A Guy, a Tram and the Giant Baguettes

After another long day at the office, I was headed home.  Since it requires a bit of a tram ride home, I was passing the time with some mindless surfing on my iPhone. 

For those not familiar with tram etiquette, you simply get on the tram and sit in any seat that is available.  You don’t ask for permission, nor do you acknowledge the person who happens to sit beside you.   Antisocial?  Perhaps, but after a long day, you sometimes appreciate not having to engage in conversation with a stranger.   I have to admit however, this was difficult for the chatty Canadian within me.  Initially when I moved here, I tried to engage my seatmates in conversation.  It didn’t work.  In short, it was unwanted.  Perhaps they thought I was crazy, I don’t know. 

So back to the end of my very long day.  The tram came up to another stop.  People were getting on and off the crowded tram and I happened to glance up and notice a particular guy.  He was weighed down with a bunch of groceries while also embracing the longest baguettes I have ever seen.  It somehow amused me.  I wondered what the story was with the cute guy in front of me, and why he dragging around half a grocery store and where he found such massive baguettes.  I guess he caught me looking at him, and seized the moment to sit down beside me.  My iphone once again regained my undivided attention.  That was until he placed the armload of baguettes across my lap.   At this moment I glanced over at my seatmate.  He met my gaze with a look that I will never forget and with it his eyes pleaded with mine, “I know my baguettes are on your lap, but do you think we could just manage to live through this awkward moment?  I would really appreciate it.”  Amused I went back to my phone.  I could feel the eyes of others on the tram trying as well to make sense of the situation. 

So we continued.  My stop came first.  As we pulled up, I signaled my seat partner that it was now time for me to leave, and that he should probably gather his baguettes.  He did.  No words were spoken – but somehow, that shared moment touched me.  It lightened the weight of the hard day I was carrying and pulled me from the completely self-absorbed moment.  I could feel the guy’s gratitude that I didn’t create a drama – both of us well aware of the ridiculousness of the situation.  

I don`t know if there was a particular lesson from this odd experience – other than this moment made me happy in some weird way.  Perhaps only that sometimes being nice can somehow make the day for everyone involved.

Halfway in and Halfway out

I knew it was going to be difficult, but I had no idea how difficult, difficult could be.  It was a Wednesday afternoon, the temperature was 4000 degrees outside, and 4001  inside.  The day was as long it was hot.  The only good things was that this hot day was turning out to be a beautiful, hot evening.  I was looking forward to meeting some friends and enjoying it.  First thing I wanted to do was get home and change.  Although my nice-enough summer dress kept me as cool as it could the day long, I was ready to move on to something different – and that was exactly when the problem began.

I got stuck in it.  Really.  I was halfway in and halfway out with no way forward or back.  As I worked to get out of my self-made jail, my teeny-tiny flat got warmer and warmer.  My WhatsApp was buzzing with my friends inviting me to share the perfect evening with them.  I tried to explain the situation I was in, but I think that it was so unbelievable that my friends didn’t know what to do think.

Did I mention it was hot?  It was so hot and the amount of gymnastics being performed to either get in or out was substantial.  I needed to cool down, so into the shower I went, the perfect place to contemplate the situation.

I couldn’t help but think of what a friend mentioned to me the other day.  They said that a friend of theirs, after meeting me and finding out I was “still single” felt certain there was something wrong with me.  As I stood in the shower halfway in and halfway out, I wondered too.  It sure would be easier to have someone around to help get me out this rather awkward situation. 

But alas, there I was.

Memories of the people and places long gone popped into my mind.  My life could have been different, but it never felt quite right.  My heart longed for something that until now, had not presented itself.  I thought of my bestest friend and her one-time outburst “why do people think being single is like a disease?”

Though there I was – stuck.

After cooling down, I decided I had few options.  I was going to have to figure it out, or call one of my friends to assist.  In the end I figured it out,  though it took a while.  My BFF and I giggled on the phone as I shared how my evening plans had turned out.  I shared also my reflective thoughts.  “Love the metaphor,” she added.

Truth is I was damn proud.  It was so not easy, but I did it.  As I struggled, I knew that I had friends who would hurry to my side.  Today I shared the story with another of my favorite friends.  “I knew that you would drop everything to come help me,” I stated.  “Of course,” my other BFF said, “but not until I finished rolling on the floor with laughter for an hour or so!”

