I made these choices, but somehow that is not comforting all of my fear away.  I am trying to take things one step at a time, so I don't feel like I am losing control, but it is harder than I thought not to be scared.  I'm not afraid  of what life will be like with G in Canada, I suspect it won't be all that different from what life is like with G in Jamaica, in terms of our routines and the things we do.  While the general outline will be the same, all the details will be different, and that I suppose is what is causing my fears.

It won't be doing groceries at Michi's, or Brooklyn Supermarket..it will be groceries at...hmm, I don't know the name of the supermarket.  I don't know the name of the pharmacy where I will get my supplies.  I know our house, and where it is and what inside looks like, it's everything around it that I know very little about.

I have decided to start watching a lot of Canadian TV, because I do get some channels here.  I need to immerse myself in Canadian things as much as I can, so I will be used to it already to some extent, so when I flip the TV on, the shows and the news anchors I see will not be utterly unfamiliar.  I'm also getting in the frame of mind of living with my husband again, so it will be natural to have others in the house after almost a year of living alone again.  I'm sure I'll think of more things I can do to mitigate these feelings as the day goes on.

Got it!

I picked up my passport today, complete with immigrant visa.  Wow, OK, now I'm excited.  I get to go home to my husband! YES!! I want to laugh, and cry, and sigh in relief that this part of the journey, 14 months in the traveling, is now over.

I started the next phase of the journey, which will be much shorter, by handing in my resignation today.  I have resigned from five jobs in my career to date, and this was the only one I ever regretted handing in.  All my other jobs I knew it was time to walk away, for one reason or another.  This one...it will be hard to go.  I have been learning, it is a good team, and they have all expressed happiness for me, but it only makes it harder to leave them, seeing them so happy for me although I leave them.

The next 5 weeks will be concentrated around packing up and getting ready to move back to Westmoreland.  There's not much to pack up, but what there is needs to be boxed up and wrapped up where necessary.  They have things arranged on that side, my Mom and brother, so it's just for me to be ready for them when they get here.  Next week I give notice to my landlord and the utility companies, and purchase wrapping and maybe get some boxes for my books.  Or maybe one of those barrels...if one can be had this side of the Atlantic, LOL.

Once back in Westmoreland, it's a week and a half to spend with Mom, just be at home, and then off to be with G.  Wow, OK, I'm excited!!

Almost there...

I fully expected to be writing this post next week, but here I am, writing it tonight.  The High Commission called today, my visa is ready, I can collect my passport next Tuesday.  Wow!  One month I am coasting along and nothing much is happening and I am counting time in months...next month things are happening in the snap of a finger and I am counting in weeks and days!

My tickets are booked, G got those done this week.  Arrangements are being made for my Mom and brother to collect me and my belongings from Kingston and return us to Westmoreland, but those are yet to be finalized apart from the date.  My Grandmother will be here to see me off, and I am very happy about that.

Wow, I hear a clock ticking.  I am excited, at last.  I cannot wait to be home with my husband, I am excited by the idea that we will wake up together again and neither he nor I will have to leave each other, except for work.   It has been quite a wait, and our separation these past months means we have a lot of time to make for.  I plan to take at least a couple of weeks to do nothing more than live with my husband, enjoy all the little things we have been missing, and acclimatize to my new environment.

Back to waiting

It'll be a week tomorrow since I turned in my PP to the High Commission for the insertion of my permanent resident visa.  I estimate another 1-2 weeks wait for them to get around to doing so and contacting me to return to pick it up, since this past week included two statutory holidays.

In the meanwhile, I finally began making all those lists I needed to make to guide my activities over the coming weeks as I prepare to move.  First, I prepared a list of the lists I needed to prepare.  Yes, I am mildly OCD about the lists, I suppose I could have just leaped into the process, but first I wanted to ensure I was considering everything I needed to do.  I then proceeded to mis-place that list and give myself a mild panic attack as I searched for it, believing I simply had to find THAT ONE rather than make a new one.  I did eventually relocate it, but my BP did spike there for about half an hour.

