Milk comes in bags, the Mounted Police drive cars and, for a Brit in Canada, nothing is what it seems.
“Doesn’t this country have milk?” I say loudly. I’m feverishly scanning every aisle of the grocery store, stopping customers dead in their tracks.
A man going about his business extends his arm in the direction of a large refrigerator filled with plastic bags containing a white liquid.
“That’s the milk?” I ask, even more puzzled, wondering how one is supposed to add that to tea without having to consume the whole product all at once.
“You put it into one of those,” he grunts, rolling his eyes to the plastic jugs dangling nearby.
“Oh. How weird,” I say as the hulky figure disappears down an adjacent aisle. I think of the convenient cartons of milk back home and how far away it feels in this isolated city of Thunder Bay, nestled between Lake Superior and the vast boreal wilderness.
I have noticed the absence of alcohol in the grocery store too. In England, it’s conveniently and boldly placed by the bread and milk, and some stores even have a whole aisle just dedicated to a variety of booze. But this isn’t like the milk situation in plastic bags; rather alcohol in Ontario can only be found in a segregated store often off some beaten path. They are strict with selling alcohol here.
I always believed Canada was very similar to England, but after moving to Ontario, I realized it’s a whole different ball game. Tax is something that is not included in the price of many items sold at stores. Everything runs in the opposite direction. Chips are called fries, and crisps are chips. Trousers are pants, the bonnet of the car is the hood, the loo is a washroom and Hoovers are vacuums. Nothing is what it seems.
There are so many things to learn in this new land
A few months back, I decided to immigrate to the wild and mountainous land of Canada, where Mounties in dashing red uniforms ride horses along the roads.
But upon arrival, I felt quite lost. The Mounties were driving cars, and just one mountain could be seen from this city. Sidewalks for walking often slipped into oblivion because everything—from the shopping centres to the Tim Hortons—seemed designed for the motorist. A bumpy road lay ahead for me and winter had not even kicked off in its full-blown frigid glory.
My first goal on moving abroad was to explore, but of course this wasn’t possible without getting a job and having money to spend. I updated my Curriculum Vitae (by changing the heading to “Resume”) and emailed it off to numerous places with fingers and toes crossed.
A retirement home promptly responded. I was offered the job of a Dietary Aide. What a la-di-da title, I thought, as I wondered what a Dietary Aide was. I searched online for a job description, which turned out to be rather disappointing. In England, there are no fancy titles when it comes to work. My first day as a “food server” began the following week.
“Would you like couscous with your vegetables?” I tapped at the menu to a withered old woman seated at a dining room table.
“Cockroach?” she asked in a thin, cracked voice.
“Couscous,” I said louder, attempting a Canadian accent.
“Did you just say cockroach?” she whimpered, confused.
I was told to put salt on walkways to help melt the ice. So, I pushed the pepper aside in the kitchen cabinet and took out the table salt, before sprinkling it outside.
“COO-COUS” I howled like some sort of wolf-owl, causing snickering across the hall. I decided to go ahead and plate the couscous, along with mashed potatoes (because elderly people seem to love that stuff) and soft vegetables.
I didn’t have a vehicle, so I would walk home from work. It was only about a 15-minute walk, but my British coat and clothes were no good and had to be replaced so I could brave the weather. Snow would turn to rain and then freeze, and I was told to put salt on the drive and walkways to help melt the ice. Looking back, I can’t help but laugh at this next scene: I pushed the pepper aside in the kitchen cabinet and took out the table salt, before sprinkling it outside. Nothing happened because, as I later learned, table salt is not the same as road salt.
Finding my place
I found winters exciting watching the rivers freeze and crack, and then trying my hand at sledding or attempting to skate with no success. But driveways had to be shovelled, snow dripped down boots, freezing temperatures burned my face, fingers and toes, and sometimes I just wanted to curl up and hibernate. England would have shut-down with a dusting of the white stuff, but in Canada life goes on.
Spring soon arrived after winter, with meadows bursting into a rainbow of colours and wildlife waking up from hibernation. Summer then hummed to life with tourism and the sun bathed the city in gold each evening. Autumn followed with its fiery reds, burnt oranges and golden-yellows as the deciduous trees turned.
Looking back, the first year living abroad was a major learning curve. There were times I found myself crying with frustration, overwhelmed, and wanting to take the quickest airplane back home. Then there were the highs where I was captivated by the raw and natural beauty of the landscape, wildlife or even the unexpected kindness of a stranger.
Fast-forward seven years and whole a lot of things have changed since those first few weeks, although some things have remained the same. I have kept my strong British accent, according to Canadians, although family and friends in England would disagree. I have not used ordinary table salt to melt the ice on the sidewalks or driveway since that one occasion (but in self-defence I heard it does work). I met and married a Canadian man called Terry, and we moved from Thunder Bay to Prince Edward Island—where milk can be found in containers, like England. We have our own piece of paradise on PEI, the smallest province in Canada, and cater to a lazy pug and Siberian husky.
I still sometimes stumble and sweat over the little things, send family members pictures of the Canadian winters and get concerned phone calls back asking if I’m still alive, but I’ve learned to embrace Canada—just as this country has embraced me.