The Fallacy of North America

It seems like ages since I left Russia but I'm really only coming to the end of my third week back in Canada. In 3 short weeks I've got a car, a job, a bank account and begun looking for a place to live (34 and staying with my mother may be alright in Russia but is so not cool in Canada).

Despite all this hectic activity, I haven't had time to really adjust to life in the Maritimes. I still feel stuck somewhere between here and there, and the reverse culture shock is unsettling. I've gone through periods of "I love it here!" to "I want to go back to Russia!" I definitely miss some things about Russia, namely, the chaotic freedom, the architectural aesthetics (of Moscow, at least), the beauty of the people (mainly the women) and the feeling of doing something wonderful with my life.

Here in Halifax I feel only the crunch of time and finance. I have a full-time job and it pays better than my English Teacher's salary but it doesn't offer the kind of financial freedom that living rent-free did in Moscow. My schedule is also heavily regulated by work, and I can't be late or negotiate or enjoy long breaks throughout the day.

One thing that really bugs me about life back home is the complete ignorance of the Canadian people to life outside their own little bubble. I can't relate at all with anybody, and when they begin in-depth conversations about what was on TV last night or how much interest they're paying on their mortgage or their car financing, I switch off. How could I ever possibly explain to them the wonders of Moscow, the history of St. Petersburg, the vastness of the steppes, the feeling of standing on Mamaev Kurgan? How could they even care about the wonders of the Moscow Metro or the absolutely mesmerizing femininity of Russian women or the chaos of gypsy taxis? The fact is, they can't.

I found Russians to be much more engaging in conversation, and much more intelligent about the world around them, then Canadians. Russians were always polite and interested in different places, whereas Canadians have that irritating North American smugness. I also find Canadians incredibly dishonest and feel like everyone is out to rip me off. In Russia, I KNEW everyone was out to rip me off but those I counted as friends I could trust 100%.

In many ways Russia is superior to Canada. Canada's infrastructure is stable, the air is clean, the society well-organized, democracy and the rule of law is healthy and the economy is sound, but the culture really sucks. The exact opposite is true for Russia.

This is mainly the effect of reverse culture-shock, and with time and patience I'll become numb to the glaring hypocrasies I see around me, and eventually I'll become another ignorant dumb-ass Canadian. I do love living in Nova Scotia, however, and ultimately this province is superior in many ways to snooty British Columbia (and the beaches here are better). For me, however, there is no difference right now between people from the Maritimes and people from the west coast, or people from Florida or Wisconsin for that matter. That North American attitude is really grinding on me, and I miss the deep cultural wonder and beauty of Russia and Europe.

Pigeon Katy

I'm married!

Last week, on August 17th, Katya and I took part in a little ceremony at ZAGS in Moscow, signed the paper, exchanged rings and received a marriage certificate.

When I came to Russia I never had any intentions of finding a girlfriend, let alone getting married. I came because I wanted to see Russia, travel around and find out where the wind would take me. Well, it took me into the arms of a lovely wife who treats me like gold and also makes fantastic Russian food.

In less than two weeks the wind will be carrying me home but not before dropping me off in London, England to visit some long-lost relatives. After London it will take me to Ottawa, Canada to visit my immediate family, and then it will take me to British Columbia where, I'm hoping, it will plop me down in Victoria, right on top of a big juicy job.

Katya is excited to emigrate to Canada. Although she is a Moscow girl who has lived here most of her life (not including the first few years she grew up in Volgograd before her parents moved), she claims that she hates it here. It's not Moscow that she hates; it's living in a big city. The hustle and bustle, the noise, the pollution, the crowds...they all wear on her and she believes that a smaller town in clean, quiet, friendly and peaceful Canada is just what she needs.

She also loves animals more than anyone I've ever met. Last month, when temperatures were topping 40 degrees centigrade, Katya and I stumbled across a pigeon who had walked through some melting tar. The tar had hardened a little and the birds wings and legs were stuck in awkward positions and the animal was unable to move. With it's little head bobbing and it's beady eyes flicking back and forth it was trying to slide itself along on it's belly.

Katya picked the pigeon up and, nearly in tears, took it to the nearest veterinary hospital. The vet, a woman who looked at us as if we were crazy when Katya handed her the pigeon, checked the bird over and then pulled out a needle and promptly euthanized it. Then she asked me for 500 roubles.

Katya was thoroughly traumatized by this event for two days and kept saying how sorry she felt for the pigeon, although eventually I convinced her that at least we helped it die peacefully instead of baking to death in the sun or being mauled by dogs and cats.

