Hello everyone! Well, I had mentioned in my last blog posting that I intended to resume writing here a little more often after a rather long lay-off around Christmas time. Like all New Year's resolutions, this desired commitment seems to have gone both swiftly and wholly awry. Wholly until now that is, when I am finally able to draw breath and delve once again into some of my recent (well, quite recent...) experiences here in Canada. I should mention that there are strong and plentiful reasons indeed for my tardy delay here, not least of which has included a past week or so of absolute carnage, as I found myself manfully struggling with the twin burdens of work and home in plots more labyrinthine than any offering from the pen even of Carlos Ruiz Zafon. Suffice me to say that just over one week ago I was informed by my deceitful and self-centred (accusations that I have no time to justify here - perhaps in a future undertaking?) house-mates that they were, all three, leaving the house and imminently. Two days later, in fact, and I was the only being left, the others moving on to better deals and leaving behind a reneged tenancy lease and an apoplectic landlord... and me. At the same time that this little shenanigan was exploding, I was also busy trying to manage a move to a new job, of which I shall have more to say in the coming blog entries. Between a flurry of e-mails and phone-calls, dealing with pay, rent, training, damage deposits, uniforms and potential homelessness, I have been kept challenged and frantic for much of the past tens days. The light does seem to be strengthening, the tunnel widening and so it is with some hope that I sit down to write this entry and further that I allude to an imminent future entry encompassing these sorry plights in their full and completed narratives. For the moment, however, I intend to deal with far happier days, more pleasant communions; indeed, a balm for the senses - in my case if not in yours, my fellow travellers. Onwards and upwards then and a return to Christmas past. For some time now, as far back even as the initial planning stages of this trip to Canada, some fourteen months or more previous, I have been aware of certain important dates that I was sure to spend here in North America, should my formulations come to complete fruition. In fact, these inklings have already found a precursor during my adventures throughout the South, when I was conscious of spending my twenty-third birthday far from home. Thus it was that whilst planning that trip - at roughly the same time as I was filling out the legal documents required for this second trip - I made sure to distract myself upon that big day with the culminating glories and wonders of Machu Picchu. Even before this necessary yet unwanted watershed and all the more pressingly afterwards, there was a larger and more painful threshold in my mind, which would also need to be crossed before much longer. This hurdle looming large was Christmas, which has always held an especially dear place in my being. Whilst a birthday is often a happy event to be sure (particularly when one has celebrated as relatively few as I!), it remains a predominantly singular celebration, focusing upon one major protagonist. Now, there are those I am sure who will read that last rumination and feel some confusion; surely I could just as easily be speaking of Christmas? I agree that this assumption holds credence, but I would contest that whilst birthdays are only ever quite minor occasions, in the grand scene of the general public, Christmas is a time for all. The streets are lit with warm invite; people appear a little more welcoming (although no less weighed down in their personal struggles, even if those amount to a bludgeoning festive wish-list displaying a tellingly consumerist slant); constraints are relaxed (another mince pie, anyone?): just for a little while, people raise themselves up to enjoy time-honoured traditions in what I still perceive to be a largely communal - at least familial - setting. Christmas is many things; a chance to sit back, to take stock on life, the year past, the year ahead, to grieve, to shout with joy, to remember and to count one's blessings. Thus it was that I quite often found myself telling any travelling acquaintance, new or tested, of my biggest fear, my tallest hurdle; namely, Christmas 2009 in Canada, leagues from home, family and friends. Fortune certainly smiled on me the night that I mentioned this anticipated calamity to my dear friend Kelsey. Christmas alone in Vancouver? We cannot have that! So it was that I received a Christmas invitation to lift the soul; the chance to pass the festive season with Kelsey and her family in the deepest snows of Alberta, in and around the family city of Edmonton. Better yet, continued correspondence with our brilloiant mutual friend Sebastiaan suggested that he too would still be travelling throughout December and in fact intended to have reached Canada himself by that stage in his trip. So it was that I found myself, in mid-December, gearing