'Twas the week before Christmas...

...and the brave defenders of the castle have been well and truly overrun, thrown down their shovels and retired to the nearest Tim Hortons for a well deserved coffee. Yes, the snow is here and every household resounds to the merry tune of snow blowers and out of condition middle aged men clearing the onslaught of winter off their drives for the umpteenth time in a week. Still, that's Canada. The thing is, the arrival of the snow has actually brought about much relief. We could do without the -25 degree temperatures thank you very much, but the idea of Christmas without snow here would be unthinkable.

Christmas, of course, is now the focal point of every Canadian's (and indeed everyone in the Western world's) life. Our children are getting excited, particularly Eleanor, who is now old enough to grasp the concept of a fat man in a red suit coming down our chimney and delivering gifts. This was reinforced at the annual Christmas party held at Galaxyland in the West Edmonton Mall for all the children of Stantec employees. For three hours, Stantec hire the vast indoor amusement park, provide free food and drink and lavish delights on the kids for a paltry two dollars a head. Marvellous. Both Charlotte and Eleanor met Santa for a little chat and we all had a good time. Charlotte even conquered her fear of roller coasters and with the help of some friends we bumped into, rode the same ride four times before being hauled away at closing time.



Well, I think we look pretty relaxed, which is more than can be said for my friend behind me.

Mind you, I should have worn a different shirt...it clashes terribly.



Before the final run-in to the Christmas festivities can truly begin, there is of course the school concert. It is that time of year when that little slip of paper falls out of your child's backpack announcing that 'the school Christmas concert will be held on the 10th December and parents are invited to attend'. Of course, reading between the lines, this actually says 'You are expected to be there, failure to show up will result in you being hunted down like the uncaring, heartless dog you are'. It is only fair of course, Charlotte has been rehearsing her part as Elf number 8 for some time and had a very important line to say. Claire and I, along with Eleanor, duly trooped off to the school hall along with a hundred other parents and about three hundred video cameras to see our little ones performing a story about how Santa has lost his jingle or something. I couldn't make out what the hell was going on and the whole thing had that wonderfully innocent 'look at me Mum, I'm on stage' presence about it, but the songs were fun and the kids had a good time. Charlotte duly said her line and honour was satisfied.

One more thing, here in Canada, Santa has his own post code. Yep, children simply have to address their carefully crafted letter of demands to 'Santa Claus, North Pole, Canada H0H 0H0 and the post duly delivers. Charlotte received her reply within 2 days and it was no photocopied round robin either. This had a hand written name and a post script added by Santa himself. Good stuff.

Democracy, schmocracy

Canada, it seems, has got itself into a bit of a constitutional crisis. No sooner has the dust settled after the recent election and parliament opened, than all Hell has broken loose. Readers will remember my previous blog pre-election, but I didn't follow up (in order to prevent acute boredom setting in) with the result. As it happened, unsurprisingly, the Conservatives won with a small increase in their number of seats, but still unable to hold an overall majority over the three other parties; The NDP, Liberals and the Bloc Quebecois (who shall henceforward be known as the BQ). Now, it seems that the other parties are a bit fed up with this, have decided to contract together to form one big party, or more accurately an 'alliance' and are challenging the incumbent, democratically elected leading party. Now, this does not mean that they want to force another election, go back to the electorate and get their permission to form any new government - Oh no. They have decided, that, collectively, as they now have more seats than the Tories, they should govern, installing the leader of the Liberals, the bland and ineffective Stephane Dion, over the incumbent Stephen Harper. This they intend to do by invoking a dubious bit of the constitution - aka threatening the Tories with non-cooperation until they have no option but to stand aside.
What the Hell? Hold the phone. Apart from being slightly unethical, arguably constitutional and downright immoral, haven't they forgotten something? Er, yeah, the electorate. Now I don't have any particular axe to grind here, I can't vote yet and I'm no great fan of the Tories, but it seems to me that the great Canadian public might, possibly, want to have a say in who is going to govern the country. There is a word for it, oh what is it now? It is on the tip of my tongue. Oh yeah, democracy. Needless to say, the mainstream press and the majority of the public are up in arms about this. As one commentator put it ' if we were an African nation, this would be called a political coup and UN troops would be amassing on the border'.

