Settling down

(My first steps on Canadian soil...in my beloved Birkenstocks!!)

My fourth night in Canada, and slowly I think I am getting used to it. The street signs and language people speak are French, but then the kind of run-down alleyways next to towering skyscrapers are so typically North American. It still seems odd that I am here now, whereas a few days ago I was still cycling on my bike towards the beach. Big difference here though, it is 30C every day. At least for now, because it is “false advertising” for the real weather, as a lecturer put it.

Yesterday I had a chat with the director of Institute I’m studying in, and he again said that they were delighted to have me, saying that someone with my kind of “caliber” comes “highly recommended”. I modestly thanked him (again) for giving me this wonderful opportunity and the position as a fellow with a generous scholarship. Of course, part of my duties as a fellow of the Institute would be to “give back to the community”, so I will be involved in some extra curricular work. The weather in winter will keep me indoors most of the time anyways, I was assured.

I was actually feeling pretty deflated the first few days… I mean, I know no one, I am a complete stranger in a foreign country, and going from place to place looking for an apartment. Everything I saw was old or really expensive, especially in the so-called McGill Ghetto next to campus. Luckily, the lady bank clerk I met a few days ago managed to track down an apartment for me, and I went to see it this morning.

I was already impressed as soon as I opened the door. There are actually two apartments, one on the second floor, and one in the basement. The former one looks a bit older, and some places were peeling, whereas the one in the basement was restored brand new, and had a better separation of space. Though it is in the basement, and though I have this impression that it would be damp and dark down there, it was nothing like that. Very bright and airy, and the flooring, kitchen, as well as bathtub are all brand new. I did not have to think twice, especially after all the really rubbish and expensive places I had seen in the past few days! And best of all, just around the corner is a metro station, and it takes only around 15minutes for me to get to university. Lots of grocery stores and restaurants nearby, making it very convenient. And another bonus of the apartment is: it is in an area called Monk. So I will hopefully be more spiritual and at ease living in my new home.

The landlord is such a great and trusting person—none of that guarantor hassle or need to pay the first and previous month’s rent as a guarantee as some people have asked me to do. He did not even ask for a deposit, but just said I could move my things in right away. To him, he would rather have a trustworthy and honest tenant (like me!) than leave the apartment empty or let it be taken by drug-addicts or people with very low incomes. And he really is a reasonable person, who seems to have the tenants’ interests in mind. I signed the lease, and after that, he even offered to drive me to Ikea to look at furniture.

When I go to the big furniture store, I realised I did not have much money on me because especially since I am still waiting for my scholarship to appear… so, my bed and table and chairs for my humble abode will have to wait for a while…

But at least, finally after all this time longing for freedom and independence, as of tomorrow, I have a lovely place I can call my own. And this will really be a first.

Househunting

I am a getting anxious and desparate. Been searching for a place for two days, and there is nothing that I like. If a place is not too expensive, then the place is too far, or much too dirty and run-down. So I have been walking around the city, back and forth, going from apartment to apartment, hoping something good would show up.

And everytime I leave an aparment, I feel so deflated, because I have to continue looking. It is really exhausting, especially since I have not done any work for my studies yet, and nor did I have the time to buy books for what I need to read.

So as I came home again late at night, I felt really heavy with tension and stress. Every day I do not find an apartment I must pay a lot for my hostel, and I simply cannot keep on this for long. And living in a hostel means that I must eat out, which also costs a lot of money.... not only that, I feel so unhealthy, as if I do not get enough vegetables and nutrients whenever I eat out... so there seems to be a viscious cycle of despair, which all comes back to the fact that I STILL DO NOT HAVE A PLACE TO STAY...

Despite all these misfortunes, I did have some good fortune today. So I went to open a bank account, and this Asian lady helped me. When she asked for my ID, I gave her my passport, and she flipped through it, and was especially interested in the fact that I had many visas to Taiwan.