I know my life isn’t perfect.  I also know that it isn’t the life for everyone, but as I sat there halfway in and halfway out, I knew that my friends would be there for me – whether to get me out, or share in the laughter.  Frankly speaking, that is something that would happily make me give up singledom.  Some people have succeeded in finding that, unfortunately, I haven’t.  I could have settled for something close, but I didn’t.  I am holding out.  So are my BFF`s.  And I cannot help but feel a bit proud of us all.  Just like getting out of that damn dress, it isn’t easy, but what is in life?  Are we different?  I don’t know.  Maybe.  But I gotta say, I am pretty okay with that…  

Still love this song, and somehow fitting for todays blog...

At First Sight

That is it.  I am completely and totally in love.

The first evening was spent wandering about the city
streets, delightfully lost.  

I have never really had a surprise trip before.  Although I had some suspicions about the destination,  I really did not ultimately know until I was at the gate.  How is this possible in today's modern world of high security air travel?  Let me just say that I did not even have to show one piece of identification from the moment I entered the airport until arriving at the hotel.  Yes, apparently the hotel was more concerned about my identity than airport security, but alas that is a rant and not quite what I am in the mood for today.

So I arrived in Venice (not Venus as auto correct would prefer to have had me doing for some reason) and immediately fell in love.

There was an adorable old book store, absolutely loaded with used books.  Anyone who knows me is well-acquainted with my affinity for old and antique books.  The wonderful staircase of books was hidden in the books store's rear courtyard and lead to a spectacular canal view.  I could have spent hours there.

This little trip was good for me.  As I shared before, the road has been a bit bumpy lately.  I have spent much time worrying about things of which I had no control.  Enjoying a moment had become difficult because I was not in it.  My mind was elsewhere.  

Of course we had to do a tour on the black gondola. I like to call this photo "rush hour in Venice."

To cross or not to cross?  Translated this sign reads "Bridge of the Devil". Guess what I did?

How could I not fall in love with this place when waking to this view each morning of my short stay?

Heading under the famous Rialto bridge in the black gondola.

But then Venice happened.  I found myself living only in the moment.  Absorbing the history, the people, the vibe of the place - I have to admit that I even adore the sound of the language.  No, it is not my first time in Italy, far from it in fact, I seem to have sort of have a thing for this country.

Anyway, to ramble on seems wrong somehow.  I cannot do the affection I have for this place justice - perhaps the photos will instead :)

So true.  I found this at the Peggy Guggenheim Museum and loved the sentiment.

Call me Nadia

I have started on a matcha latte kick.  Every work day afternoon I duck out of the office and round the corner to the nearest Starbucks.

(Before I go on any further I must clarify something.  I don"t normally do Starbucks here in Europe.  To me that is an American, or a North American thing and I really do not wish to be one of "those" people that frequent what they have back home.  However, this is the only place near me that I know of where I can get a matcha latte.)

Matcha lattes are kind of gross for those people who have never had one before.  They taste like warm, liquid grass.  They also look like warm, liquid grass.  Yuck.  Why do I drink them?  That is a reasonable question.  Answer is, I am not sure.  I just do.  It is like me against the gross green goo and by drinking it I win.  A small victory on a busy afternoon.

So the team at Starbucks is getting a bit used to me and my 3pm matcha run.  But as soon as they see me, a flash of panic flashes across their eyes.  My name you see, causes them constant grief.  Dawn is an English name and it does not go well in these parts.  At work most people call me Antle because they think that looks more like a first name than Dawn.  I just go with it.  Some have implored upon me to adopt the use of my middle name Leigh instead to help offset the confusion. They are likely correct, but the amount of paperwork required is daunting.

At Starbucks it has come to the point now that people actually make busy when I arrive.  The whole name thing is an awkward moment for both parties. On this day the young out going guy steps up to handle me.  He starts to write my name on the cup and then shows me what he has written.  "Sure" I say at the interesting interpretation.  That is when he declares "from now on you are Nadia."  The barrister is also relieved at this declaration.

This worked out so well for everyone concerned I decided to try it elsewhere in my life.  At the store when a clerk looks puzzled at my name I throw out Nadia.  Restaurant reservations, I am Nadia.  I have discovered that in doing this,  that it is not so much my German vocabulary that is causing confusion, but my name.

Today I have to go and reserve movie tickets, I think that is a good task for Nadia...