up for an exhilarating Christmas holiday with two of my closest travel-buddies here in Canada! I rose early upon the morning of Sunday 20 December, energized by a heady cocktail of anticipation and exhilaration. I packed a substantial portion of my worldly belongings carried here over the sea from England, including some presents that Santa had managed to post to me early (in light of my travel-inspired predicament), and headed out into a damp, squally early evening, bound for Vancouver Airport. The city's fantastic public transport network saw me safely to my destination and in good time (including a memorable passage aboard a bus driven by a jolly lady in a Christmas hat), giving me ample opportunity to check my luggage in before exploring the airport's facilities ahead of my flight. I wandered the cavernous interior, perusing Olympic-inspired murals and visual motifs, well-stocked book-stores and even an observation deck, although with rain-clouds hanging in the growing gloam outside, there was not much to be seen. There was something expectant, mystical hovering in this great, sparsely populated area, added to by the nocturnal setting streaming in through the huge windows equipped in every airport I have ever frequented. I meandered down vast hallways, following illuminated signs, soon arriving in the departures lounge, where I purchased a cup of tea, took and seat and drew forth a cryptic crossword posted to me by Mum from back home; this cryptic habit, of sending, receiving, undertaking and completing, has become a ritual reminder, a deep-rooted echo of love, a pastime from past times. My plane touched down in snowy Edmonton a little after midnight local time. I disembarked, feeling fresh and excited, to rush through corridors and out into the waiting area, into Kelsey's welcoming arms: it was a wonderful reunion and we soon fell to chatter as we collected my bag and took seats at a local cafe outlet to await the arrival of Seb from San Francisco, via Las Vegas (yes, one of those brilliant routes conceived around "hub" airports and offering cheaper seats, replete with the necessary, arduous additions to itinerary, time and rigmarole. Seb finally joined us a little after 2am, swept up in a twin set of simultaneous bear-hugs from we two greeters and soon we were laughing, shouting, reminiscing in Kelsey's car as she drove us along treacherously icy roads into the heart of down-town Edmonton. We trooped into her arty, tasteful apartment, dumped our travel bags and sat down at the kitchen table to chat further into the early hours of morning. Finally, at some time around 4am, we each departed for bed: Seb and I were to share Kelsey's "queen-size", whilst she requisitioned the room of her absent house-mate. Understandably, we rose late the following day, to a scrumptious breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast. We tucked in, hungrily munching and discussing potential plans of action for the afternoon ahead (the morning long since lost). We swiftly settled upon the exciting proposition of toboganning at a local hill. Sledging, as it was more commonly known to me in my earlier youth, I had not explored the joys of participating in for some time and it was with a little trepidation that I readied myself for this Canadian experience, set as I was to experience severe temperatures of cold for the first time in my life: it was below minus 20 degrees Celsius that day! I wrapped up as warm as I could with the clothing that I had dutifully assembled in preparation of this longed for trip and we headed to the hill. In fact, we headed to the hill via 'Canadian Tire', a huge warehouse-styled store similar to 'Focus' or 'Do It All' back home. Here we picked up an essential ingredient for our day of gravity-fuelled mischief: toboggans! Our apparatus amounted to little more than flimsy plastic sheets with hand-holes, uncannily resembling colourful beach-towels in form. Any misgivings that might have been seeded within my mind were dispelled upon my first run down the hill, when I succeeded in reaching a respectable speed, before executing a macabre tumble on the lower section of the slope, tumbling head over heels and bruising everything between those two extremities, including my dignity. Undeterred, a trudged back up the incline, marvelling at my utter lack of fitness, huffing and puffing inordinantly, to resume my steep - if reversed - learning curve. We continued in this fashion upon the hill for some time, until the occasional impact hurt less and less: this was not because I was becoming more adept upon my toboggan, oh no; rather, the cold was gradually numbing my entire body, helped by the copious amounts of snow finding its way beneath my clothes during every tumble! We hung around long enough to complete a few final, hair-raising runs, which we caught for posterity using the cam-corder function on Seb's most recent technological purchase, before piling back into Kelsey's warm, inviting car and cruising to the nearest warm, inviting cafe for a drink, a breather and a