Breaking what wasn't quite yet deep sleep, the objectionable noise pouring from my alarm, filling my room and waking me was not welcome at 05:00, after less than four hours sleep, but was necessary. I arose not feeling like I had any sleep at all but instead like I had stayed up all night and acquired a dull pain behind my eyes, my body telling me, in its own way, that I might need some more sleep at some point - I didn't care, I was going to Canada!

I was in plenty of time to catch the, rather convenient, tube all the way to Terminal 3 of London's Heathrow Airport. Lugging my 25kg case down the baggage-unfriendly tube station underneath Kentish town, the excitement began to take hold and I felt myself smiling on the deserted southbound platform. The Charing Cross branch train arrived in five minutes and I hopped on board, I parked myself on one of the many free seats. At this time the Northern Line, it seemed, was less than busy, however, after changing at Leicester Square I found myself stood on the westbound Piccadilly Line train as this line, which cuts diagonally across central London, was somewhat busier ferrying men in suits into Knightsbridge, South Kensington and the like who apparently didn't like the presence of baggage-laden camouflage combat-wearing youths like myself, 'don't judge a book...' and all that.

"The next station is Gloucester Road, change here for the Circle and District Lines" came a voice of Queens English as we hurtled through the tunnel.

The train suddenly shot out into the open, above ground racing a Circle Line train alongside. We arrived at Barons Court, a nice old fashioned station still reminiscent of the Victorian age of rail travel. Of the passengers on board sleeping, reading a newspaper or head bobbing to ones iPod were the activities of choice all with the obligatory tired, depressed and/or stressed facial expression that one must make when using the world's oldest, longest and most expansive underground rail network. I actually enjoy tube travel, though I still have to pull the correct facial expression, it's in the rules you know, as long as I'm not pushed up against some sweaty tourist (or otherwise) during the height of summer when one has to rely on the oxygen one manages to get into the blood before boarding the train to maintain consciousness throughout the journey. The doors clunked open and I stuck my head out to feel the bitter wind of the winter morning and see the rippling carriages as the heat escaped from the doors, when I looked down the train. The roofs of houses were white as were the fields and parks, a reminder that, despite the sunshine and warmth of the carriage, winter is still with us.

The airport, not busy in section D of Terminal 3, was easily navigated and I found the Air Canada check in desk within seconds. The nice, but not overly so, lady informed me that the plane today would not be busy and I would have a window seat and entire row all to myself and I would be...

"Free to roam about the cabin and pick a seat you like the look of." Jolly good!

After a token walk around the duty free to satisfy myself that the 'cheap' tax free way of shopping at airports is still a scam, I settled down next to one of the islands of sockets and internet signs to plug in my laptop and connect to the internet to tell everybody and their aunty that I was on my way to Canada. To my horror, this was not possible. The much advertised Wi-Fi internet in Terminal 3 of London's Heathrow Airport, the largest and busiest in the world, was not free! I don't know why I was shocked; I should have expected it really, many of the airports around the globe have free Wi-Fi now but no, not the UK, what kind of signal does that give to foreign travellers? It's the same when it came to security, the man who checked my boarding card sighed, the only form of communication I got from him, because I gave him my boarding card inside my passport so he had to open the page, oh no, what a tragedy, to look at the details on the card. He didn't even look at me; I think that says something about the country today. What cynicism from such a young person, I hear you say. C'est la vie.

Waiting in the departure lounge of gate 29 I sat amusing myself as I people-watched, picking out the North Americans, from appearance and mannerisms. Looking out of the window behind me I saw our plane with its handsome Air Canada livery sporting the necessary red maple leaf tail. The silver-haired pilots looked cramped in their cockpit, though this may have been due to the deceiving narrow strip of window just above the nose cone that didn't do the nerve centre of the plane justice. Soon after, we boarded the plane and I took my window seat at 33K, next to an empty 33J, much to my delight. One of the pilots introduced himself and explained we would be an hour late due to high winds over the Atlantic, snow over Nova Scotia and a runway closure at Heathrow; that was until the runway miraculously opened and we were free for takeoff. Looking out of the window I saw a queue of aeroplanes, of which we were now part, all heading for the same runway highlighting the fact that so many aeroplanes take off within such short timeframes. Seeing them take off, especially the jumbos, it looked as if the laws of physics were being defied before my eyes due their apparently slow speed and with a graceful lift of the nose she was airborne - the beginning of a long, if seemingly effortless, ascend into the heavens.

