I've been through this a few times, so the scenario is very familiar - someone has an idea. Others think the idea is great and act upon it immediately. Then there is a short period of frenzy and fantastic creativity. Soon things slow down and then silence... Does it sound like our blog? I bet...
I don't like this emptiness and silence any more than you do (or at least I very much hope so) and therefore I kindly suggest that our blog urgently needs some tender loving care and a good spring shakeup. Let's see if we can do it... I do not want to tell you what to write about, but I am rather curious (others may be as well...) how you spent your winter (or summer for folks down under) in your adopted homelands. Perhaps you could tell us where your minds are these days and what your plans are for the spring. Hopefully, bit by bit, we will shake off the layers of winter stagnation and start writing again... See you soon!
PS. There have been many changes in my life, so a new post should be arriving shortly.
And finally, one of my favourite songs, perfect for the change of seasons, April Come She Will by Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel. I know, it is a love song, but who cares, spring is here, so enjoy:) And please don't apply the lyrics to this blog.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
I am an Edinburghian
‘Is it the first day of your holidays in Scotland?’
I chuckled and said:
‘No, I actually live in Scotland.’
He apologised, I smiled and everything was fine. Or was it?
I know I will never ever sound Scottish - not even remotely British either - and therefore the assumption will forever be that I’m a foreigner choosing to spend my time off in the rainy country. Despite the fact that I call Scotland my home, I feel at home here, and legally I’m a Scottish resident.
A few months ago me and my other half went to visit another nearby abbey (Dunfermline Abbey) and when we were asked where we were from, my other half replied:
‘From Edinburgh.’
The lady in the ticket office laughed admitting that was the right answer to her question and then queried:
‘Not born and bred though, are you?’
‘No,' we said, 'we were both born in Poland.’
She went on saying that she visited Poland, that Kraków was lovely and all the small talk.
We are both proud to be Polish so we smiled listening to her.
When you’re an expat, one thing you have to deal with is finding the balance between feeling at home and feeling foreign. Cause you can choose where you live, but you cannot choose where you were born. For some people it’s easier, for some more difficult. From my own experience I can say that it requires a little bit of perspective, an ounce of sense of humour and whole lot of patience.
So when is it exactly that you start calling your adopted homeland home? How long does it take to start feeling at home?
I don’t really have an answer. I guess sometimes you just know, like you know you want to spend the rest of your life with someone. You see, you live, you experience and you fall in love. I don’t remember exactly when I started calling Edinburgh home. I remember coming back from a visit in Poland once and getting this sense of belonging as soon as I could smell the yeast over the city and see the castle. I was coming back home.
But the first time I thought of myself as an Edinburghian was 5 years back, in August 2006, during the Fringe. With my handbag and lunchbox, and not so casual attire, not to mention the bus pass I did not look like a tourist. I would be asked for directions a lot and after 4 months in the city in many cases I didn’t have a clue how to get to places. But I’ve been asked!
Fair enough you don’t need to be born and bred here to know how to get to Whistle Binkies, but once you start noticing how the city changes you feel more and more attached. When I first came to Edinburgh there were brass pigeons on Elm Row and a clock in the middle of a nearby roundabout (that was dismantled during tramworks). These are little things tourists won’t notice, unless they are very careful readers of Ian Rankin’s novels.
I met two lovely blogging friends (both Scottish, Glaswegian) a few weeks ago and ended up taking them both to their Fringe venue, using short cuts only an Edinburghian would know.
In a casual conversation, when one of them was trying to persuade me to find my inner Glaswegian (a hilarious suggestion in itself) the other said: ‘don’t be silly, she doesn’t have an inner Glaswegian, she’s an Edinburgh girl!’
And hell, I am.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
NYC subway - nostalgic ride
From the very beginning of my life in New York I was fascinated with its subway system. I still remember when I first looked the map and couldn't figure out all these colorful lines. There were so many of them lined up parallel or crossing to connect different points of 5 main boroughs of New York City. After all NYC subway has 22 different lines connecting Manhattan, Queens, Brooklyn, Bronx and Staten Island, which on average weekday serve over 7 million people and 1.604 billion annually (2010 statistic).