The Explosive Gift Situation : His Version

Note:  For the first time I have let someone else write something for my blog.  After stating how absurd our fight was I had told my friend that I at least appreciated the blogging material.  He then stated that it was only fair that he get to share his side of the story as well.  Here it is...

The gift.

A true story.

By anonymous.

I am the only son of an Italian, divorced, wealthy mother, and for me the nanosecond has always been the unit of measure to count the time intercurring between "I want" and the answer "here it is!" Therefore, when Dawn told me that she bought me a present, I immediately spot the cliffs in front of us. "I'm not very patient, Dawn," is my 'intelligenti pauca' for her. Unfortunately Dawn doesn't speak Latin, and proudly replies with a clear political program of how this affair is going to evolve: "I know. This is why you'll have to wait!"

I met Dawn Antle something more of a year ago in toytown Zurich, and we immediately became friends. She's a mix between a geek (at her job), a Talleyrand (in her social life) and a lioness (as a mother), all in the packaging of a full optional, top level, Canadian. She just can't avoid being used to have it always her way. 

Anyway, on with the story.

In the next two weeks after the official announcement that a gift was waiting for me, and after asking her, probably every day (I'm not sure if I missed one, I would need to check), when I could have it, my expectations had grown like a soufflé. Yellow shields with black horses on them were already flashing in my imagination, when here comes the first cold shower: "it's just not ready yet".  "If it's not ready, can I at least know what it is?". "No", is the reply, "I'll send you a picture". What I see is a cubic shapeless package in a brownish gift paper, unintelligible in size. "Thanks, it's what I've always wished for.", is my sarcastic thought.

I'm now at the point where my patience has to be measured with negative numbers. The mood when you're so hungry that you'd rather eat crude eggs than waiting for the omelette. So I drop her the first warning that I'm at boiling point: I send her pictures of objects that I think might be the actual content. In front of them, a warm blooded mammal, moved by compassion, would just reveal the secret. Well, not her.

A week passes fruitlessly, so I resolve to use the "N" bomb in my arsenal: Give her a present myself. Something that would make her impossible not to reciprocate, something that would make her feel guilty at any time she just looks at that. What I buy is a biscuits tin box with a carillon that rings whenever it's moved. "This is genius", I giggle. "If she doesn't fall for it, she's not human", is my thinking. 

She doesn't. The Canadian Caterpillar, in front of a hint the size of the Matterhorn, just carries on with ruthless stubbornness.

Another week week later,  I'm forced to wave my white flag, but since I would like to have at least the honors of war, I have to resort to Padrino tactics: the proposal that you can't refuse. After a kind good morning from her, I retort: "You're not clearing your conscience so easily, dear. But I'm sure you like this subtle torture, don't you?" Now, this is the closest I can get to begging "give me the damn present now or we are not friends anymore," and anybody who knows me would understand it. But not her. The red fingernailed juggernaut, in front of the moral equivalent of a bleeding horse head in your bed, just escalates to Defcon 1: "That's ok, I will win this one yet."

This is how our friendship was over forever (that is, until she just lowers her big blue eyes and softly whispers 'I'm sorry'). Not because she is an incorruptible torturer without a cause, but because she still hasn't understood that men have feelings too! And that if you shake one of our deepest rooted certainties, i.e. that we can have whatever we want no need to ask, you will get in trouble.

In the end, even I have not clearly understood how a spontaneous act of kindness has been turned into a claw. That's beyond me. What I'm sure of, is that at the end of the story, she'll walk away with it. She always does.

Footnote:  I have to be honest, the battle still rages.  In the end there will be a casualty or two, but I thought it would be interesting to share two sides of a story - and how a seemingly benign, and even intended thoughtful gesture can have the opposite affect when two people refrain from sharing openly.  Even two very good friends...

The Explosive Gift Situation : My Version

Sometimes you cross paths with someone who immediately gets you.  From literally the first moment you meet you know that person is going to be someone special in your life.

So is the case with my guy pal.  I met him within weeks of moving to Zurich and adored how he would listen to my work stories ad nauseam (and trust me, this is no easy feat), he listened to my family related dramas and best yet he laughed at my bad jokes - and he made me laugh.  I remember one particular time; it was in fact Halloween evening last year, when he spent his evening celebrating the conclusion of a very important and exhausting project of mine.  I remember one time he was driving me home from German class and I was rambling a mile a minute, when I noticed it and commented how cool it was that he listened to my blah blah blah, he responded with a laugh and gestured around the car “Dawn, where exactly can I go?” He is also the person that made sure I had pumpkin for my much longed for Thanksgiving dinner, the one that fixes my bike, and so on - that is just the kind of friend that he is…

Pretty cool huh?  But wait, I am not finished yet.  This is going to be one long blog….