Canada has very progressive animal protection laws and Canadians generally love animals and respect them, so Katya is very keen to be a part of such a society. Nevertheless, I fear that it will be the small differences in culture that will make her unhappy, such as friendly customer service and orderly traffic and professional police officers and exhorbitantly-priced mobile phone service.

What I really worry about is getting her the permanent residence visa. This stage of the game is an incredibly difficult bureaucratic nightmare. There are 88 pages of forms to fill out, each question is worded in such a way that it accuses the applicant (including me, the sponsor) of lying about their marriage, and forcing us to prove it (I thought it said somewhere in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms that we were to be presumed innocent until proven guilty?). In addition to the forms we require print-outs of all our text messages and phone calls to each other, many of our photos as well as all our wedding photos, translations and notarizations of all of Katya's documents including her degree and work history, and I have to send in my tax assessments for the past bunch of years (difficult to do because I spent 3 of those years overseas).

Then there is the worst part: we have to pay nearly $1500 for the application and then, if Katya is approved, another $985 for a "Right of Permanent Residency" fee.

That will all be in later blog posts. I don't intend to finish Mission to Moscow until Katya and I were happily reunited in Canada, and even then I think it could be interesting. Like Crocodile Dundee, but about a Russian. And a woman. And there's no crocodiles in the beginning (although I wish there were). Maybe "Pigeon Katy"?

The Lights Are On But Nobody's Home

A month ago the company I work for moved me from my cool and comfortable apartment in Mytischi to a stinking hot and uncomfortable apartment near Fili in Moscow. The weather has been abnormally hot and this new apartment has no airflow. The oven doesn't work and the landlord refuses to fix it, there is noisy traffic 24-hours a day outside my bedroom window and my bed has a hard wooden beam running down the center of the mattress.

In short, it sucks. In addition to that, my schedule at the Moscow central school is retarded. Everyday I work split shifts, with 9 am classes running to the early afternoon and then 7 pm classes running until 9:30 at night. By the time I get home I have to return to the school 10 hours later for my morning classes. I also do not have 2 consecutive days off, meaning that I cannot plan to go anywhere or do anything. While the students in my classes are wonderful (I love my students), the administrators who run the show are quite the opposite.

When I was living in Mytischi a month ago, I was planning on returning to Russia after my 12-month visa expired and staying on as a student for another 6-12 months, but my outook has since changed. A combination of the intense heat, a crappy work schedule, an uncomfortable apartment and the noise and bustle of Moscow has made me incredibly unhappy. It is nearly impossible for me to appreciate anything in this city now, so I am planning on returning to my home in British Columbia, Canada.

This doesn't sadden me. In fact, I'm quite happy with the decision. The past 2 years (and the past year in particular) have been an intense ride for me and I'm glad that I did it, but like I wrote in this blog a year ago, the night before I flew out of Ottawa for Moscow, I just want a place I can call my own and not worry about having to leave again.

There is nothing of excitement happening in Moscow right now. My work schedule is a hindrance to going out and doing anything and as I save money for my future plans I am simply plodding though my day. With less than 7 weeks remaining in Moscow, my thoughts have already left for cleaner waters while my body simply goes through the routine. Every day I dream of life back in British Columbia, what my home will look like (once I find one), what job I'll have (once I find one) and what the weather will be like. My sleeping dreams are filled with images of life on the west coast and far away from Moscow.

While I stagnate in boredom and heat, I wait with no little amount of impatience for my return home. In the meantime, I can only offer this advice: don't work for LL central school in Moscow!

British Columbia

Once a person spends a bit of time in the west coast Canadian province of British Columbia (called "BC" by locals for ease sake), something strange and remarkable comes over them that stays with them for the rest of their lives. It becomes impossible for them to dream of living anywhere else. Their dreams become filled with visions of mountains, beaches, rainforests and beautiful people. They are, in short, captivated.

British Columbia is home to nearly 5 million people, with half of them, 2.5 million, living in the paradise city of Vancouver. The province has 940,000 square km of land, from the Alaskan and Yukon borders in the north to the border with Washington state in the south. and yet nearly 52% of the land is uninhabited, making BC one of the least-densely populated areas in the world. The United Nations determined that for every person living in BC, there is 520 square metres of land!