That makes NYC subway the fourth busiest metro in a world:
- Tokyo 3.160 billion (2009)
- Moscow 2.392 billion (2009)
- Seoul 2.048 billion (2009)
In any case subway is the most popular and fastest way of transportation in a City and is definitely my favorite.
No wonder I was very excited last weekend when I learned that Boardwalk Empire brought back 1920s train to run on line 2 and 3, there was no way I would miss the chance to take this ride.
The ride goes between Time Square and 96 Street with only one stop on 72 Street.
We went with my husband to Time Square, which is the busiest station in system and waited on a platform for my dream to come true. It was hot and steamy there and my husband wasn't very happy about the whole idea, but I wouldn't take any part of NO at this point.
After 20 min. my husband started rolling his eyes, but I said he can wait for me in any restaurant around Time Square if he doesn't want to wait, but I am not giving up.
Most of the times he can't understand my love for NYC, I guess he thinks I'm crazy.
Well, let's face it, he is very close to the truth, because there is no secret that I love NYC like no other place on planet Earth.
Another couple minutes later the train come to the station!!!
I was so excited, I start jumping and clapping my hands completly forgetting that I have to take a pictures.
Please, excuse the quality of pictures, but is not easy to operate camera while jumping:)
Finally we got on and I chilled off a little, but I had to take more pictures.
There was no air conditioning only all windows open and 2 large fans in each car.
Actually I remember when I came in 1985 even though all trains already had AC you can still occasionally get in the car where AC didn't work, and people kept the windows open.
These paticular trains were running from 1917 till 1969, way before my life here.
On the picture above you can see heaters under the seats.
Before I knew it, we came to 96 Street station, and had to get off the train.
But this time it was my husband who said:
-- Let's go on the other side and catch ride back.
Hmmm... who would think he got all nostalgic about:)
So we did and after waiting about 15 min we hoped on the same train and went back to Time Square - 42 Street, where I waved goodbye to old subway, but I was happy now.
The train is going to run on these lines (2 and 3 west side) till the end of September on weekends only between 12 noon and 6 PM.
It was a great ride back in time.
Of course I didn't live here to remember, but I remember trains which looked like these ones:
Pictures above are from subway history side, as well as the pictures below.
This is a picture of both sides of token that was used when I came to NYC and the ride on subway at that time cost was $0.90
The next one was called a bullseye.
Below is a picture of last token that was used in NYC and the cost of ride was $1.50
And now we are using Metro Card and cost of one ride including transfer from subway to bus and vice verse is $2.25 for one ride.
NYC subway facts:
It opened October 27 1904 and the fare for 4 first decades was $0.05.
40% of the system operates above ground.
42 Street - Times Square is the busiest station.
Track millage - over 600 miles of tracks. Laid end to end tracks would stretch from NYC to Chicago.
Number of stations - 468
Number of cars - roughly 6 356
Longest ride - A line from 207 Street in Manhattan to Far Rockway in Queens (more then 31 miles).
Highest station - Smith 9 Street, 88 feet above street level
Lowest station - 191 Street in Manhattan, 180 feet below street level.
This is the newest train model:
As you see I am still fascinated:)
Monday, August 29, 2011
How my American Dream turned into an Australian Dream and what I've learned along the way
My first encounter with America was in summer 1998 during a work and travel student camp in North Carolina. I got a job at McDonald's located in a Cherokee Indian Reservation due to a lack of labour in the area in the holiday season. They put me on the register due to my "hyper-friendly" personality, so they said. I also managed to travel a bit, visit relatives in New Jersey and NYC. I simply loved it straight away. America seemed surreal. Here I had my first experience of what a 'melting pot' means - a variety of cultures, religions, ways of dressing, ways of eating, ways of thinking and experiencing life. French postmodernists call America 'fullfiled utopia', and I don't believe it can be phrased any better. For someone who comes from a very homogeneous culture it can be a shock, a life changing experience, for me it certainly was. One thing I knew for sure - I'll be back! And so it was.