One of the other things I love about my friend is that he knows how to handle me.  I am in spirit a fighter.  Everything I have in this life I fought for – and fought hard.  So when I am determined, I can be a bit, uhm, well… lets just say difficult.  However, to this friend of mine, I am not so difficult.  So somehow he became my go-to-person when the drama of life started to get to me.  “Dawn, it sounds like you are making your own movie,” is one of my favourite lines of his when I start to lose my perspective.

It all sounds kind of perfect doesn’t it? 

Now on the other hand, he  is someone who likes to have control over any and all situations.  But then as much as he likes having everything his own way, it also bores him.  He is a bit of a walking contradiction.  Normally he picks where we will meet, when we meet, what we will do – everything.  I am okay with that because he in turn listens to my long ramblings and dramatic outbursts.  For the most part, it is a friendship that is tough to beat.

But then the trouble started.  I got in trouble for not inviting my friend to do things.  I was confused.  We talked about it, but I remained confused.  To make matters more confusing for me I tried to make a suggestion and he immediately countered it with another.  In the end we did what he wanted.  (in all fairness, he had the better idea).

One day I was thinking about him and how much his friendship meant to me.  I wanted to express it, particularly after getting in trouble.  Since my attempt at planning was quickly thwarted, I thought of a gift.  Nothing special.  It had a couple of parts, one of which was not so easy to procure.  Excited I informed him that I had “a gift” for him.  To my surprise he was excited - and started texting me and demanding to see “the gift”.  As always, he demands were full of humour and light.  So I was fun back.  Soon he gave me a gift that was cute and thoughtful which made me sorry that the last part of his gift had still not arrived.  So I decided to make him wait until he could have it all and thus the full impact.

The banter of “the gift” continued.  It was fun.  Or so I thought – until the last text.  “Dawn, I don’t even want the gift anymore.”  He was annoyed!  My longest running pal here in Zurich was literally so irritated that I felt our friendship was in serious jeopardy.  So we had a heated phone discussion – he still could not see how he was so in the wrong on this one.  A gesture intended to show my appreciation was actually causing a massive conflict.  He was in my opinion completely unreasonable.

I did what any normal female would do.  I called my mother and lamented about how I was losing a friend over a stupid gift – how annoying and unreasonable my friend was being over the whole thing.   And maybe just maybe, this friendship had run its course. 

“He is right Dawn” she said.  I am still not so sure that this is the case, but alas I apologized.  A mother is the trump card on all issues otherwise unresolvable.

I told my friend that I though we were the only two people who fought over a gift.  “You could be right” he agreed.

Until now our friendship has been easy, uncomplicated.  (okay, except for another disagreement that happened about the same time last year – but alas that is another blog)  We can relate to nearly everything in each others lives because we are so similar.  We are difficult and demanding as well as sensitive.  It really is a recipe for disaster.  However, as with all good things in life – they are not always so easy.  I am glad I was able to navigate my friend’s displeasure with me – and I am glad he was able to navigate my subsequent temper tantrum.  As a result the friendship fortunately remains intact.

But what about the gift you ask?  Well, he still hasn’t got it :)

FOOTNOTE:  My friend has asked that his version of the event follow mine, so tomorrow you can read his and decide for yourself who is the more reasonable of the two of us. 

And it is ON!

Oh yeah.  I have a pumpkin and I know what to do with it.

Thanksgiving is on!  Woot!

I have been babbling about hosting a Thanksgiving party for ages now.  After four years of missing it - I am keen on not letting this one slip me by. My close friends are a perfect mix of German, Swiss, French and Italian folk who have no idea what it all means.  The day after I after I proudly procured a pumpkin (and I will have you know, this is not such an easy feat when you live in downtown Zurich) I texted my pals - "the Harvest Feast is on! We will even have pumpkin pie," I shared excitedly, for everyone knows that it is not thanksgiving if there is not pumpkin pie.

"Uhm, you make pie out of pumpkins?" said one friend rather sceptically.  "You sure you don't mean soup?"  

Funny how you assume some things. Such as everyone must  know that pumpkin pie is a must-do fall sort of thing.  But they do not.  