While Canada has consistently maintained one of the highest standards of living in the world for the past four decades as determined by the United Nation's Human Development Index (switching places every year with Australia and Denmark for the top 3 countries), British Columbia is consistently ranked as having the highest standards of living within Canada. Vancouver has been awarded Best City in the World 8 years in a row by a variety of sources: the UN, Forbes, the US Organization of Mayors, and National Geographic. Vancouver is rated as having the best infrastructure, lowest crime rates, best schools, best air quality, best health care, highest employment rates, stable housing markets, etc etc of all the cities in the world. All this despite a global economic crisis (which left Canada, and BC in particular, fairly untouched due to vast natural resources, a smart banking sector, prudent government planning and a touch of good luck).

Vancouver, of course, takes all the credit for BC's wonders, but there are so many more to behold. Drive north of Vancouver for a couple of hours and you'll find yourself in the Okanogan Valley, a huge valley between two mountain ranges with excellent black earth. This has been developed into a vast agricultural area and the third largest wine-making area in North America. Drive north for 12 hours and you find yourself in Prince Rupert, a bustling little city with the feel of an old gold-rush-era frontier town. A bit further north from there and you find yourself in Alaska. Along the way you'll pass through the Sunshine Coast area, along the Pacific Ocean, with some breathtaking geography and a well-groomed highway.

Off the coast lies a series of islands, the biggest and most populated of which is Vancouver Island. This island is a little bigger than Denmark. The city of Victoria is on the sourthern tip, jutting into American waters and only a 40 minute catameran ride from Seattle. Victoria is one of the most beautiful cities I've ever seen. It's population, 400,000, is mostly engaged in IT, finance and government work (Victoria is the provincial capital of BC), but a little known secret about Victoria is that it is sub-tropical and the only place in Canada where palm trees grow naturally!

Drive north of Victoria along the west coast of the island for 2 hours and you reach Tofino and Ucluelet (called "Ukee" by locals), the western-most points in North America where the Pacific crashes onto breathtaking cliffs and people swim and surf off long, sandy beaches. Several resorts offer "storm watching" packages in the winter. Sit in a comfortable room with a fireplace and giant wrap-around windows overlooking the cliffs of Tofino and watch as massive waves batter the rocky shore.

The people of BC are incredibly friendly. One time in Vancouver my ex and I were sitting in a bar where a live band was playing 90's alternative covers, and we were talking about how it is hard to find people to hang out with in big cities. Just as we finished saying this, a pretty blonde girl sitting at the table next to us leaned over and said, with a big smile on her face, "Hello! What's your name?" It is very easy to make friends in BC because people are very laid back. Time moves a bit slower in BC.

Finally, BC is one of the most dreamy and spiritual places I have ever been. The culture is a blend of US pop, old English, spicy Asian and earthy native. With eagles overhead, mountains and ocean all around, orca, blue and sperm whales nearby and gigantic 1000-year-old trees everywhere, it is impossible not to feel a touch of the divine. This may be why BC is home to both new-age hippy-types and moderately-liberal Christian denomitions. In BC, God is all around.

Here are some videos I've dug up from the internet showcasing British Columbia. If you want to take a vacation or even immigrate anywhere in this world, I highly recommend British Columbia, Canada.

A tourism promotion video for BC.



A video showcasing Vancouver.




A video showcasing the Okanagan wine region.



A video showcasing Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada.

Georgy

As I progress through my 12-month contract with a "McSchool" in Mytischi, Russia (a moniquer that I protest against as the particular company I work for, LL, has been nothing but wonderful during the past 7 1/2 months), I often take time to stop and reflect upon what brought me here in the first place.

It has been an overwhelmingly pleasant experience in Moscow, and even the few inevitable speed bumps I've encountered haven't been unnavigable. I have been blessed with amazing friends here. The hilariously sarcastic realism of the patriotic Virginian, Wonderpants, constrasts brightly with the rambunctious and perky Ms. Australia, who tends to speak before the thought enters her head resulting in statements like "Don't put it in my mouth, just stick it in" (while eating dinner).

Mr. Irish has his own unique brand of ultra-cultured intellectual humour, and Ms. Australia's friend from England, Gem, brings an inquisitive and open mind tempered with good old fashioned British wit.

Our little ESL crew in Mytischi is a blessing, and although we lost one of our own when Quagmire was fired, the rest of us rallied and filled the vacuum by spending more time together. Of course, for the women of Moscow, both Russians and expats alike, there was a very audible collective sigh of relief when Quagmire went to Kiev.