Two years later after graduating from IT at Politechnika Wroclawska in October 2001 (just after September 11) I was on my way to NYC, with a pack of anthrax antibiotics from mum in my luggage. Life in NYC wasn't easy but it was fun. I had a student visa and was studying 20 hours a week at a language school. It was the only school I could afford working 50 hours a week at all sorts of cafes and shops and living modestly in all sorts of shared accommodation. In my spare time I was going out with my young and beautiful international friends. There was always something going on, an art exhibition with free drinks, an admission-free concert in a cosy bar, or some record label was throwing a promo party and a friend of a friend put me on the VIP list. It was fun, it was extremely exciting, breathtaking even - the people, the places, the flavours and overwhelming variety of it all. Nonetheless, there was little time left for sleep and little time to think, to digest it all. The fact of the matter was that the future in America did not look too bright. Immigration laws were getting harsher and the university fees were ridiculously high. It just wasn't coming together.
Immigration Scientists say it takes at least 5 years to gain something from your immigration experience, to learn and to grow on it. It took me 2 years in NYC to learn that I love variety and am very curious about people, the ways they think, the ways they experience themselves and the ways they perceive reality (assuming there is any objective reality). The most important thing America taught me was that we are creators of our own lives, that we all can fulfill our very own utopia. This sort of awareness brings a sense of freedom and empowerment, but it also brings responsibility.
With little idea about what to do next I headed back to Europe. It was 2003 and Poland was joining the EU. Things looked kind of optimistic. The next country for me to visit was Norway. It just seemed nice. Again over the Internet I found accommodation and work. I lived in a large vegan share house called "Kollektivet YaBasta". It was where I met my Australian husband Owen. I got a job at the cafe, and on a daily basis I was struggling to try to overcome my verbal clumsiness helping customers with very poor Norwegian skills. Somehow later on I managed to become 'cafe leader' and even make stock food orders in Norwegian over the telephone. I left Norway two years later with perfect Norwegian coffee and food vocabulary, and my Australian boyfriend in tow. I wanted to study psychology. It was part of my plan to turn one of my greatest interests into a living. I did not want to live in Norway. Oslo was too small and too quiet for me, and the winter was just too dark, which was terribly depressing.
What I learned in Norway was that it is important to be interested and actively involved in politics, and that we have to care not only for our own country, but also other countries and people in other countries. I also have learned that care is a very general attitude, a state of mind that starts when you care for other people and then spreads to those in other countries and the environment we live in, nature, the animals and the whole planet. And that's a huge part of Scandinavian culture and tradition. I think it's no coincidence that the Nobel Peace Prize was established and runs from there.
I moved to Krakow with my Australian boyfriend Owen, where we lived for 5 years so I could get a degree in clinical psychology at Jagiellonian University, which I did. In the meantime I started an Internet retail company and Owen worked as an English teacher and then Director of Studies at one of the largest private language schools in Krakow. We travelled a lot around Europe taking advantage of budget airlines and cheap airfares. We had a good life in Krakow living in a quiet studio apartment in the old town, with a window facing a hidden garden, just like hundreds of others in Krakow, hidden from public view. Krakow's old town is amazing, it's considered to be a cosy little town, a town in a town. It was for us. Nonetheless we decided to move on and change cosy Krakow for metropolitan Melbourne, considered to be the most multicultural and arty city of Australia. We chose Melbourne over Sydney and Brisbane (Owen's home town) for the aforementioned reasons, plus it doesn't get humid down here.