chance to exclaim loudly just how marvellous our time in Edmonton had commenced! That evening was spent in happy repose back at Kelsey's apartment, where we opened good beer, cooked (well, ate at least - Kelsey is a great cook!) and revelled in each other's company after so long apart. I was ecstatic to find my friends and our companionship so little altered and yet so different, inevitably, after so many months secluded from each other. After some days spent exploring Edmonton with Kelsey, including a magical winter wonderland walk along the bank of the city's frozen river, offering spectacular views towards the skyline of the down-town area beyond, we packed up and drove the short distance out of Edmonton proper to the nearby satellite town of St. Albert, where we set up camp at the home of Kelsey's parents, Larry and Linda. It was here, stretched out on camper-beds in the luxurious family basement, afforded company by a table-tennis table and widescreen television, that Seb and I enjoyed our first Canadian Christmas. The highlights were manifold and absolutely splendid. Every morning we rose, at whatever time best suited us individually, and slowly gathered en masse in the family kitchen, where Linda would compose a delicious breakfast medley of bacon, eggs, hash browns, pancakes, toast, waffles, juices, tea and coffee. Canadians certainly enjoy their coffee: no plan, no meaningful conversation, no logical thought even seemed possible until a large, potently strong cup of caffeine had been consumed. The family home of the Tutts was a warm, generous sanctuary against the bitter weather blasting roundabout outside: a sizeable Christmas tree greeted visitors upon first stepping in out of the cold; a veritable treasure-trove of goodies sat expectantly upon platters distributed throughout the kitchen and living room area. At once I felt welcome and completely at ease, any lingering trepidation concerning my intimate invasion of a foreign family at this special time of year forced from me by an overwhelming outpouring of generosity, hospitality and good will. On our first full day as honorary members of the Tutt household, Seb and I enjoyed a trip to the local cinema complex to watch the eagerly-anticipated James Cameron offering, 'Avatar'. By now, of course, this film has surpassed all others as the top-grossing feature of all time and how quickly! Largely ignorant of the hype surrounding this masterpiece of graphic design, I sat down to an utterly spell-binding three hours, during which time I was totally transported to a magical and wonderful world of make-believe, where everyday traumas and concerns nonetheless pressed in upon the various characters. The 3D visual effects were mesmerizing and at times I truly felt that I was there, in the scene, with the figures themselves. This wonderful trip was followed up by a visit to the local bowling alley, where I was exposed for the second time to the difficult game of "six-pin"! The concept is much like the popular game of "ten-pin" from back home, except that the lanes are a little narrower and both the ball and pins themselves smaller. Finally, there are only six pins and they are placed further apart, making it much more difficult to knock them all down in one attempt. Each turn consists of a maximum of three bowls, less if a player succeeds in knocking down all six pins before the use of their third bowl: "strikes" and "half-strikes" exist just the same as in the ten-pin version. Due to the smaller size of the balls themselves, it is a rather tricky game, as the balls are much more sensitive to the bowling action of the player, due to their inherent lightness: bowl with one's wrist anything other than perfectly straight and the ball is liable to undergo all manner of weird and wonderful motions as it rolls towards (hopefully) the pins. Accustomed as I am to a modest level of success at the ten-pin game, I became rather frustrated with my quite lousy efforts - although I did manage to win my team's second game, with some signs of slow improvement! Much more importantly, the game was played amongst a large gathering of Kelsey's extended family, giving Seb and I the perfect opportunity to become acquainted with new faces in a fun and informal setting. Another highlight from my time spent with the Tutts took the shape of my introduction to cross-country skiing. Seb and I headed out with Larry and Linda for a quick sortie around a local track, whilst Kelsey opted to run instead (this I found both impressive, charming and not a little dotty, as the weather and conditions under foot transpired to offer a vital challenge). I have little previous experience even downhill skiing, and I think that this helped me, as I soon picked up the basic movement and a fairly promising momentum. Coached by Larry and Linda in turn, pushing off from my standing leg, heel raised, knee bent and my opposite arm pulling and balancing me in equal measure, I was soon delighting in a new, novel way of progressing through the snow. The scenery was magical, with hoar-frost