"So you go to Taiwan often, I see", she said.
"Yes, because my family lives there. And I was born there."
"Oh, me too!"

Turns out, the lady has been in Canada for 12 years, and also came as a young student, and has since been working at the bank. We started talking in Mandarin, and she was not only helpful in opening the bank account, she even showed me some places to look for an apartment, and offered to help if I need anything. This was a really welcome show of support, and made me feel all the less alone in this big, big city....

First day

I wandered around the unfamiliar streets of the city, cars, horns and sirens whizzing past, now and then the sound of chatter and laughter would pass me by. The sky darkened, and night had fallen. I was surrounded by tall steel and glass buildings, and suddenly it felt pretty lonely in the big city.

I guess the feeling is magnified with the fact that I was tired from having woken up at around 6 in the morning, and have been running around non-stop since then. First in search of an apartment, which still is as desperate as ever, and then going to class and having to wait a long time to be registered as a student. What made it worse was to hear that if by the end of the month I still do not have my student visa done, I will be deregistered and barred from attending class…

Earlier, I had gotten up early to go see an apartment with the lady at the hostel reception. She drove me there, and it took only 10 minutes with the car. For the first time, I could see how it was to go from the city into suburbia, and see that transition from crowded and busy sidewalks to white picket fences and mowed lawns. It was a very quiet residential area, and the apartment is huge, with two bedrooms, one living room, a kitchen and bathroom—all for around CA$600 only. But, later I found out if I were to commute, it would take me around 40 minutes to get to university, and I would much rather live nearby where I study, so I could blend more into the student life.

I treated the lady to some breakfast, for she had been so kind to offer her help in my house hunting. As we chatted, she mentioned something that struck me. She said that she was helping me because I was Asian, and if it were anyone else, then she would rather not extend a helping hand. Perhaps this is because of her divorce from a (white) local, whom she does not much of an opinion of. But then when it came to giving me advice on where to look for places to stay, she actually said that certain areas have a lot of Indians, and told me to avoid that. So much for the exciting multiculturalism and mix of peoples and languages, from Arabs to Europeans, from Jews to Muslims, from Chinese to Vietnamese, that I had encountered on the streets in the very short amount of time I have been in Canada.

I made my way back into the city on the metro. It rode on rubber wheels, like the ones in Paris, and soon I arrived at McGill, and it took sometime to find my way in the underground complex that lay under the main streets of Montreal. Riding the escalator to street level, I was again submerged under the shadows of tall towers housing many important banks and businesses. Then, at the end of the broad street, was an arched column, behind which scores of old building sheltered amid trees.

This was the McGill Campus, and I wandered inside, passing by countless other students on their way to class. Everyone dressed so informally in sandals and shorts, while I felt a little out of place in my white shirt and long dark trousers. It felt peculiar to be in a campus, the kind of place I have seen so many times in American movies, but never before experienced or seen. My first university was merely two buildings in central London, which housed a total of less than 3000 students. McGill was simply a giant, in terms of its student body and the scale of its campus.

I stumbled into my first class, and already a few classmates had sat down. They were pretty friendly, at least the first impression, and we briefly chit chatted. There were only around 15 students, all with diverse educational and professional backgrounds, and each from different countries, which should make the class really interesting. One thing that bound us together was our shared interest in and acceptance at perhaps the foremost institute for the study of air and space law.

The first three hours of lectures was intense, though the professor is really good. After a light-hearted introduction to the institute and to the staff, in the following hours we were bombarded with information on the intricacies of international air carrier liability. All I could think of was whether my long delay and missed flight the day before had anything to do with what we were learning about.

After the lecture, everyone seemed to just vanish somehow, which was a real shame. I was soon left wandering around the campus on my own, and it felt a bit disorientating, as everything was so big and there were so many people and buildings.

I only hope time will make me more familiar with the people and all these stranges sights and places...