And now I am living in Melbourne with my Australian husband and 7 week old daughter. It has been almost two years and Australia's been treating me very well. So far I've been working at the front desk of a 5 star hotel. Owen has an administrative management position at a University and is studying psychology part-time. We live in a rental property, a modern two storey house only 100 meters from the beach, which makes my stay-at-home mum role much nicer. My double-payed (government and employer) maternity leave makes it much nicer too. In general Australia turned out to be a much nicer country then I expected. The beaches never end and the weather's great. The economy is strong, the wages are high and taxes are low. On top of that, there's a great public health system and the government covers 3/4 of tertiary education fees and in general the social support system is very generous and works great. Australians consider themselves to be friendly, relaxed and easy-going - everyone's a 'mate' and there's 'no drama' whatsoever. I think it's true for the most part, and you experience it as soon as you arrive at the airport from the easy and informal attitude of the customs officers. I also think that there's some kind of self-determination broadly present in the culture. Australians can save money working hard for years just to be able to travel around the world, which is a common thing amongst young people. They also have a strong presence in the world sporting scene, especially considering Australia is a small country (20 million people or so).
So what have I learned from Australians so far? That you should never 'cop out' of something, which means sometimes you just have to 'suck it up'. Therefore, I'm trying to stay positive and focused on being a new mum. I'm also planning my post-graduate studies in clinical psychology for the future.
Two years later after graduating from IT at Politechnika Wroclawska in October 2001 (just after September 11) I was on my way to NYC, with a pack of anthrax antibiotics from mum in my luggage. Life in NYC wasn't easy but it was fun. I had a student visa and was studying 20 hours a week at a language school. It was the only school I could afford working 50 hours a week at all sorts of cafes and shops and living modestly in all sorts of shared accommodation. In my spare time I was going out with my young and beautiful international friends. There was always something going on, an art exhibition with free drinks, an admission-free concert in a cosy bar, or some record label was throwing a promo party and a friend of a friend put me on the VIP list. It was fun, it was extremely exciting, breathtaking even - the people, the places, the flavours and overwhelming variety of it all. Nonetheless, there was little time left for sleep and little time to think, to digest it all. The fact of the matter was that the future in America did not look too bright. Immigration laws were getting harsher and the university fees were ridiculously high. It just wasn't coming together.
Immigration Scientists say it takes at least 5 years to gain something from your immigration experience, to learn and to grow on it. It took me 2 years in NYC to learn that I love variety and am very curious about people, the ways they think, the ways they experience themselves and the ways they perceive reality (assuming there is any objective reality). The most important thing America taught me was that we are creators of our own lives, that we all can fulfill our very own utopia. This sort of awareness brings a sense of freedom and empowerment, but it also brings responsibility.
With little idea about what to do next I headed back to Europe. It was 2003 and Poland was joining the EU. Things looked kind of optimistic. The next country for me to visit was Norway. It just seemed nice. Again over the Internet I found accommodation and work. I lived in a large vegan share house called "Kollektivet YaBasta". It was where I met my Australian husband Owen. I got a job at the cafe, and on a daily basis I was struggling to try to overcome my verbal clumsiness helping customers with very poor Norwegian skills. Somehow later on I managed to become 'cafe leader' and even make stock food orders in Norwegian over the telephone. I left Norway two years later with perfect Norwegian coffee and food vocabulary, and my Australian boyfriend in tow. I wanted to study psychology. It was part of my plan to turn one of my greatest interests into a living. I did not want to live in Norway. Oslo was too small and too quiet for me, and the winter was just too dark, which was terribly depressing.
What I learned in Norway was that it is important to be interested and actively involved in politics, and that we have to care not only for our own country, but also other countries and people in other countries. I also have learned that care is a very general attitude, a state of mind that starts when you care for other people and then spreads to those in other countries and the environment we live in, nature, the animals and the whole planet. And that's a huge part of Scandinavian culture and tradition. I think it's no coincidence that the Nobel Peace Prize was established and runs from there.