Soon, however, all my new friends will be leaving. In one month Wonderpants heads back to the States, Ms. Australia returns to Perth, Mr Irish heads off to a camp in Finland, and Gem is going to the UK. I won't be alone, however, as I have Katya, who is now my new fiancee.

We had a very casual engagement, when we went to the store to get pizza toppings, swung by a jewellry shop, picked out a very cheap ring together, I put it on her finger on the walk home and by the time we entered my apartment we were engaged. Our future wedding, whenever that will be, won't be anything big and tacky. It will consist of registering our civil union at the local government office and then getting our papers officially translated and certified, and then beginning the sponsorship process so that Katya can become a permanent resident and eventual citizen of Canada.

So, how did I end up in a place like Moscow, Russia, teaching English alongside Australians and Americans and Brits and Irish and getting engaged to a beautiful Russian girl?

It all happened because of a cat.

In what seems a different life, in Port Hardy, British Columbia, I had a great neighbour named Debbie. Debbie was a recent divorcee and she was incredibly kind and friendly (although that describes most British Columbians). Debbie had a pet cat, named Georgy.

While I was still with my ex, Georgy would come around and hang out with our cat, Mr. Lee. The front of our house had a view of the ocean and the Rocky Mountains on the other side of the channel, but the back had a shrub-covered hill angling up from the driveway. This hill was nearly 20 feet high, and the bushes that covered it grew raspberries, blackberries and salmonberries during the summer. At the top of this hill was an old road that had been put out of use by the construction of a newer and wider road, so it was converted into a walking path through the forest.

One day my ex and I were walking along this old road when we came across our cat, Mr. Lee, Debbie's cat Georgy and another cat all laying down facing each other in the sun. If they had had beers with them I would have been convinced that cats do indeed party.

Debby would often ask me to watch over Georgy when she had to go to the mainland or "down-island" for the night, and during sunny days when the doors were open Georgy would wander into our house, eat the cat food and chill out with Mr. Lee. For some reason Georgy (who was a girl) hated my ex and clawed her hand up once, but that cat loved me.

After my ex left me Georgy would still come around to play with Mr. Lee, but one day while I was at work Mr. Lee explored a neighbours' backyard and ran into their vicious bull mastiff, who attacked my wonderful black cat. When I got home Debbie brought Mr. Lee to me, who was just barely alive and crying. I wrapped him in a blanket, threw him into the passenger seat of my Chevy and raced to the veterinarian hospital. I sped along at over 100 km/h on the narrow twisty road, but it didn't help. In the ten minutes it took me to reach the hospital, Mr. Lee had died in the seat beside me.

This came as a huge blow to me, following as it did on the heels of my breakup, and for the next several weeks the only company I had was Georgy, who came around to find Mr. Lee but couldn't figure out where he had gone. Georgy would wait at the front door all day for me to come home and let her in, and she would wander around the house, sniffing things, and then trot over to me and look up at me with big green quizzical eyes. "Sorry, Georgy, I don't know what to tell you." I would say. Then she would nuzzle my ankle and, choking back tears, I would pet her and she would hang out, waiting for Mr. Lee who would never return.

I took to talking to Georgy after work, as I sat on my deck sipping a beer in the autumn sun, a single hamburger for dinner cooking on my barbecue. "It's just you and me now, Georgy." I would say. "I know you're Debbie's cat and not mine." I would add.

My conversations with a cat eventually developed into deep discussions about the meaning of life and philosophy. As I chatted, Georgy would sit on my lap and purr, then jump down to swat at a passing butterfly, and then spend a few minutes licking her own ass with one leg stuck up in the air like a thanksgiving turkey.

It was during my discussions with Georgy that I pieced together my plan to come to Russia. "What am I going to do, Georgy?" I asked one day. "Am I going to stay here, counting fish, single in a town with no prospect of ever meeting somebody, growing old and then dying alone?" Georgy sniffed a pebble. "That's what I was thinking." She then stared intently at something in the distance that no human could ever see, and after a few moments she turned to me, winked both eyes, and wandered into the house to eat some of the cat food I continued to put out. "You're absolutely right, Georgy! And why shouldn't I?" I called out after her. "Why, Georgy? You are brilliant!"

After that particular discussion with a cat I decided to come to Russia.

In memory of my little buddy Mr. Lee.

My Canada

With nothing really exciting happening in my life in Russia lately, my thoughts have turned to home. I've been missing ordinary life in Canada, and it is the little things that I miss most.