So I found the list of lists, and began making each list.  I have so far fleshed out lists on the clothes I will be taking with me, what furniture I own and how I will dispose of them, what books from my collection I plan to take with me, what happens to my kitchen things, who in Canada I plan to purchase souvenirs for, what I need to do regarding my lease and utilities, and what I will do regarding my various work commitments. *whew*  I have a lot to do!

Still, there is time, as I am allowing work commitments to dictate most of my movements.  I want to leave with a clear work record, I have worked hard for the trust clients and employers put in me, I want to ensure that when I go, they keep a good memory of me, and that if needed they are willing to recommend me to new employers in Canada.

In the meanwhile, I am also spending time with family and friends and Jamaica as much as possible.  This weekend I managed to get in time with my closest friend in Kingston, drive around the north and south coasts of Jamaica, and spend valuable time with my Mom and younger brother in Negril.  I needed this time, I enjoyed my activities without the parting sadness I know will accompany my next trip to Westmoreland.

PPR!!

O.M.G.  The all-important passport request (PPR) call has finally come.  It lasted less than a minute, and that was all it took to turn my head upside down.  The crossroads I have been journeying towards is now in sight!

So, I take my passport in Tuesday, and I wait for the call to return to collect it.  My plans for going home to my husband before our second anniversary are very probable now, they are no longer just a possibility.

I have so much to organize and plan.  First, though, a celebration.  Getting this far required a lot of learning, a lot of hard work and expense, and no small amount of patience and I think I shall congratulate myself a little.  Insofar as I have mostly resisted the urge to whine or complain, insofar as I have spent the time waiting fruitfully, I believe it is OK to congratulate myself that much and to celebrate. *cheers*

As of yesterday morning, all the documents I was requested to submit have been handed over to the Canadian embassy.

My second medical exam was done by the same doctor who did the first.  A mostly painless and highly efficient process; I really do like this doctor.  The pain was from the required blood tests, and of course I had to psych myself up for that.  I almost passed out when she labeled two vials, I had forgotten they took quite that much blood!  After the obligatory BP test and physical once-over, he pronounced himself satisfied and I went to get the X-ray done.  That involved some waiting, but that was because a trauma victim came in at the same time and had to be seen to.

Earlier in the morning I went to get my fingerprints done.  On Monday I had quite the drama with the taxi driver I hired to take me to the tax office to make the payment for this.  He mis-heard my address and kept me waiting for 20 minutes before he mis-heard where I wanted to go and wasted another 10 minutes of my time going in the wrong direction.  I was not pleased.  This was somewhat mitigated by the lack of drama with making the payment, the cashier was only interested in my taxpayer registration number and the fees.

Going to get the fingerprints done was less dramatic.  I went fully prepared for the long wait and found myself surprised to be the 43rd person in line at 8:00 a.m.  A year ago at the same time I was 163rd in line.  The mystery was solved when I learned they had opened 3 other fingerprinting centres across the island, thereby eliminating the necessity of everyone needing a police report coming into Kingston.

I made myself comfortable for the wait with a book, and just moved through the musical chair process in a very Zen state.  There actually were a few people I engaged in conversation and enjoyed it, but for the most part I was entertained by Dean Koontz.  The tech was actually polite and well-mannered this time, and male, as opposed to the surly female I had last time.  Perhaps she has been moved to one of the other locations.

I waited out the week (5 business days) for the police report to be ready, then went to collect it.  That involved some drama, but I am so glad this whole process is over with insofar as dealing with Jamaican authorities are, that I won't even repeat any of it here.

I bought an envelope, labelled it neatly in block letters with our names and file number and enclosed the police report along with a letter explaining why I should be exempted from providing a new FBI report, accompanied by neatly labeled and referenced copies of my passport pages.  On my way to work, I looped up to the embassy, instead of passing below it, and dropped the window off at the heavily blacked out drop off window.  Very odd experience, talking to someone you cannot see who is right in front of you.  

Next step: wait for the embassy to call and request my passport, the all-important PPR (passport request).  I am hoping to hear back in about two weeks' time, on the assumption that the medical results can be received and processed in 3 weeks.   In the meanwhile, time to start making lists of all that I need to do!