I moved to Krakow with my Australian boyfriend Owen, where we lived for 5 years so I could get a degree in clinical psychology at Jagiellonian University, which I did. In the meantime I started an Internet retail company and Owen worked as an English teacher and then Director of Studies at one of the largest private language schools in Krakow. We travelled a lot around Europe taking advantage of budget airlines and cheap airfares. We had a good life in Krakow living in a quiet studio apartment in the old town, with a window facing a hidden garden, just like hundreds of others in Krakow, hidden from public view. Krakow's old town is amazing, it's considered to be a cosy little town, a town in a town. It was for us. Nonetheless we decided to move on and change cosy Krakow for metropolitan Melbourne, considered to be the most multicultural and arty city of Australia. We chose Melbourne over Sydney and Brisbane (Owen's home town) for the aforementioned reasons, plus it doesn't get humid down here.
And now I am living in Melbourne with my Australian husband and 7 week old daughter. It has been almost two years and Australia's been treating me very well. So far I've been working at the front desk of a 5 star hotel. Owen has an administrative management position at a University and is studying psychology part-time. We live in a rental property, a modern two storey house only 100 meters from the beach, which makes my stay-at-home mum role much nicer. My double-payed (government and employer) maternity leave makes it much nicer too. In general Australia turned out to be a much nicer country then I expected. The beaches never end and the weather's great. The economy is strong, the wages are high and taxes are low. On top of that, there's a great public health system and the government covers 3/4 of tertiary education fees and in general the social support system is very generous and works great. Australians consider themselves to be friendly, relaxed and easy-going - everyone's a 'mate' and there's 'no drama' whatsoever. I think it's true for the most part, and you experience it as soon as you arrive at the airport from the easy and informal attitude of the customs officers. I also think that there's some kind of self-determination broadly present in the culture. Australians can save money working hard for years just to be able to travel around the world, which is a common thing amongst young people. They also have a strong presence in the world sporting scene, especially considering Australia is a small country (20 million people or so).
So what have I learned from Australians so far? That you should never 'cop out' of something, which means sometimes you just have to 'suck it up'. Therefore, I'm trying to stay positive and focused on being a new mum. I'm also planning my post-graduate studies in clinical psychology for the future.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Immigration 101
How to be a successful immigrant
1. Study up about your country. Pay attention to things like history, geography, current events, unemployment rates, average income. The more you know ahead of time, the better you will feel.
Note: When I first investigated Poland (my new home), I found some figures indicating minimum wage and average salary and all that. I assured myself that there must be an error in the data. The numbers couldn’t be that low. I learned that I was in error and discovered that my one-year public school teaching salary did not even cover my plane fare from America to Poland.
2. Learn the language…as much as you can…no matter how impossible it may seem. If you are planning to live somewhere longer than a year (or perhaps forever), you have to make an effort to learn the language to at least an intermediate level of proficiency. Believe me, the quality of your life will vastly improve when you are able to everyday things by yourself. You should be able to do the shopping, go to the bank, visit the doctor, chat up your neighbor in the local language. Also, you will feel safer and be able to assess possible dangerous situations much quicker.
Note: My Polish brother-in-law comes from a big family with a huge age range, meaning you could have a cousin older than your father or be an uncle at age 8. When my b-i-l went to family reunions, the older relatives just said to him, “Call me uncle”. In Polish that is “Mów mi wujek” and besides “szafa” and “dupa” is one of the first phrases I learned in Polish. I was always afraid that I would have some kind of accident and all I would be able to say at the ER in Polish was “mów mi wujek, szafa, dupa”. Good motivation for learning more.
3. Make friends…even if it kills you. Perhaps like me you were 5 years old the last time you had to “make friends” and now you find yourself back in that uncomfortable situation. Fight the urge to bury your nose in a book or your laptop and talk to people even if your cheeks are flushing with embarrassment. I literally made homework for myself that I had to find a friend (for example in 4 weeks) that is in no way connected to my husband. Not only did I get a needed sense of independence, but also I got a new perspective on my new culture.