But the real cool thing is that they do not have turkey much over here either.  In fact, I have yet to find a place where I can preorder it just for this dinner, but I will.  However, that means my friends have no idea what a 'turkey coma' is either.  I cannot help but giggle a little at that thought alone...

Baking Day Panic Attack

Today is a big day for me.  Yep.  It is baking day.  

My friend likes to host international dinner parties.  They are pretty cool evenings.  Approximately 20 plus strangers gather together for dinner.  Each brings a dish reminiscent of their home country.  Basically we get  together and  share a delicious mix of food and culture.  

The last time I did it got away with a fruit salad drizzled in maple syrup.  Typical Canadian dish.  Not.  Okay, the maple syrup was typical.  Today however, I am going to shake things up.  I am going to bake fruit pies.  Not crazy ambitious, but certainly more so than the fruit salad.

First panic attack occurred when I realized that my trusted pastry recipe was safety stored somewhere back in Canada.  A few minutes on the computer, and Google lead me to a four star recipe that promised not to disappoint.  I entered the kitchen.  Second panic attack.  No pie plates.  A quick text to my gal pal and she told me where I could procure some pie dishes close by.  Emailed myself the shopping list for the pies.  Third panic attack.  What is lard in German?  

By this time I am starting to ponder whether maple syrup drizzled over vanilla ice cream would suffice. Alas, I am determined, and ready myself to shop for the necessary dishes and ingredients.

Forth panic attack.  How does one carry multiple pies on trams and through the twisty, hilly walkways of Zurich old town?

Then I got to thinking, in Canada it is customary to purchase chocolate cake at the local bakery...

And now it feels somehow fitting that I share another Canadian singer/songwriter.  Chantal Kreviazuk with "Feels like Home."  

A Reason

It is Saturday morning and I am enjoying some text chats with a couple of girlfriends while sipping on my fourth morning coffee.   

I am aware that there is nothing particularly unique about that, however this has become an important part of my morning start.

One of the best things about family is that they know you in a way that most people do not.  There is also a great deal of comfort in that. You have the freedom to be exactly as you are - without judgement. 

As an expat, you miss that.  Family is far away and often the time zones make communication a challenge.   The opportunity to be with family is not as easy as it once was so the potential to be lonely is prevalent.  There are many an expat event.  You see the guys and gals mingling and chatting, enjoying the momentary intimacy that these events provide.  Sometimes people win the jackpot and connect with another similar soul, but more often than not it is only temporary.  Still, these events are essential - for without them we would be starved.  And I suppose even though intimate relationships are not so common, there is still a kinship amongst us all.  We have similar challenges, needs and lifestyle.  

I've been living abroad for over three years officially.  Unofficially it has been over four.  Enough time to strain the friendships I enjoyed back home.  Enough time to get used to not celebrating special events and days with family.  Enough time to crave a deeper type of intimacy in my now familiar surroundings.  

As I am texting back and forth with my girlfriends I am comforted.  They know my deepest and darkest secrets.  They know my fears, my desires.  I know theirs.  The veil of pretence has long fallen.  I share this type of communication with a guy pal too.  When he met my son for the first time, he said it was like meeting an old friend since he already knew him through me and my countless stories.  

Yesterday I read an editorial on how as humans we crave intimacy - but we also fear it.  It touched on the fact that many of us turn to social media to satiate our desire for a deeper connection.  That is something that I simply cannot do.  I need the banter, the shared laughter and the sometimes needed hug that can only be experienced in person.  Yet, I do not know of many people who are more fearful of intimacy than I.  In the past my family served as safe zone. Outside of that, was a crafted facade that was years in the making.  However, this whole experience forced me to change.  A little anyway.

I have not lost the connection with my family, it is in many ways even deeper than before.  Something I am grateful for every moment of every day.   But the distance of the comforting arms of my family was too far away in moments I longed for something more than a superficial intimacy.  I had to take a chance or live with the ache of loneliness of being alone.

So here I am.  In my pjs, sipping my coffee, texting with those that know me best.  We share our mistakes, our heartaches, our successes.  I am a happier person as a result.  Unburdened.  Some people manage this without being forced.  I didn't - or couldn't.  I cannot help but consider the irony of it all.  There are few things more rewarding than intimacy - yet as much as we crave it, we also run from it.  Me included.  I don't profess to have mastered it - its simply a reflection on something this journey abroad has forced me to try.  And I am glad I did...