You see the big problem, is the BQ. Not to put a finer point on it - they are barking mad. Their only interest is to make life miserable for English speaking Canada by demanding non proportional power for Quebec or better still, independence. Any alliance involving the BQ would almost certainly mean that the Liberals and the NDP would have to make some serious concessions to get the BQ support. If this happens, then the Western Provinces of BC, Alberta and Saskatchewan are going to get some serious grief. You see, the Big Three have more money and potential wealth than the others and they are the heartland for the Tories. The Liberals and NDP have strong support in the Central and Eastern Provinces and the BQ have, well, Quebec. Should this evil alliance prevail, then it won't be long before legislation starts ganging up on us. When this happens, the West will become more isolated, rifts will appear in an otherwise unified nation and in the face of an oncoming recession, this will be a bad thing. We will have no option but to form a rebel army, call Han Solo out of retirement and launch an all-out assault on the Imperial death-star that is Quebec. OK, I'm getting a little carried away here, but you get my point. The only way a minority government can work is with the other parties, sometimes the Liberals will get something, othertimes the NDP and the BQ. Thus balance is preserved, all Provinces are involved and things, generally, get done. It is not perfect. It has problems, but one thing is for sure - at least it is democratic.

Lights and logs

As we approach the last few days of November, two things are foremost in a lot of Canadian's minds. First is the complete lack of snow. This, it appears is quite unusual. By now, common belief holds that we should have had a decent fall by now and indeed, for the last few weeks most residents have been preparing earnestly. Yards have been cleared, snow boots dusted off, snow tyres fitted to the car and yet nothing, nada, zilch. We all feel a bit like the defenders of a castle, manning the ramparts, snow shovels at the ready and waiting for the enemy hordes to pour over the ridge and assault the battlements. But, still we wait.
The second event that is fast gaining momentum is, of course, Christmas. Yes, no sooner have the Halloween witches returned to their covens then thoughts turn to bright lights, tinsel and the enormous sums of money we will be pouring into the economy over the next month. Now normally, any allusion to Christmas before the 1st December brings me out in hives. In the UK, I could feel the tension building up with the first tv commercial for WH Smith and the first sign of Christmas goods appearing in the shops in early November. By the time Christmas Day actually arrived, I was so shell shocked and sick of the whole commercial shebang that the whole thing felt very anti-climactic. Here, though, I'm not getting that, at least in anything like the same degree. I think it is something to do with the lack of full in-your-face advertising by the big stores and the more relaxed approach to the forthcoming holiday that is typically Canadian. We also seem to be a bit more organised as well. Claire being at home full time certainly helps. She has more time to keep the house tidy and plan things. She stops short of making her own decorations out of pipe cleaners and crepe paper but you get my drift. We have even started shopping for the kids already. I have started to throw myself into preparations with newly acquired gusto. Where are we going to buy the tree? Actually having an idea of what to buy Claire, writing a list of 'stuff' that we need, that sort of thing. However, proving that I am turning Canadian by degrees and truly getting into the spirit of things, this weekend saw me purchasing two staple items of anybody's Christmas - lights and logs.

One thing that Canadians love to do, is decorate the outside of their homes with lights. Coloured lights, tree lights, lights in the shape of reindeer, small trees, large trees, you name it. This year our house will be no different. So in Canadian Tire on Saturday I bought ten boxes of cool white icicle lights. Thats 700 lights in over 70 feet boys. Now, if I had gone shopping for ten boxes of lights in the UK, there is no doubt that a few eyebrows would be raised and people would have given me the odd look normally reserved for the psychologically disturbed. Here of course, if you buy anything less than ten boxes, you would be politely informed that you are letting the nation down and taken away for re-education. I have bought many clips to mount the lights as well and next weekend, the eaves of our house will be lit up like, well, er like a Christmas tree....I also have my eyes on some additional lighting for the shrubs on the lawn and well, I'm sure I can find some room for a full scale model of Santa and his sleigh somewhere....

The other thing I went for were logs for the fire, as we have a wood burning fireplace in the family room and an outdoor fire-pit. I also purchased that essential piece of an outdoorsman's tool kit - a bloody great axe. The next thing to do was to buy the logs. This entailed hours of internet research. You just can't walk into a supplier and say 'I want some logs for the fire please', oh no. What sort of wood is best for your situation? Do you want it seasoned for a year or two? How quickly does it burn and therefore how much do you need? What the hell is a cord of wood anyway? These and other, er burning questions needed to be answered. First is finding a reputable supplier. After all you don't want to order best quality birch and end up with half damp pine. Secondly, how much do you need? Well, wood is sold in cords. One cord is a stack of wood measuring 8 feet long by 4 feet wide and 4 feet high. That, my friends, is a lot of wood. After some thought and a lot of guesswork, we went for half a cord of birch. It should be delivered today or tomorrow. Then, all it will need is for me to get to work with my new chopper and we are good to go. Now, we are not imagining axe wielding a la Charles Bronson in 'The Magnificent Seven' here, stripped to the waist and glistening in the sun. As much as semi-naked wood chopping may appeal to me, the whole idea of taking one's shirt off is likely to lead to the loss of my nipples to the freezing cold and probably the loss of my foot to an errant blow. No, slow and sure will be the order of the day, fully clothed and out of the sight of my neighbours. Laughter at my technique has often been a motif in my life....