4. Venture outside your comfort zone regularly and you will soon see your zone expand. My first expeditions outside my comfort zone involved such (now) simple things like shopping, buying a newspaper or travelling on the tram. It seems funny now but it was a really big deal to me then. I set myself tasks for homework, prepared the vocabulary I might need and headed out. Try it. You may not always be successful but sometimes you will!
Note: One unsuccessful trip was when my friend ventured out to buy an onion (jedna cebula) and came back with Prince Polo (a chocolate bar).
5. Travel. See what your new country has to offer. Start from getting to know your neighborhood, then your city, then your state and so on. Apart from visiting interesting places, travel will make you more familiar with your surroundings and make you feel more “at home”.
6. Read. Buy the local newspaper and magazines. Try to read them. If you are not able to read them, find someone who is willing to read the main stories with you and discuss the currents events of your new country with you. It is worthwhile…even if you have to pay someone to discuss with you.
7. Recognize the good and the bad in your old home and your new home. Allow yourself to openly prefer some aspects of your old home as well as your new home. And keep in mind that different doesn’t necessarily mean bad or wrong.
8. Develop a thick skin. Be prepared to hear a lot of negative things about your home country and its citizens (including YOU). The person talking with you is probably not aware that this is the thousandth time someone has made such a comment to you, so if the comments are not discriminatory or racist, cut them some slack.
Note: I did not start the war in Iraq nor am I responsible for the debt ceiling issues. I am certainly not responsible for the potato bug and I am so sorry to disappoint, but I am neither fat nor stupid! (Just a little venting)
9. Keep what is important from your culture and incorporate something from your new culture. It will help you feel acclimated into your new home without feeling swallowed up.
Note: In our case, we celebrate Halloween, Thanksgiving and “American-style” Christmas morning. These traditions from my family are very important to me and I am proud to pass them on to my children.
10. Make your decision and stick with it. At some point you will have to decide where you are going to live. Make that decision and don’t look back. If it makes you feel more comfortable, make a decision to stay in your new home for some number of years and then re-visit the decision later. The worst thing you can do is live with no decision, visit your home country too often and try to live in two places at the same time. You’ll just drive yourself crazy and will never feel at home anywhere.
Good luck in your new home!
1. Study up about your country. Pay attention to things like history, geography, current events, unemployment rates, average income. The more you know ahead of time, the better you will feel.
Note: When I first investigated Poland (my new home), I found some figures indicating minimum wage and average salary and all that. I assured myself that there must be an error in the data. The numbers couldn’t be that low. I learned that I was in error and discovered that my one-year public school teaching salary did not even cover my plane fare from America to Poland.
2. Learn the language…as much as you can…no matter how impossible it may seem. If you are planning to live somewhere longer than a year (or perhaps forever), you have to make an effort to learn the language to at least an intermediate level of proficiency. Believe me, the quality of your life will vastly improve when you are able to everyday things by yourself. You should be able to do the shopping, go to the bank, visit the doctor, chat up your neighbor in the local language. Also, you will feel safer and be able to assess possible dangerous situations much quicker.
Note: My Polish brother-in-law comes from a big family with a huge age range, meaning you could have a cousin older than your father or be an uncle at age 8. When my b-i-l went to family reunions, the older relatives just said to him, “Call me uncle”. In Polish that is “Mów mi wujek” and besides “szafa” and “dupa” is one of the first phrases I learned in Polish. I was always afraid that I would have some kind of accident and all I would be able to say at the ER in Polish was “mów mi wujek, szafa, dupa”. Good motivation for learning more.
3. Make friends…even if it kills you. Perhaps like me you were 5 years old the last time you had to “make friends” and now you find yourself back in that uncomfortable situation. Fight the urge to bury your nose in a book or your laptop and talk to people even if your cheeks are flushing with embarrassment. I literally made homework for myself that I had to find a friend (for example in 4 weeks) that is in no way connected to my husband. Not only did I get a needed sense of independence, but also I got a new perspective on my new culture.