Departing for Montreal

The plane rocked and rolled. Not the kind of experience you would like to have at 3000m above the ground, not when visibility was almost zero, and when the windows are constantly being lashed by large needles of rain. The cabin jolted, and one could almost hear a silent sigh of prayers as the little Lufthansa A320 attempted to break through the storm. Thick clouds, swirling and dense with turbulence. Thunder and lightning, and horrendous vibrations.

It was a relief to see the ground, which neared and neared until finally the wheels slammed onto the runway. Grind, screech, halt. Huge splashes of water flew off of the wing tip, as the engines powered reverse. Touchdown at Frankfurt Airport, an hour behind schedule.

The stewardess announced the gate numbers of connecting flights, and mentioned that the flight bound for Montreal was still at the Gate B46. I looked out of the window, and indeed saw the Air Canada Boeing 777-300 standing still at the gate. Peculiar, though, that the skybridge had already been withdrawn, and all the usual gathering of baggage carts and ground personnel were nowhere to be seen.

I stepped out into the rain, as my mind raced to be at the gate. But when you are in a hurry, everything seems to slow you down. Frankfurt this morning suffered sudden severe storms, and many planes like ours were told to circle the skies slowly to stall for time and for a landing slot. And due to the congested traffic, instead of being docked to a gate, our plane had been diverted to the tarmac, and we needed to be bussed to the terminal, which lost a good quarter of an hour. Once inside the terminal, I ran, and ran, following the arrows to the correct gate.

But it was empty. The display which would normally show the flight number and destination was blank. I looked outside the window, and saw the elongated Boeing 777, equipped with two of the most powerful Rolls Royce jet engines in the world, slowly pull away. It is bad enough to watch the train pull away from the platform, but when it is your connecting flight to another country, that is a whole different matter. My heart sunk, as I wondered how long I will have to be stuck at the airport. I was exhausted from the one hour sleep I got last night, and from having to wake up at half past three in the morning, but at that moment, watching the plane that I was supposed to be sitting on turn its back on me, I felt sick.

Deflated I dragged myself and my backpack to the ticket counter. A wait of almost an hour later, there seemed hope. I could be rebooked on a flight to Montreal, via Boston, the counter lady said. But I dreaded going through the US—with all its draconian security measures and baggage checks. There was another option, and that was through Paris, though it would mean a total waiting time of around six hours. Anything seemed better than not being able to arrive on time for my first day of classes tomorrow, so I took what was offered.

Who would have thought, or even imagined, that a simple trip to Montreal would take me through two different countries, with three different flights. But Paris was a welcome stopover, for it was the capital of the French-speaking world, while Montreal, my final destination, is labelled the second largest French-speaking city in the world (at least according to my trusted companion Lonely Planet). There is some meaning in everything I guess. And perhaps life is telling me to start refreshing my rusty French.

Outside, the sky is clear, as the Air France Boeing 747-400 soars towards the Arctic Circle, ready to curve down to Montreal. My journey to Canada is almost at an end. But a new life is just about to begin.

Pre-departure

A new world is about to open before me in just a few hours.

In the final hours in the Netherlands, I went to the beach, the same beach I have strolled down when I was sad, when I was tense, when I was feeling inspired. The seagulls called out and sailed on the rough seas. A strong wind blew, and I clung onto my clothes. The sea and its saltiness on my lips.

I was not alone. Next to me was a dear friend, guide, and support. Someone who has given me many valuable lessons, someone who has been there when I was lonely and down. The skies flashed, and it began to rain.

Drizzle at first, but then it stormed. On the final night in the Netherlands, I sat in my friends apartment, and listened to the rain fall on the window over a hot cup of tea and homemade cookies. The air filled with the delicious scent of cooking and homeliness, and temporarily I thought about how I will miss such company when I leave.

The rain has since died, the wind since calmed. Outside a starry night, soon to turn into bright morning. This final night in the Netherlands, my suitcase packed, my clothes for the long flight westward folded and waiting to be worn.

A journey is about to begin... my life is given a new opportunity, one that I still have to discover and learn about.