Yoga and a Finnish Sauna

Nudity.  Yeah I know - here I go again.  But seriously are things ever different here in Europe.  Years later I am still getting used to it.  This past week tested me again.  

Lets start with yoga, and the fellow that walked in and changed rather comfortably right there in the studio.  How awkward I thought as I made a mental note to myself to NEVER plan to change in the yoga studio.  Ever.

The next moment was when I went to see a massage therapist.  Since it was my first visit with her, she wanted the background story that had led me her.  While I got ready for the massage.  Awkward.

I try though.  I try to appear cool about the whole thing.  I really don't know how some cultures can be so uninhibited.  In response to my recent nudity rant, a friend shared a story of when he was living in Finland and having his work performance evaluation recounted by his boss in the sauna.  Nude.  I am sorry, but I know I will never ever get that cool.  However, my friend said that although he initially balked at the idea - it turned out to be a bonding experience.  "We were in an environment where we were equals which made discussion easier and more productive," he told me.  Personally I think I'd have to resign.  But, IF I did manage to summon some courage to do it - I would likely have to starve myself and spend 8 hours per day on a treadmill starting two weeks in advance of the meeting.  And a board meeting?  All that breathing and sweating with a bunch of people I would be happy to live a life and never see naked?  And happy to also have them never see me that way either. I think we all wear clothes to work for a reason - no?  

Okay, I am done.  Well, for today anyway...

(for those doubters on the Finnish sauna thing, here is a CNN story on a board meeting in the sauna, nudity required... http://money.cnn.com/magazines/fortune/fortune_archive/2003/10/06/350393/index.htm )

And now Imagine Dragons, and yes, this one is for you - you know who you are :)

A promise

I received a message asking me what the secret was to making change - I cannot pretend to have any answers, only what works for me.  Today anyway.  So here is my list;

1.  Keep moving.  When negative thoughts start to fill my mind I get busy.

2.  When convenient, I am oblivious.  Why should I give a negative moment my full attention? 

3.  Listen.  I try hard to listen others, and my heart.  

4.  Be open.  Sometimes the greatest things can happen if we are simply open to them happening.  

5.  Get out there.  Life is happening, I think it is better to be a participant than a bystander.

6.  Know when to walk away.  And when you do, always take the high road.

7.  But the biggest thing for me, is never take anything for granted. Family, friends, places and            

                 moments...

Actually, I suppose the most important thing for me was to simply to hang in there.  Time does indeed heal all.  Difficult moments do pass.  Life isn't perfect, but suddenly one day, everything will seem a whole better...I promise.

Happy & Home

Well I am back. 

My only half dead orchids greeted me upon my arrival.  As I had suspected the cleaning fairies neglected to look after the glasses in the sink – so I busied myself and loaded the four of them in the dishwasher.  It took me a mere 30 seconds.

I know, exciting blog.  Get on with the point already.

This time there isn't one.  Except that when I walked through the door I knew that I was home.  Everything felt right.  It seems that one can have more than one "home".  

It has taken me a while to find a fit.  There has been a lot of sacrifices and a lot of hard work and tears along the way – but it seems that I have I finally found what it was that  I was looking for.  (I know that sentence is wrong, but I am not going to change it.) And you know what is most amusing?  What I thought I wanted and what I really wanted were and are two totally different things.  It is amazing what one can find if they take a chance.

..and another Canadian band, Marianas Trench.  Warning though the video is in true quirky Canadian form :)

I have to admit, Desperate Measures ^ shows up on my most played list - but I had to include this one too, because well, you'll know what I mean when you give this sexy, jazzy tune a play...

What is Canadian?

“What are Canadians like typically,” asked my friend on the eve of my departure home.  “You are the only one I have ever met.”

Other than the fact that I am not the ideal person from whom to adopt a general view of ‘what is Canadian’, I found myself pondering what in fact is truly Canadian?  For instance, right or wrong we throw around stereo types such as the French are romantic, Russian women are beautiful, Swiss are organized, Germans are aggressive – but what the heck could be a generalization of Canadian?

I was stumped.  Until yesterday that is, when I found myself out running errands with thousands of other last minute shoppers.  Make that Canadian shoppers. 