4. Venture outside your comfort zone regularly and you will soon see your zone expand. My first expeditions outside my comfort zone involved such (now) simple things like shopping, buying a newspaper or travelling on the tram. It seems funny now but it was a really big deal to me then. I set myself tasks for homework, prepared the vocabulary I might need and headed out. Try it. You may not always be successful but sometimes you will!
Note: One unsuccessful trip was when my friend ventured out to buy an onion (jedna cebula) and came back with Prince Polo (a chocolate bar).
5. Travel. See what your new country has to offer. Start from getting to know your neighborhood, then your city, then your state and so on. Apart from visiting interesting places, travel will make you more familiar with your surroundings and make you feel more “at home”.
6. Read. Buy the local newspaper and magazines. Try to read them. If you are not able to read them, find someone who is willing to read the main stories with you and discuss the currents events of your new country with you. It is worthwhile…even if you have to pay someone to discuss with you.
7. Recognize the good and the bad in your old home and your new home. Allow yourself to openly prefer some aspects of your old home as well as your new home. And keep in mind that different doesn’t necessarily mean bad or wrong.
8. Develop a thick skin. Be prepared to hear a lot of negative things about your home country and its citizens (including YOU). The person talking with you is probably not aware that this is the thousandth time someone has made such a comment to you, so if the comments are not discriminatory or racist, cut them some slack.
Note: I did not start the war in Iraq nor am I responsible for the debt ceiling issues. I am certainly not responsible for the potato bug and I am so sorry to disappoint, but I am neither fat nor stupid! (Just a little venting)
9. Keep what is important from your culture and incorporate something from your new culture. It will help you feel acclimated into your new home without feeling swallowed up.
Note: In our case, we celebrate Halloween, Thanksgiving and “American-style” Christmas morning. These traditions from my family are very important to me and I am proud to pass them on to my children.
10. Make your decision and stick with it. At some point you will have to decide where you are going to live. Make that decision and don’t look back. If it makes you feel more comfortable, make a decision to stay in your new home for some number of years and then re-visit the decision later. The worst thing you can do is live with no decision, visit your home country too often and try to live in two places at the same time. You’ll just drive yourself crazy and will never feel at home anywhere.
Good luck in your new home!
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Summer in the Great White North
Oh dear, what a week it was... Comparing to all the calamities outside Canada, our extreme heat wave and anything else I can think of is probably not even worth mentioning... But hey, the show must go on, so we soldier on and focus on trivialities from our own backyard. So let’s pretend the world outside did not go mad. Let’s imagine we enjoy the perfect summer in our Canadian Shire, sheltered, for the time being, from the forces of the universe, American debt bombs and crazy Norwegians with guns. After all, summer is supposed to be the time when our bodies relax and our minds explore countless possibilities the season offers, like enjoying a lazy evening in the backyard, sipping cold beer and reading thick summer novels, right? Well, not exactly...
As much as I like the summer, the weather in Toronto can get a bit out of control. I know many people think Canada is this freaking frozen arctic desert full of polar bears and cute seals that bloodthirsty Canadians keep hunting and eating. This is certainly true, but hey, we do get really hot summers up here as well. And I mean it. Let me give you an example from Toronto. Not because Toronto is the centre of the Canadian universe (to be frank, most Torontonians think it is), but because it just happens to be a place where I have spent several really hot summers. Most summers are either very hot and extremely humid or just hot and extremely humid. Every now and then there comes a summer that is not so hot (but still rather humid), but it is an exception. The worst summer so far was the stinky summer of 2009 when all garbage collectors and city workers went on strike, a situation that rapidly deteriorated and left piles of smelly goo all over the city. Garbage bins were taken over by colonies of insects and rodents while city parks were turned into temporary dumping sites. The situation was so bad, that major tourist agencies issued warnings to avoid Toronto. We promptly followed the advice, escaped the city and went to beautiful Nova Scotia. Alas, when we came back home the stench was even worse. Fortunately, the situation got under control soon after, but it had some long term consequences, namely a major political earthquake in Toronto during the last municipal election.