I miss the smooth roads (compared to Russia they are paved with silk) and doing my grocery shopping at Sobey's and Zehr's, where cashiers are friendly and smile and put your food in a bag for you (rather than scowling and tossing a bag at you with disgust). I miss nodding my head "hello" to people on the street and hearing banter in a language I can understand and, yes, I even miss French/English signage.

I miss seeing eagles and hawks, mountains and ocean and farms, and ultra-modern Petro-Canada gas stations. I miss watching playoff hockey on the CBC, especially with three Canadian teams still alive (the Ottawa Senators, aka "the Sens", the Montreal Canadiens, aka "the Habs" and the Vancouver Canucks, aka "the Vancouver Canucks"). I miss watching the evening news with Lloyd Mansbridge on CTV and The Hour with George Strombopolis or Snuffaluffagis or whatever on CBC.

I miss VIA Rail and Air Canada and WestJet. I miss seeing the RCMP (Royal Canadian Mounted Police aka "Mounties") in their traditional red uniforms for the tourists on Parliament Hill or in their more contemporary black uniforms with armored vests in their Dodge Chargers and Ford Crown-Vics on the highways. I even miss the OPP (Ontario Provincial Police), although because they cross-train with the LAPD one never knows if you're going to be shot when they pull you over.

I miss the 401 (the massive 10-lane highway that goes from Detroit to Toronto to Montreal, and is also the most heavily travelled highway in North America) and the Trans-Canada (a massive highway that stretches from Halifax in the east to Vancouver in the west). I miss the names of towns and cities I learned all my life from stories, news and travels.

Places like Vancouver, Victoria, Nanaimo, Banff, Whistler, Calgary, Edmonton, Cold Lake, Medicine Hat, Regina, Swift Current, Winnipeg, Brandon, Thunder Bay, Sault-St-Marie, North Bay, Ottawa, Toronto, Hamilton, Guelph, Kitchener-Waterloo, Mississauga, Scarborough (although I don't really miss Canada's crime and murder capital), Gatineau, Montreal, Quebec City, Levis, Riviere-De-Loup, Fredericton, Truro, Halifax, Lunenburg, Antigonish, Mabou and St. John's.

I miss the 10 provinces of Newfoundland-Labrador, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island (PEI), New Brunswick, Quebec, Ontario, Manitoba, Saskatchewan, Alberta and British Columbia and I miss hearing about the 3 territories of Yukon, Northwest Territories and Nunavut.

I miss $1 and $2 coins (loonies and toonies, respectively) and drinking large double-doubles from Timmy's (large coffee with two cream and two sugars from the best coffee chain in the world, Tim Horton's). Oh and do I ever miss our beer! Russian beer sucks, and doesn't come anywhere close to Alexander Keith's, Molson Canadian, or even, and I know it's a stretch, Labbatt Blue.

I miss buying hardware and gardening tools and car supplies (and, for some reason, Christmas decor) at Canadian Tire where you can "Give like Santa and save like Scrooge" but Canadians have ultimately renamed the chain "Crappy Tire".

This habit of Canadians to rename things makes for an almost foreign language if a visiting American were to listen in. "I was on the way to Crappy Tire, sipping on a Timmy's when I reached for a toonie I saw on the floor and a fuckin' Mountie flashed his cherries and pulled me over!" (I was driving to Canadian Tire, drinking a Tim Horton's coffee when I saw a $2 coin on the floor and as I reached down to pick it up an RCMP officer turned on his sirens and pulled me over).

Although I have all my favourite Canadian bands on my itunes playlist, I still miss hearing them come up randomly on the radio (and Toronto has some amazing radion stations, better than most of the US ones save for one out of Buffalo which rocks). Bands like The Tragically Hip, Sam Roberts, Our Lady Peace, I Mother Earth, Mother Mother, Blue Rodeo, The Headstones, The Tea Party, Ashley MacIsaac, Sarah McLaughlin, Nelly Furtado, Bif Naked, Big Sugar and so many more.

There's even our older artists, like the Guess Who, Neil Young, Platinum Blonde, Men Without Hats, Tears for Fears, Tom Cochrane, Kim Mitchell, April Wine, Rush (fourth best-selling rock band in the world after The Beatles, The Rolling Stones and Aerosmith), Joni Mitchell, Gordon Lightfoot and Paul Anka.

I could mention Brian Adams, Celine Dion, Creed and Nickelback but I won't, because I wish to apologize to the world for them on behalf of my country. Okay, I apologize for Corey Hart and Loverboy, as well.

That's enough. Here's a video I made by blatantly stealing other people's videos from YouTube and mashing them all together.

