Category Archives: Canada

Studying Canadian Living

Posted in Canada, Finding Home, Life, Writing by

Monday morning as I woke up from my nap and walked into the cottage lounge (Yes, I had a nap in the morning. After two days of non-stop travel and immigration, napping is the sweetest remedy to exhaustion. I recommend naps.) there was Zsolt sitting on the 1980s sofa facing the window’s view of the St Lawrence and engrossed – totally, utterly, engrossed – in the magazine ‘Canadian Living’.

“Have you seen this?” he says to me. “Look at these models; they’re normal people. And look at this – look at all the vitamin advertisements, every page has a vitamin. And the cake recipes! Take a look at this cheesecake.”

So I tell him: “Zsolt, you are reading a magazine that’s targeted toward women and mothers . . . that’s why the models have normal bodies, that’s why it’s selling vitamins and breakfast cereals, that’s why it’s full of recipes. Now let’s go outside in the sunshine.”

But the man wouldn’t budge.

“It’s called (he says, flipping back to the cover to show me) Canadian Living. It’s the guide to everyday living in Canada.” And he turns back to his saved page to review the latest juicers and determine which one we should buy in the future, considering our old juicer was left behind in England.

So I had to smile at his determination. Every booklet and pamphlet and women’s magazine with the word ‘Canadian’ has become a guiding light for ‘how to get along in Canada’, and he’s taking it all very seriously.

What does that mean?

It means: We. Have. Arrived!

WOOOHOOO! Wooot! Wooo! Yeahhhhh, baby!

Sunday afternoon we landed at the airport in Montreal and immigrated Zsolt’s Hungarian butt into Canada. It was relatively straightforward (following the months of preparation and visa waiting). Here’s how it went down.

We arrived and went to the customs desk. This was fairly standard. There was the Bonjour/Hello and I said “I’m a returning resident and my husband is immigrating today.” And the officer wrote some codes on our landing cards that meant we couldn’t just leave after collecting our luggage – instead we would be directed to a different area.

Luggage was collected. Whew. All three pieces had successfully travelled from Hungary to Brussels to Montreal. Then we wheeled the luggage to the fellow who checks the landing cards and sure enough he says “Returning and immigrating?” and we say, “yes,” and he says, “follow that sign and go around the corner.”

So we go to this very quiet part of the airport where officers are standing behind desks with long metals tables where luggage is meant to be searched. We wait. We are called forward and a this lovely French lady processes our paperwork. At this point everyone around us is having their luggage searched. And I kept waiting for her to open our bags and have at them . . . but the moment never arrives. Instead she took my prepared lists of ‘goods in possession’ and ‘goods to follow’ and checked them over, then signed and stamped a lot of stuff, did some extra paperwork for Zsolt and then, finally, said to Zsolt “Congratulations, you are now a permanent resident of Canada.”

Fireworks and a cheering crowds erupted.

 And she let us go. Just like that. (Frankly, I think it pays to have all the paperwork filled out and ready. Makes her day easier, and everything go more quickly).

So we leave the airport and there are my parents – lots of hugging and hellos followed, they had these Canada bags all ready with tea and water and Tim Hortons. – and we wheeled our stuff out of the airport.

Two days of travelling, three months of Hungary, Six months of treatment, six months of application preparation, five years of England . . . and as we leave the airport toward the parking lot, having now officially arrived and officially checked into our new Canadian life – I turned to Zsolt said,

“Now what do we do?”

And he said,

“I have no idea.”

Hmmm.

It’s like at the end of that movie, The Graduate, when they  get onto the bus having left everything they know behind them and that moment of triumph is followed nearly immediately by a moment of . . . uncertainty?

 What happens next? I don’t know. Maybe that’s what Zsolt was trying to decipher from Canadian Living. But this is what I am sure of: something will happen next. Stories never finish, instead they rise and fall like waves. And after this week at the cottage, life will go on.

It’s unnerving. It’s exciting.

So, here we go. Let’s see what happens.