This summer was initially quite pleasant and after the unusually long winter and very cold spring we were rather happy to see higher temperatures. This changed last week, when our dog started breathing heavily and the thermometer outside looked like this... Please note that the picture was taken in the evening and the window faces north...
So much for the Great White North and polar bears... But hey, remember that Toronto is a southern city, at least if you think in European terms. It is located on the 43rd latitude, like Marseille, San Marino, Florence and Sochi...
Summer weather brings out wild creatures. We have another cute skunk on our street and the raccoons are multiplying, as they always do. I don’t mind them, but our dog does, so we have to take precautions. A raccoon can seriously injure or even kill a dog with its long, sharp nails and teeth...
Skunks are not really dangerous, but everyone whose canine or feline friend has ever been sprayed by the cute creature would agree with me, that it is better to prevent close encounters. Otherwise you put yourselves in a really stinky position. Moreover, for some reason the skunks always tend to spray dogs’ noses and the area between the eyes and the tip of the nose, in other words, the only places on your dog you cannot really wash thoroughly with shampoo or soap... Well... Happily our dog only got sprayed once so far.
Wildlife in Canadian cities is a fascinating topic and I would like to return to it in another post. Today, let me just finish my summer musings with an old song by Suzanne Vega, 99.9F degrees. That would be our weather and state of mind a week ago...
PS. Today we finally got some rain. It is high time, the grass in front of our house turned yellow and looks dead...
As much as I like the summer, the weather in Toronto can get a bit out of control. I know many people think Canada is this freaking frozen arctic desert full of polar bears and cute seals that bloodthirsty Canadians keep hunting and eating. This is certainly true, but hey, we do get really hot summers up here as well. And I mean it. Let me give you an example from Toronto. Not because Toronto is the centre of the Canadian universe (to be frank, most Torontonians think it is), but because it just happens to be a place where I have spent several really hot summers. Most summers are either very hot and extremely humid or just hot and extremely humid. Every now and then there comes a summer that is not so hot (but still rather humid), but it is an exception. The worst summer so far was the stinky summer of 2009 when all garbage collectors and city workers went on strike, a situation that rapidly deteriorated and left piles of smelly goo all over the city. Garbage bins were taken over by colonies of insects and rodents while city parks were turned into temporary dumping sites. The situation was so bad, that major tourist agencies issued warnings to avoid Toronto. We promptly followed the advice, escaped the city and went to beautiful Nova Scotia. Alas, when we came back home the stench was even worse. Fortunately, the situation got under control soon after, but it had some long term consequences, namely a major political earthquake in Toronto during the last municipal election.
This summer was initially quite pleasant and after the unusually long winter and very cold spring we were rather happy to see higher temperatures. This changed last week, when our dog started breathing heavily and the thermometer outside looked like this... Please note that the picture was taken in the evening and the window faces north...
So much for the Great White North and polar bears... But hey, remember that Toronto is a southern city, at least if you think in European terms. It is located on the 43rd latitude, like Marseille, San Marino, Florence and Sochi...
Summer weather brings out wild creatures. We have another cute skunk on our street and the raccoons are multiplying, as they always do. I don’t mind them, but our dog does, so we have to take precautions. A raccoon can seriously injure or even kill a dog with its long, sharp nails and teeth...
Skunks are not really dangerous, but everyone whose canine or feline friend has ever been sprayed by the cute creature would agree with me, that it is better to prevent close encounters. Otherwise you put yourselves in a really stinky position. Moreover, for some reason the skunks always tend to spray dogs’ noses and the area between the eyes and the tip of the nose, in other words, the only places on your dog you cannot really wash thoroughly with shampoo or soap... Well... Happily our dog only got sprayed once so far.
Wildlife in Canadian cities is a fascinating topic and I would like to return to it in another post. Today, let me just finish my summer musings with an old song by Suzanne Vega, 99.9F degrees. That would be our weather and state of mind a week ago...
PS. Today we finally got some rain. It is high time, the grass in front of our house turned yellow and looks dead...
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