Treats and tickertape

For those of you who have been reading this blog since it was first started, you will know that last Friday was one of Canada's favourite nights - Halloween. Last year, we sort of stumbled through it in a post emigratory haze and this year I was determined to get into the full swing of things. I had plans to carve pumpkins, decorate the outside of the house with ghoulish paraphernalia and get myself costumed up. In the event, we managed a hand made black cat stuck on the front door. As usual, our best intentions came to nothing but we did, however have a good Halloween. We were invited to a friends house for a bit of a do and so that we could group our respective children together to go trick or treating. We bought Charlotte a proper costume (she went as a snow princess) and managed to borrow one for Eleanor in the form of a giraffe - don't ask. To be honest, I'm not a big dressing up kind of guy and I prefer to leave that sort of thing for the kids, but after this year's experience, I might have a re-think next year. You see this year, it was the mens' turn to accompany the children on their annual rampage through the streets, happily relieving every possible household of their supply of candy and it was, I have to say, darn good fun. They each had purpose made candy bags to collect their spoils and one enduring image of the event will be of my 2 year old running maniacally from house to house, dressed as a furry animal and happily joining in with the 'trick or treat' refrain before opening up her bag. The sight of her dragging an increasingly bulging bag across people's front yards was very funny indeed. If the sight of groups of children dressed in costumes ranging from the Incredible Hulk to well.. a giraffe wasn't funny enough, the behaviour and good natured involvement of the average Canadian householder was also worthy of note. Most houses are decked out to some degree, but others are just incredible. For one evening a year some people just go crazy.

The imagination of many house owners is to be applauded as you come across gardens converted into graveyards, zombies and mummys rub shoulders with coffins, witches and giant spiders and an increasingly number of gardens sport theatrical lights, dry ice and chilling sound effects that just add that extra little edge of terror for your average 6 year old. One house had covered their entire frontage with a black sheet onto which they had attached any number of grisly items, the family were outside in full costume surrounded by animatronic ghosts, headless corpses and suchlike. It was a little surreal to see Death having a quick cup of coffee whilst chatting to a fully bandaged and rather animated mummy. Needless to say, when the kids turned up, they were given the full Halloween welcome and left with an absurd amount of candy to add to their stash. If you ever get the chance to pass a few words with a headless corpse, I would recommend it - very entertaining. As good as that was, my personal favourite was coming across a house which had the traditional flickering pumpkins outside and a modicum of other attractions, but when the children rang the doorbell, a perfectly dressed, white faced and completely authentic Count Dracula came to the door. He wished them all a chilling 'good evening children' doled out some candy, waved and then retired back into his house no doubt to have a quick lie down in his living room coffin (or should that be living dead room?). He played it completely straight faced and it was all the more wonderful for that. I love Halloween, next year I'm really going to make an effort. Mind you, we will still be getting through the enormous pile of candy that the children blagged - that is if our teeth haven't fallen out first.

From one bizarre event to another, yesterday saw the first black American voted into the most influential post in the world as Barack Obama creamed John McCain for the US Presidency. Most Canadians gave the whole shebang a complete ignoring to, but Claire and I were glued to the most excellent BBC World coverage for the whole evening. The Americans, it must be said are a very bizarre nation. Whereas it took Canada three weeks to re-elect Stephen Harper as their Prime Minister of a country that is second largest in the world and it takes us Brits between three and six weeks to elect 630 or so MP's in a country with a population of 20 times that of Canada, it takes 20 months and over a billion dollars for the Americans to chose one of two people to lead their country. The candidates fly all over the States, they have thousands of volunteers, hundreds of campaign offices and an army of aides and helpers to tell the public what they could probably find out by reading a newspaper. As much as I enjoy the razzamatazz of the American election and am darn pleased that Obama has won in a historic moment for Western democracy, I can't help but feel somewhat uneasy at the obscene amounts of money that have been spent to get him there. If his message is that good (and I think it is) and the American people are that interested (and I think they are) in a change from the ridiculous Bush administration, why does it take the gross national product of a small African nation to get there? In these days of high speed communication, instant news and prolific media coverage, do the candidates really have to meet every single voter in America to get the point across?