*PS – a big PS this week. I’ve just had an article published in Glow magazine for Facing Cancer Together, p.71. Freaking exciting or what! There’s a picture too – so if you want to see what I look like with super white teeth on a London roof, please do pick up the article. It’s my first published piece of writing, so that’s pretty exciting.

PPS – Zsolt is amazed at the giantness of Canada. Giant bag of chips. Giant tissue box. Giant paper towels. Giant jugs of water. Giant fridge. Giant oven. Giant wasp and hornet can. Giant cars. Giant roads. But so what? We’ve also got giant hearts. And he’d like to send a special thanks to the lady at immigration, who was kind and patient. She set a great tone for Canadian’s hospitality. Sometimes giant is awesome.

Causing other people pain

Posted in Canada, Finding Home, Life, Love by

Alright – here it is. I am packing, things are being packed, the packing is nearly complete. Who knew an entire room full of stuff could fit into two suitcases? Well, now I know. The bigger question at this moment (after combining my room of stuff and two suitcases with Zsolt’s one suitcase and carry on) is how are we going to fit it all into the car?

One of life’s fun challenges.

Another fun challenge? Heat waves. Today I think it might push forty degrees here in Pecs. That is hot. For this little Canadian who likes her summers humid and near thirty and her winters cold and below zero . . . 40+ degrees is absurd. Absurd. Absurd!

Yesterday I was like a tired dog on the doorstep: sprawled out and panting. Today, I’m expecting a similar activity come three or four in the afternoon.

And between the packing and the sweat – there has been a lovely parade of family gatherings this week here in Pecs. You know what, if you ever feel like your social life is lagging – just move! Move and the whole world will erupt with plans for a visit. It’s a bit bittersweet because yes, for sure you want to see all these people. They are your people. They’re worth more than gold. But the clock is ticking and the paperwork for immigration isn’t finished and the luggage weighs too much and you still need to clean the apartment before moving out . . .

But the grandmothers and Zsolt’s aunt came over for lunch yesterday. Only for a couple hours since no one could stand being too social in this heat. It was nice. Oh my goodness, one of these days I’ll have to write about Zsolt’s grandmother and his aunt (mother and daughter). Together they are a team – like a comedy team. Not intentionally funny,  but with their bluntness and their humour and their age and they way his grandmother laughs herself into tears . . . really, you would like them. I like them.

So the grandmothers came over for lunch. We had BBQ chicken (in Hungary, BBQ means an electric Teflon grill . . . but hey, they’re trying) and beautiful salads and potatoes and rice followed by ice cream. Everything was going so nicely until they all started crying.

Sometimes I feel like a vixen who has knocked Zsolt on his head with a love-hammer and stolen him from his family. And I wonder if they feel the same about me (though they love me very much, that’s so very clear. And I love them too . . . but I just can’t help but wonder. . . hmm, maybe my parents secretly feel the same about Zsolt. You know before I went to Europe and met Zsolt for the first time, my dad said to me, “Catherine, don’t go falling in love with any boys over there.” And I was like, “Duh, Dad. That would be stupid.” ) Growing up can have its fair share of tricky decisions. But it’s also full of freedom to choose and opportunities to grow. Life takes us forward. Zsolt is my forward.

So there was a round of crying. I guess that’s fairly normal (it’s normal in Canada too – mostly between me and my mom), particularly after having spent such a long time here this summer and it really feeling like we’ve been living  in Hungary rather than visiting.

Anyhow, it just reminds me that Saturday will be one heck of a day. We’ll have to rip off the Band-Aid, and no one looks forward to that moment.

Speaking of Saturday – here is the plan so you can follow along (yeah, right) as we head toward the New World.

Saturday:

Go to Balaton for lunch with Zsolt’s sis and bro-in-law.

Go to Austria and check into the flight.

Fly to Brussels. Spend the night.

Sunday:

Get to the airport and check into the flight.

Fly, fly, fly to Montreal.

Do the immigration dance.

Head over to the Cottage and catch up with my family for the next week.