clinging to the bare limbs of the trees and powdery piles lying all about. A keen, clean air pierced my lungs and the crisp, ice-blue sky stretched far and wide overhead. Encouraged by Larry, I took my time, looking up frequently, to interrupt my rapt attention to my own movements so as to revel in the still beauty so quietly crowding in upon me. Following the clear, pioneered tracks before me made life much easier, loughing through a minimal layer of resistant snow, but there soon loomed a challenge before us; a short yet steep decline, which would require a little technical balance and some courage to drive flat out - in truth, the task was not a difficult one, but like riding a bicycle stripped of stabilizers for the first time, skiing without the benefit of the aforementioned tracks was a little unsettling, although my endeavours served me well and I managed to stay upright (unlike my bemused Dutch friend, so much more accustomed to the sturdier mode of downhill skiing). In this and other memorable activities the great natural beauty of the Albertan countryside, the sheer wonder of the inhospitably cold outdoors and the humbling guidance and camaraderie of my hosts shone through, to warm me in a peaceful, contented glow. The culmination of my adventures in Edmonton arrived in the shape of Christmas itself. The Tutts, it transpired, are more accustomed to celebrating Christmas upon its eve: with presents wrapped and peeking out expectantly from beneath the tree, we piled into three separate cars and made our way in convoy to the nearby Catholic church for evening mass. This was another first for both myself and Seb: neither of us had ever attended a Catholic service before (well, not in its entirety at least; I did spend some time observing an evening mass in a church one night whilst strolling through the Monserrat neighbourhood, my home from home in Buenos Aires). I have no desire to speak ill of a faith, but I could not help but long for a more familiar Anglican service, as I found myself lulled beneath the onslaught of countless liturgical invocations, joining in to sing only one well-known, communal hymn. Still, it was thrilling to see so many representations of the local community, brought together under one roof, emanating a common purpose, a common love. At the conclusion of the service, we took our leave of a bustling car-park and headed home to get down to the serious business of unwrapping Christmas presents. This scene was much more reminiscent of all that I held dear from previous Christmas memories of home: family members jostled good-naturedly, eager to share in each other's joy and surprise upon receiving a gift - I was even able to convince myself that opening my presents on Christmas Eve was no heinous crime; indeed, once the time-difference was taken into account, it was in fact early Christmas morning back home in England anyway! I joined in with gusto and was soon left completely overwhelmed by a veritable tide of good-will, evident in the lovely presents that I received not only from loved ones back home - presents that I had actually transported physically to Edmonton, via Vancouver, with me whence I first took leave of my western shores in November - but also from my wonderful friends, Albertans and travellers alike. Larry and Linda went far too far in buying me a wonderful photograph-book detailing Alberta in all its glory and sneaking in a cheeky pair of 'I love Canada' under-shorts, hand-stitched by Linda herself. Seb put fantastic and inspired effort into creating identical, framed photographic reminders of some of our best times together as a trio travelling in Argentina, in the motif of a comic-strip and Kelsey blatantly transgressed our agreed price-limit to shower us with photographs, personal CDs of famous Canadian music and ski-passes for our up-coming ski-trip to Jaspar, which I intend to detail in my next entry. I enjoyed a compelling wave of bitter-sweet melancholy when opening my presents from family back home. As usual, my parents, sister, grandparents and other relatives outdid themselves in making me feel incredibly lucky, to have wound up being born into such a fantastic clan! I know of no feeling that relates to and none, in truth, that match the revelation of love held for such dear individuals as my folks back home; a tremendous composite of thrilling, rapturous goodness and utter humility. Among the assorted goodies including money, smellies and clothing, I particularly appreciated the customized t-shirt, proclaiming me - true indeed - a 'Shropshire Lad'. The accompanying eponymous collection of poetry by A.E. Housman is fantastic; I have filled much time since arriving back here in Vancouver committing many of his inspired and haunting words to my heart, a gentle balm to cleanse the inevitable pangs emanating through an absent of people and places far away. Keeping my place in this wondrous collection is a lovingly crafted book-mark, hand-stitched by Mum across a multitude of times and places in the past year and arriving with heralded