Fish Tales

Last night I had a strange series of dreams about my former life in Canada. These dreams brought me, with incredible realism, back to a time before I had conjured up the idea to teach English in Russia. Since I woke up I've had the memories of my life in Port Hardy on my mind.

When I lived in Port Hardy, more than a year ago, I was the Port Supervisor for a fisheries monitoring program with an environmental consulting company. There's a lot of fancy titles there but it's really not all that complicated.

Canada's commercial fisheries, one of the three largest in the world and representing 30% of Canada's gross GDP, is managed by the Department of Fisheries & Oceans, or DFO. Because DFO doesn't have the money or personnel to monitor the entire fisheries in both oceans, they contract private companies to do it. By law there must be a government-certified "observer" at every fish offload at a Canadian port to record what was caught and how much, to ensure compliance with regulations, and to report all this information. Fishing trawlers require an At-Sea-Observer on board when they are out fishing as well as a Dockside Monitor when they offload. The company I worked for provided both services.

I was the supervisor for the Dockside Monitoring Program in Port Hardy. When commercials vessels were returning to port after a week of fishing on the Pacific Ocean they would "hail in" by calling an 800 number. The hail would then be registered in a computer somewhere and on my big Blackberry-like phone I would receive a "ping" and all the hail information. I would then call the fishing plant the vessel was offloading at to confirm the time, and then call one of my staff of observers and "deploy" them to the offload. I was also responsible for hiring, training and supervising the dockside observers, as well as ensuring accuracy of information, maintaining good PR with the commercial fisheries, DFO and the community in general. I also observed a million offloads myself.

Because of my job I had to pass a series of government exams showing that I could properly identify the bulk of the Pacific fish species. Russian factory ships would park off the coast of Canadian and US waters so that domestic boats could sell their catch directly to them. These giant JV ships (Joint-Venture) took millions of pounds of fish back to Russian markets, and it was interesting when I spotted a Yellowtail Rockfish, a species native to the north-east Pacific, in a Russian grocery store a few months ago.

At one point in my Port Hardy-fisheries life, I had a nice house near the beach with a view of the Rocky Mountains on the mainland, a Cavalier Z22, a beautiful blonde fiance, a good salary and job with a great company, and a lot of power. My job was stressful, particularly at the start of the fishing season (March) when 20+ boats a day would want to offload in Port Hardy and I only had 5 observers. The trick was to not burn out my observers so I developed a system whereby I would rotate half of them for night shifts and the other half for day shifts. I would observe whatever was left and created a "mobile office" so I could keep doing my supervisor duties while observing at the dock.

Fishermen themselves are not a friendly lot, and the majority of them feel that government observers counting their fish is an invasion of privacy. Add to that the fact that we then billed them for our services and you have a sometimes stressful situation on your hands. I remember one night in late October 2007. It was 9 pm and a hook-and-line boat was offloading at the government wharf. The skipper was drunk and angry and his crew were throwing insults at me. Finally I said "If you want I can leave, and your fish can rot. Or we can stop fucking around and get this offload finished." At which point the drunk skipper grabbed a tire-iron and swung it at my head. I managed to get out of the way, looked at him for a moment, and then walked away (thus forcing the offload to stop) and called DFO.

Aside from moments like that, however, it was a rewarding job. The data collected was used by government to monitor quotas, and research groups and universities used the data to determine fish migration patterns, stocks in the ocean and other important marine information. Although far from perfect, the system is one of the only like it in the world and the company has consulted with Norway, Australia and the United States to help them set up similar conservation programs.

When my fiance and I broke up I stayed with the job for 9 months, but I became restless and bored and lonely in Port Hardy, and started to panic that I would miss out on seeing the places I always dreamt of seeing, so I decided to come to Russia to teach English. I helped train my replacement (who promised to hire me the moment I returned to Port Hardy), packed a single suitcase, caught a Greyhound bus to Victoria and then a flight to Ottawa.

Every now and again I think that I made a big mistake in leaving my job and home in one of the most beautiful and peaceful parts of the world. Today is one of those days.

On the other side of the coin, however, I have been enjoying my time in Russia and I really enjoy the company of the friends I've made here so far. Some day this will be a memory and as I'm counting fish while eagles glide overhead on thermals and the Rocky Mountains poke through clouds on the horizon, I'll think back to my time in Russia and know that this will all be worth it.

Unless, of course, it isn't. In either case, I might as well enjoy myself.