Nice, eh. It will be great. Just need to get over the hurdle of saying goodbye. And need to live through the next couple days of extreme freaking heat. Oy!

And that is that. Now I need to go and melt into a puddle. Have a lovely day 😉

Finding the Greek

Posted in Canada, Finding Home, Fun, Life, Travel by

Good morning to you. This has got to be a quickie – there’s way too much to do this week, way too much to do today . . . really, I shouldn’t even be typing right now, I ought to be sorting through stuff and packing bags and calling Air Canada . . . but what can a few minutes hurt, right?

So – clearly – vacation is over. BUT, it was lovely despite complications.

We arrive in Corfu two Saturdays ago about 11pm and grabbed a taxi to Kavos. That was the first experience, swervingbetween cars like the driver was in a racing slalom, passing three cars at a time, passing cars that were passing cars,  running off the mopeds and doing 90 km through villages. And yet I wasn’t scared. It was fun.

Then we arrived in Kavos. If whipping along the narrow, busy streets of Corfu doesn’t scare you, arriving in Kavos will do the trick. All I could say was, “Oh my God.”  Choked full of Summer-breaking Brits ages 17-23 having a good time, the taxi was forced to crawl its way along the main road as smashed, high and horny throngs of kids swelled through the road . Panty-dropping pop music didn’t just blast, it kaboomed from every single club (one after the other after the other after the other) trying to compete for attention. It was a bit hilarious, if not also horrible. The taxi driver couldn’t stop laughing.

Anyhow. That was my first impression of Kavos. The noise, the crowd, the party. That Saturday it lasted until about 4am (and yeah, our incredibly well-priced apartment, very clean too, was right over the street in the restaurant area – so it could have been worse, but it was still rather loud) and Zsolt and I used ear plugs to try and get some sleep.

Next morning – Catherine was grumpy.

However, thank goodness my bad impression didn’t last forever. While I’d never again return to Kavos no matter how inexpensive the accommodation, the locals were fabulous and helpful in ‘how to enjoy Greece when there is nothing Greek around you’.

[Interesting aside, I heard a British tour rep call Kavos a ‘resort’ . . .not a town, but a resort . . . as though it had been crafted for the leagues of young Brits that arrived every week. And while I – with my North America gone south experiences of Mexico and Antigua – would never call the vomit-stinking streets (the smell wears off around noon each day) and trashy parade of bars a resort, I can absolutely understand that this town has bent itself to appease the British crowd. It’s basically the American equivalent to Cancun or wherever people go in Florida for spring break. Every restaurant sells Mexican, Texan, or British food. Greek is available, but must be sought out carefully.  Anyhow, she called it a resort, which I thought was sad because it takes away the local identity of those who live and work there – the lovely Greek people with their good humour and long stories. ]

And so we began to explore.

It was a very, very good time. We rented some quad bikes, roamed around the island – driving through olive tree forests at sunset, curving  cliff side roads to the beach, off route farmer’s tracks over to abandoned monasteries, puttered through the quad-bike-wide streets of an unexpected, totally beautiful, and absolutely tiny village on a hill, visited a little restaurant that overlooked the amazing turquoise sea . . .swam, swam, swam . . . and enjoyed, enjoyed, enjoyed.

We even found a ‘secret beach’ which the owner of our hotel let us know about. Only a 40 minute walk from Kavos (20 minute drive on the quad bike), this place was gorgeous, empty and just . . . just a perfect escape from the world.

Despite the first night’s madness (I avoided that scene for the rest of the week, instead at night we played Uno in the flat, or went to the beach, or walked. Once we went out dancing, but I can’t take late nights anymore and abandoned the endeavour about thirty minutes into the evening, letting them go on without me – stupid post-chemo buzz killer.) By the end of the week, I was really freaking pleased with the break. Greece turned out to be an excellent escape.

I am very glad we took the time for a little adventure.

And now – now . . . NOW . . . it’s time to move to Canada.

PS. Another wonderful thing, wearing my bikini – loved it!