remarks to this effect, that came close to overwhelming me in their reading. I love my family so much! The evening culminated in the relaxed playing of a group writing game of sorts, accompanied by the inevitable rich spread of delicious goodies that Linda kept so readily at hand and an assortment of drinks. There was even time for me to stumble unintentionally upon a televized broadcasting of the Queen's Christmas speech from home, aired on Canadian television. It was nice to be able to indulge in another time-honoured tradition from past days, although I must admit that this particular message - perhaps necessary in much of its content and tone - did little to lift my spirits on a political level: happily, my spirits in general were perhaps at their furthest departure from needing a lift since I first alighted upon these far western shores. The Queen concluded and time wearing on, we all took our leave and trooped off to bed, already looking forward to the day - Christmas Day! - ahead and with it a trip into the local countryside for a traditional Christmas dinner with all of the Tutts (Fates preserve us!) at the happy home of Kelsey's dear aunt and uncle. Christmas Day dawned sharp and fair and we climbed into Kelsey's car for a visually stunning hour-long drive out into the countryside, past haunting scenes of frost-struck trees, hedgerows and fields as we trekked to the home of Eric, Marie and their cool kids Darcy and Erica. Here what seemed like an entire battalion of Tutts came together for the traditional Christmas family feast, this time with an extra couple of interlopers. Truthfully, with so many people present, I had wondered idly whether I could get away with convincingly declaring myself a Tutt to some little-seen relative: in fact, the Tutts are such a close-knit bunch that everyone knew each other perfectly well and communication was so regular that everyone was aware of Seb and myself even as we were being introduced. Here, in a bleak, rural scene, a Christmas meal was compiled the likes of which must surely be committed to written memory. There were offerings from almost every visitor, from the necessary turkey, bacon, sausage, stuffing, assorted other trimmings and piles of vegetables, through to regional and national delicacies from as far afield as Hong Kong and Ukraine! The wild frenzy of gluttony upon me, I barely knew where to even begin and was full long before I had exhausted even a taste of the last remaining item... all of this was long before the arrival of a number of deserts, the mere sight of which was enough to induce a mild quiver of cardiac arrest if not in my breast, then certainly in my head. An absolutely fabulous meal ended, we agethered for another round of gift exchange, this time between the assorted family members, who each brought gifts for one other person, draw at random lot in the style of 'Secret Santa'. Again, Seb and I were included with a lovely gesture from Kelsey's virtuoso pianist-playing uncle David, who spotted that we were somewhat (inevitably) sidelined and allowed us a share of his chocolate spoils from a couple of dear music students. Later, the gift-giving and receiving at an end, we gathered around the family piano for a lively rendition of a bewildering array of Christmas carols, many of which I had never sung before (thankfully - for me, though most likely no-one else present - there were accompanying words). David accompanied us with a lively performance upon the ivories and I joined my voice to the throng, striving to make up my distinct lack of harmonizing talent with a blazing display of enthusiasm and gusto (I have not the least vanity to imagine that such a tactic succeeded, but in true Christmas spirit, no-one seemed to care). The night ended soon thereafter, with those of us destined for the return ride to Larry and Linda's comely abode piling back into an assortment of vehicles and bidding adieu to the happy revellers still remaining. It was yet another brilliant and true Canadian experience and one that once again left me feeling humbled and very, very thankful to have landed upon such a stupendous substitute in my Christmas away from home. The end of this day marks the conclusion of the Christmas chapter of my time with the Tutts. Furthermore, I am well aware of my typical penchant for covering my narrative with particular descriptive zeal and therefore feel that it is now quite necessary (and only fair to any who have hazarded thus-far) to end this entry here and embark afresh upon a new installment to cover the remainder of my happy time in Alberta, including two rip-roaring ski-trips into the mountains and an altogether surprisingly pleasant New Year's experience in Calgary. For now, I bid you all adieu and note with some appreciative satisfaction that writing of these happy events of the past few days (yes, this has taken me multiple trips to the library computers) has indeed restored some of their radiant light to my soul: I leave tonight with a renewed spring in my step once more. Best wishes to all! David xxx