Anyway, I did what I always do.  Strike up conversations and make jokes with complete strangers because the timing seemed right to do so.  But there was one moment yesterday that was particularly cool.  As I left the grocery store laden with bags of groceries I watched the man in front of me stop in front of an old woman who looked both exhausted and overwhelmed with the throngs of people milling about.  The man stopped and asked the woman how she was, and the woman replied so quietly I could not hear.  “Are you alone for Christmas?” he asked.  The old woman nodded and then the man left his buggy full of food and embraced the old woman in a big, long hug.  I saw her face light up and I couldn’t help but smile as I walked on by. 

As I drove home I thought of my day.  The sarcastic banter I had with the clerk at the drug store, the slow cooker tip exchange with woman at grocery till, or the career plans of the waiter I had at lunch.  Then I thought back to Europe and the comments people say to me.  I have heard my boss tell colleagues not to worry about me because I talk to everyone.  Or the fact that I have gotten myself into trouble talking to people and making my non-Canadian date jealous and uncomfortable. It was then that I decided on what is truly Canadian.  We are a sarcastic and talkative bunch.  We will talk to anyone, anywhere.  We like to make jokes with complete strangers and anyone alone is fair game for attention.  We simply like people.

Perhaps it is because we come from a country that is so vast and spread out that in the early days we were just so excited to stumble across another human being that we talked to them regardless of any commonality.   Or maybe it because the long cold winters kept us secluded for months and starved for stimulating conversation.  Who knows?  But what I do know is that the whole sarcasm and chatty thing is not unique to me.  It is in my roots and a fundamental part of who I am.  

But, even though the ease of conversation is natural to a Canadian, so is walking away.  Just because we talk to you – it doesn’t mean anything.  We won't ask your name, or where you are from, we do not really want to know.  The whole thing is about sharing a moment, or a smile or two and getting on with our day. 

Yesterday I watched a man say to a woman that she looked great, “not many women can wear red,” he said.  The man walked away and the woman carried on with a smile.  That’s kind of a normal Canadian thing - we talk, we laugh, and then walk away…

Our Canadian chart topper Carly is featured in this current hit - and the video to me captures a bit of what I am trying to say :)

And - here is a commercial that kind of captures some Canadian winter/police humour.  

Thank You

I have a friend here in Zurich that I do not spend so much time with simply because communication is a problem.  His English is good, but he usually misses the meaning of what I am saying.  My German is rocky as heck so I avoid speaking it out of embarrassment.  And to make matter worse for me, he insists that I speak German only to him - therefore I have an abundance of excuses whenever he suggests we catch up.

Until today. And his text.  It read "it is time to speak German Dawn."  

It is relatively easy to live without German here in Zurich. However, I didn't really notice how limiting it was until last night.  I was at an expat sort of Christmas party, and there were many people that I knew which was very cool.  Being surrounded by familiar language and people is comforting.  But I am in Switzerland. 

As I left the party last night, I couldn't help but feel it was just a repeat of another day a week or two before.  My friends also seemed a bit bored with the whole scene.  Even though the expat community here is huge and dynamic, it is also only a small part of what is here.  I don't plan to turn my back on what I have here, but it is time to make my world a bit bigger. 

Sometimes it takes one thing to shake things up enough and make you realize that perhaps you are heading in the wrong direction. And that happened for me.  I had to say bye to my best friend here.  I knew it was coming, but I guess I sort of hoped that fate would intervene and I could keep them close.    I threw myself into anything that would keep me busy - hoping to find something or someone else to fill the void. I know it sounds silly, but you can't imagine how incredibly important friends are when everything and everyone familiar is afar.  

Tonight I cancelled my regular plans.  My friend is right - it is time.  Not just to learn German, but for a bit of a change.

So, to the familiar faces and places, thank you for making it so easy for me here - but it is time for me to disappear for a while.  

Another Canadian tune...

The Countdown to Home

In recent years Christmas took on a new meaning for me.  At one time I used to think I needed to see snow, have the house decorated perfectly, Christmas cookies baking – and then and only then would I feel the spirit of Christmas.

Living abroad has changed all that for me.  Christmas means I get to see my son.  My parents.  My adorable little nephews.  My brother.  Family is flying in from the opposite end of the world.  We all retreat to the ski hill.  Days spent skiing, evenings doing some sort of family thing.  I can’t wait.  I get to reconnect with friends long neglected and laugh with those that know me best.

Here we have Michael Bublé  with his rendition of "All I want for Christmas is you" - and yes, he is a Canuck ;)