Welcome to Canada....Eh?

On 1 July 2012, I finally left California. I cannot describe the myriad of feelings I experienced upon that act. Excitement, reluctance, fear, pain, happiness, relief....all that and more was taking turns tugging at my heart and mind. But as the minutes passed and the distance grew greater I mostly just felt like I was going on vacation. Yet there was no denying that my adventure was finally upon me, and it was only just beginning. For nearly thirteen hours my Dad and I shared stories and talked and had real and actual conversations that we never had when I was growing up. He talked to me a little bit about how he met his current wife while I shared with him some of my (watered down) experiences with the Marching Lumberjacks and the chain of events that led to my decision to go to Boston. Those thirteen or so hours represented the most time the two of us had spent alone in a long time. Probably my entire life. I found out things about my father that I would never have known without that time together and began to meet him as a human being and not just as the guy I never saw. At about 9:30 pm we crossed the Canadian border at Sumas, WA into Abbotsford, BC.

Closest I'd ever been to Canada before

I half expected to see this when I crossed the border

The sum of my previous experience with our neighbors to the  north

I honestly didn't know what to expect. My experience with Canada had been Dudley Do Right, Canadian Bacon, and playing "America Fuck Yeah" underneath the Blaine Peace Arch. Needless to say, I kind of expected to see a Moose being chased by a Mounty in the first five minutes. This did not, in fact, happen and I was amazed at how similar Abbotsford is to Arcata, but also how different it is to America. Though we arrived at night, I was still able to note a few differences, such as kilometers instead of miles, the fact that my Dad's speedometer had Km/h on the outside ring and mph on the inside. At first, I didn't think this would be a huge deal. I figured if you had the numbers on the signs and the numbers on the speedometer you just go by them and it's not a problem. But then I saw a sign that said "Vancouver 50" and my instinctual thought was "An hour drive to Vancouver? I thought he was closer than that." It wasn't until we got to my dad's place that I realized that it was 50 kilometers, not miles, and that it was only about a 20 minute drive.

That night I was in for another difference that I didn't expect, in the form of Canadian news. We arrived on Canada Day, which is Canada's Independence Day, and the news was rife with coverage of events from that  day's celebration. I had always gotten a sense of Canadian National pride but never witnessed it first hand until that night. Canadian flags were everywhere, citizens were dressed in the red and white of the Maple Leaf standard, there were musical reenactments of the War of 1812 and there was an overall feeling of patriotism that is vacant in many American celebrations. But what was most surprising is how much about what was happening in the US is covered by Canadian news. They covered power outages in the Washington DC area and murders and political things. The average Canadian citizen knows more about what's happening in the United States than the average US citizen knows about whats going on anywhere, especially our own country. But all these experiences were a mere taste of what was to come the next day, and I was ill prepared for what was to come.

The next day my dad and I woke early as we had to go and help his step daughter move into her new apartment. This was no big deal to me since, as a college student, I was used to moving heavy furniture and large couches into small spaces. The weather was akin to Arcata in late September. Overcast, with light showers, but cold or heavy enough to need a jacket. I had moved friends in worse weather and was not concerned in the slightest. The move itself was, for the most part, relatively uneventful though I did meet some new people as was surprised to find myself easily talking and opening up and was strangely comfortable with these new people. It might be that they were extremely polite and brought me out into the conversation, or it may be that a lot of my shyness in certain situations has melted away over the years. Whatever it was, I was very comfortable and outgoing through the entire experience and everything I saw or did was exciting to me. The only part I was really nervous about was the city of Vancouver. I hate driving in U.S cities like San Francisco and Los Angeles, and I expected Vancouver to be just as bad.

I was wrong.

Vancouver is the most relaxed, polite, pleasant metropolis I've ever laid eyes on. The entire time I was there I witnessed only two drivers attempt to cut people off and hurry to get wherever they were going. People walked or biked everywhere and heeded the right-of-way rather than take it for themselves. There was no stress in this city and I never once felt my heart rate increase, nor did I experience the strong desire to grab at the dashboard. It is definitely a city I could get used to. I only hope that my adventures in Boston will be as pleasant. After eight hours of moving and socializing, it was time to drive out near the University of Simon-Fraser to meet my Dad's stepson, his two kids, and his fiance.

Though in the morning I had some anxiety about meeting new people, by this point it was all behind me and I was ready to meet the stepson and grand kids my dad talk of so often. On the way there I was again caught off guard by the metric system when I saw "Seattle 216" and had to remind myself again of kilometers in this strange not-so-foreign land. When we arrived at Darryl and Molly's my dad knocked at the door and after a few moments we were met with a tiny face poking out of the window. As the boy saw us his face lit up with the recognition of my dad as well as with a touch of what seemed to me to be excitement at the prospect of meeting a new person. Young Jacob struggled with the lock as many four or five year old boys are wont to do. But soon he figured it out and was eager to show us all the many directions he was able to jump. When we finally waded past this tiny bouncing ball of dimples and teeth we managed to make it up the stairs to meet the rest of the family. As I met Darryl and Molly, the oldest child - Gabriel - came down the stairs and immediately asked me to go upstairs with him to play. Before I could answer, Darryl explained that they had just met me and asked the child to give them time to get acquainted first. Given a few more minutes I probably would have agreed because when I turned to face the living room I was impressed with their collection of toys strewn about the floor. A giant AT-AT stood in the corner and an X-Wing fighter appeared to have crash landed at its feet. Not far away was the wreckage of the coolest C-130 Hercules gunship I've ever seen, though it looked to me as if it's last mission had not turned out so well for it, though I have no doubt it's objectives were accomplished. As I surveyed and envied this impressive display of carnage, a sweet aroma met my nostrils. It appeared that our timing was such that I was able to eat my first truly unique Canadian delicacy.

A taste from Heaven

A butter tart is a lot like one of those mini pecan pies you can buy at the grocery store, but there are no nuts on top, and it's not nearly as sweet. The ones we had were just out of the oven and so moist that I actually had a desire to eat slow, just so I could make the tiny pie last longer and savor the flavor as much as I could. After we had enjoyed our butter tarts and coffee, Gabriel again came down to ask me to go upstairs with him. This time to help him build a Millennium Falcon out of legos. This was the hardest choice I've had to make in a while. I always loved legos and the Millennium Falcon was always the set I coveted the most. I almost chugged my coffee to join him but again his father insisted that they wished to get to know me better and he could spend time with me this weekend. After talking a little bit more, it came time to leave. I almost didn't want to go, as I was enjoying good company and coffee and having a great time with my new nephews, but alas my stomach was growling and it was time to return home with my dad to eat our dinner and leave the growing kids to theirs.

Overall, my first full day in Canada was a lot of fun and a great success. I got to know my father in ways that I didn't think existed, I got to meet a whole new extended family that I like more than I thought I would, and I've been able to try new things and have new experiences. I look forward to the next week and hope to be able to share much with my readers as I do.