Remembrance Day

This is a striking photo. I make it my desktop wallpaper every Remembrance Day (Nov. 11th).

The British Columbia Rifle's Regiment embarking for Europe, 1940.

A Canadian war cemetery in France.

Some other photos of Canada at war are below.

Canadian troops at Paschendale, 1917

Canadian dead at Dieppe, 1942

Canadian corvette hunting German U-Boats in the Atlantic.

A Canadian soldier following a battle in Korea, 1952

Canadian peacekeeper in Rwanda, 1993

Another Canadian is sent home from Afghanistan, 2009

Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada

Slightly Homesick

Perhaps it's the early stages of homesickness. Perhaps it's the language difficulties. Whatever it is, a feeling of being uncomfortable and self-conscious has crept over me the past few days.

I was fully prepared for some homesickness to set in once the shock of travel had worn off, but I didn't expect it to happen so soon. In my experience it takes a couple of months to begin and then drags on for several more months. When I first arrived in South Korea in September 2003 I didn't get hit with the first pangs of homesickness until close to Christmas, and it didn't wear off until the following summer.

Of course, Korea is so much more foreign than Russia. The food is vastly different, whereas Russian food is basically the same as it is in the west. The people and the geography and the culture in Korea is very north-east Asian and unlike anything else in the world, whereas those things in Russia are somewhat similar to back home. That's not to say that Russian people and culture are the same, but there are some similarities.

I don't stand out too much in Russia; if I don't open my mouth and I keep a stern look on my face, I can blend in here without much trouble. In Korea, the genetics behind my racial make-up made me stand out no matter where I went! In Russia there is a strong love for individualism while in Korea there was a strong love for being a clone. Also, in Russia, there are lots of trees and parks and European architecture whereas Korea was a land encased in concrete and quickly constructed buildings that all looked alike.

Russia is different than the west in many ways as well. For starters there are the crowds of large macho men in leather jackets who hang out and get pissed in parks, on sidewalks, in dark alleyways, etc all throughout the night. The women here are incredibly beautiful and wear weird combinations of high-heeled boots over tight designer jeans and fur coats. Traffic is near-suicidal here in Russia and one must be vigilant when crossing the street. Russians don't make eye-contact on the streets, and stare off into space with scowls on their face as they walk, seemingly lost in deep thought about how crappy everything is. Russian beef sucks.

Strangely enough it is the partial lack of foreigness that has helped to prematurely bring on the first pangs of homesickness. Having experienced it before I know what to expect and how to deal, but it is not a comfortable process. Right now I'm going through a period of insecurity, a reaction I have to strong emotional shocks. This makes it more difficult for me to venture out on my own, bond closely with other people and also to completely relax and sleep well.

I recognize it as homesickness and not culture shock because for the past week or so I've been thinking of how relaxed and comfortable I would be were I back in Owen Sound or British Columbia, and I've been daydreaming of what my life will be like when I go home. That's a bad cycle to get into and thinking like that will only prolong homesickness.

To defeat homesickness and settle comfortably into the new circumstances one must grab the bull by the horns, so to speak. I must constantly force myself to take trips on my own and navigate the impossible communication problems I deal with on a day-to-day basis. I must force myself to relax when alone and in the company of new friends. I must devote time and energy to learning the language and, finally, I must dream of what my life will look like here in Russia in a month or two, rather than what life back home will look like in a year or two. That's the only way to break the homesick fever.

A lot of alcohol helps, too.

Port Hardy As I See It

Port Hardy is a small town on the northern tip of Vancouver Island. Before I go any further I do have to explain the difference between Vancouver and Vancouver Island, because most people say "Oh, what's living in Vancouver like?"

First and foremost, Vancouver is a city of 2.5 million on the MAINLAND while Vancouver Island is that big ISLAND off the west coast of Canada. The city of Victoria is on the island, as is Nanaimo, Comox, Courtney, and Tofino. Port Hardy is nearly 700 km north of Vancouver!

Now let's get back to Port Hardy. Like I said, it's a small town of rougly 3500 people, yet it's the biggest town on the 'North Island'. It's part of what is called the Tri-Port Area, which encompasses the towns of Port Hardy, Port McNeill, and Port Alice. These towns are all within a 30 minute drive of one another yet they are all far removed from any cities.

Campbell River is the closest thing to a city, and it lays 250+ km to the south. You need to drive for 2 1/2 hours over a mountain range on a single-lane highway to get a cup of Tim Horton's coffee or a Big Mac...or purchase any clothes, or see a movie, or even eat at a decent restaurant!