The patchwork fields of mainland Britain quickly faded as we plunged into cloud, I turned to look out of the window, and I'm glad I did because for about a second and a half I saw something special, a Brocken spectre. I first encountered one in Scotland a few years ago when stood on the edge of a cliff waiting for some fog to clear. The spectre itself is apparently quite rare and occurs when the cloud or fog and an object, usually a hiker or aeroplane, are aligned in the correct way causing a circular 'halo' of light with a magnified shadow of the object within it. This was a fleeting moment; we were soon through the cloud and experiencing lovely weather as we passed the southern tip of Ireland which continued well into the Atlantic Ocean.

As the James Bond credits started to roll I glanced out of the window and looked down at the endless expanse of blue ocean. Watching for a few minutes I became perplexed as to why the presumed white crests of large waves did not break and fade into the abyss, instead they stayed, getting only larger, as we progressed. Drinks and snacks ensued and I was distracted long enough that when I next looked out of the window my questions about the un-breaking waves were answered - they were icebergs, not only dead ahead but all around too! What a sight it was, for as far as the eye could see (my window faced north) there were these majestic structures, starting off as small islands bobbing merrily on the sea, they became vast sheets of ice as we became closer to the Arctic Circle. We didn't cross this invisible line but I was sure I could see into it. Huge floating axe-shaped pieces of sea ice turned into an endless plain of white frozen crust that covered the ocean. I couldn't stop starring; we've all seen pictures of the Arctic and similar frozen wonderlands but they give no scale to what is really out there, the tremendous magnitude, vastness and bleakness, a land where perspective and hospitality do not exist but one where beauty, majesty and magnificence can coexist. The continuous white purity was soon broken by a persistent ice breaker slowly ploughing its way through the ice for an unknown cause. Seeing the area from above and the isolation of that ship I thought there must be a certain level of bravery to undertake such a journey.

The cloudless skies allowed me to see the curvature of the Earth on the horizon where it was met by the ice that filled the rest of my vision. Unfortunately the other people on the plane were either oblivious or unbothered or perhaps even accustomed to the fascinating sight that was before us. The island of Newfoundland appeared, creeping tentatively out of the ice as if unsure of whether it should re-submerge, hiding from the savage elements that attacked its shores - there was no need as it was a beautiful day, or so it appeared at 32,000ft.

Flying southwest above land, small lakes began to appear in the sea of ice, and as we hit Cape Breton, the most northern portion of Nova Scotia, the sea south of the maritime province was again the sea in its fluid state whereas the Northern side was still very much solid. The highlands were dramatic with their tall hills all dusted with snow and their deep valleys with numerous streams leading to lakes and ponds all frozen over. I didn't see a single building as we began our descent, just pure white roads all covered in snow like veins of ice connecting the tree covered hills.

I was probably the only person on the plane that smiled when the captain advised us of the "awful winter's day" consisting of winds, snow, overcast skies and a temperature of -3 degrees Celsius. Plummeting into the cloud as we neared Halifax Airport I was getting more and more excited, Canada was just moments away. Suddenly the nose was lifted, the landing gear was lowered and the control tower was in sight as the aircraft gently touched down. As we docked at the gate the snow started coming down and covered my window before the fasten seatbelts sign was turned off.

Leaving the plane and walking through the lovely Halifax Airport I found passport control. I was called over by a stern-faced man who questioned my presence and felt it necessary to correct my British pronunciation when I told him where I was going. He eventually allowed me through to collect my luggage. While I waited I was accosted several times by a playful pair of sniffer dogs, a beagle and wirehaired pointer. They ran around, all over peoples' luggage and the conveyors chasing balls all the while performing a very important job.

Waiting patiently through the final set of doors was Anna with a Canadian flag for me as a welcome gift. We left to find her dad who had come to pick us up and drive us to LaHave, the village where they live. The snow was still coming down and the roads were really quite snowy, conditions that would bring the UK to a near standstill but the Canadians were obviously used to this so life must go on. Nova Scotia, being so picturesque, has many scenic drives; we took the Lighthouse Route to LaHave.

That's all so far. I'm having a fantastic time and loving all the snow. I hope you are all well.