Port Hardy itself is made up of the town and two outlying areas, Storie's Beach and Coal Harbour. Then there are three First Nations reserves surrounding the town. They are people of the Gwaksak'la band. Or the Gks'wa'llk' band, or something along those lines. There's a lot of Ws and Ks with apostrophes stuck between them.

Port Hardy was founded on natural resources and national defence. Fishing, logging, and mining used to be the main job resource in the area, but 10 years ago the huge open-pit copper mine closed down and hundreds lost their jobs. More recently Western Forest Products (WFP) closed down its Port McNeill operations and many more people lost their jobs, leaving only the commercial fisheries to support the local economy. The fisheries have had a couple of bad years due to dwindling stocks, government mismanagement, and the slumping US economy, so the money that is there is just barely enough to support the region.

Despite all this Port Hardy holds its annual festival every July celebrating it's heritage. These are FiLoMi Days (Fishing, Logging, Mining). It's pronounced "Fe-lo-mee" Days, but lately has been jokingly referred to as "Blow-me Days" (although the odds of that happening in Port Hardy are slim).

When I first moved to Port Hardy the locals warned me about the cougars. There were apparently hordes of cougars rampaging all over the north Island, devouring unsuspecting cyclists from France (perhaps the French are a delicacy?). I was sufficiently petrified to not wander around at night but after a couple of years I realized that the cougars in question didn't inhabit the surrounding forests but the local pubs. After seeing some of these beasts of prey gyrating pitifully at the bar, sporting hairstyles from 1982 and enough makeup to audition for a role in The Evil Dead, I decided it was better to take my chances with the felines in the woods.

You get the picture.

The town itself has a couple of conveniences for people either living or visiting here. There is a grocery store (Overwaitea...I'm not kidding, that's the actual name of it), an A&W, a couple of movie rental places, a government liquor store as well as three private "Cold Beer & Wine" stores, and 4 restaurants of varying quality. My advice for dining out is to go to Sporty's on Market Street. Not only is the food decent and the ambience very nice, but it's also the only joint in town that hasn't been closed once a year by the health authorities!

If you're expecting to find romance in Port Hardy then you're in for disappointment. Assuming that you're a normal person, who showers and has at least a rudimentary sense of style, have no substance abuse problems and have a job, then the available pool of eligible singles here is non-existent. You will have no problems picking up an overweight junky wearing jogging pants and gumboots if that's what you're looking for (this applies to both men and women, gay or straight).

That's not to say that there are no intelligent and attractive people here, it's just that they are all 'spoken for', or they've moved away to Victoria or Vancouver. If you're single I wouldn't advise moving to Port Hardy. Despite a great job and an awesome two-story town house on the beach, I can't hack being single in this town.


For the nature enthusiast Port Hardy is a paradise. There are lots of trails for all levels of hikers and you can find a dozen different geographies packed into the small area. For instance, as you lounge on sandy Storie's Beach you have a great view of the Rocky Mountains on the mainland across the sea (about 40 km away), a primevel rainforest at your back, and several river valleys dotted around the area loaded with elk, deer, bears, and cougars. Around the industrial fish plants you will find boats and sea lions and from the shore you can spot the occasional humpback whale or pod of orcas.

The weather is PERFECT from about May until September, but then the rainy season hits and it doesn't stop raining until the following May! In December and January it usually snows for a couple of days but then the rain washes it all away. There's none of that -40 C weather common to Ottawa and Edmonton and Saskatoon, nor does the thermometre ever go above +25 C in the summer. Personally I don't like extreme heat and the fact that in the middle of August I'm still tucked into blankets at night is very nice. The beautiful and perfect summers come at a cost, however, because after September you won't be spending much time outdoors.

The people here are friendly and despite their rough exteriors they are quite intelligent. There is a certain fatalist sense of humour common to the locals and when I first moved here two years ago I couldn't understand it but now I find that the local people really crack me up.

Living and working in a community for an extended amount of time is the best way to get to know locals and I have to give the people of the North Island a lot of respect. As a rule and not just a generalization the people of the area are hard-working, honest, friendly, and quirky. I have never felt threatened nor have I ever feared that I would be ripped off. In fact of everyone I know in Port Hardy I can say with conviction that I trust them more than I trust some of my own acquaintances back in Ontario. These people display some of the best qualities of personality and values I have come across during my travels of the world. Just don't expect good customer service!

That's the nuts and bolts of Port Hardy.