The answer of course, is yes because the average American voter can't just get by on televised speeches, reports on the mandates and analysis of the policies. It is not their way. They must see their politicians up close and personal, they have to experience the messianic like rhetoric of their champion and they have to have an army of people to bang the message in. No wonder John McCain looked like he was on the point of collapse and Obama exhausted to the point where even he couldn't smile any more, even at his victory speech. I enjoyed the election and look forward to Obama's presidency. If I may, I would like to make an observation, America, if you would permit. If you want to help solve the financial crisis, wouldn't it help if you stopped fighting unwinnable wars and cap the time and money you spend on electing your leader? Don't you think that would help - just a bit?

Highlights of last night: Obama winning, McCain's heartfelt and noble concession speech, the BBC coverage, putting the ghost of Florida 2000 to rest and the thumping great Democrat majority.
Low points: A grumpy Republican dissing the BBC because the reporter dared to challenge a party member's answer to his question and the sight of people crying and wailing at the political gatherings. Get a grip.

1 year in....

The 12th of this month marked an important milestone in the Alberta Adventure. It was the first anniversary of the Palmer family's arrival in Canada. Yes, believe it or not, we have been here for one whole year. In fact that whole weekend was pretty significant. The 11th was my 51st birthday, so we will quickly pass over that, the 12th was the anniversary and the 13th was Thanksgiving Day here in Canada. A triple whammy in fact. I wondered what to write about to mark this auspicious occasion - our feelings about the move?, our plans for the next year maybe or should I do a summary of our first year? Well, I'm not doing any of those. Instead, I'm going to present some of the more offbeat observations about our adoptive country witnessed to some degree during this first 12 months. A sort of homage to the quirky side of Canada.

First though, I do feel I should mention that Claire witnessed Edmonton's finest in action whilst she waited in the car outside Ikea last weekend. Car driven into car park by some grubby looking ne'er do well, hotly pursued by patrol cars and cornered. Out jumps many policemen who surround said vehicle with guns drawn and proceed to drag the villain out of the car, plaster him over the bonnet, handcuff him and march him off to for a spell in the slammer. 'Quite exciting' she said later, 'I was particularly impressed with the speed and no nonsense manner of the arrest'. In the UK of course, it would have been 'could you please step outside of the vehicle sir, and present your driving credentials'. Over here, it was more like ' get out of the ***** car now or we will shoot you'. Great stuff. Unless you happen to be the poor sap in the car of course.

Anyway, after that little diversion, on to my little list. Here are some of the more interesting observations we have made about the Canadian culture so far...

Canadians treat winter with the contempt it deserves. They laugh in the face of sub-zero temperatures and a foot or two of snow. They only get annoyed when it gets so cold that the barbecue refuses to light.

Canadians walk on the right. Just like they drive. If you pass them on the stairs or a sidewalk they will always pass you left shoulder to left shoulder. In the UK, people will pass you on the opposite shoulder, check it out.

Coffee is a religion. It is not a beverage, it is not a diversion. It is a way of life, OK?

There is only one thing more important than ice hockey. It is just that I cannot think of it at the moment..

Most Canadians mistake the English accent for Australian. Even with the ever increasing number of Brits coming into the country, they still have trouble differentiating between the two.

If you have more than one vehicle in the household, at least one of them must be a Ford 150 truck or similar. How else are they going to move their RV/camper/trailer to the lake at weekends?

The Canadian tv guide requires careful study. For every new episode of House, there are 25 episodes of Friends, Frasier or ER being shown, simultaneously on at least 10 channels. Spotting new series and programmes isn't easy, it is an art form. The movie 'Under Seige' starring Steven Seagal will be always available for viewing at any time.

Canadians are not soft. They will complain vociferously if they do not get good service in restaurants, will haggle over the price of something if they believe they can get it cheaper and whinge incessantly when the price of fuel goes over 1 dollar(50p) a litre.

If your house does not have the following items, you don't belong baby.
An integrated garden sprinkler system.
A barbecue.
A basement with a wet bar.
A garden deck.
At least 6 televisions.
A number of bicycles in the garage, some of which are actually usable.
A firepit.
An electric garage door with two remote controls.

Canadians love. Their gardens, trucks, garage sales, the outdoors/camping, festivals, their basements, Halloween, their country, children, voluntary work, eating outdoors, winter sports, the National Parks and anything involving doughnuts.

Canadians hate. Americans, local government, bad service in restaurants, giving up their weekends to work, walking, untidy gardens, inactivity and people who don't clear the sidewalks outside of their house.

There is of course much more and no doubt I will touch on a number of these in future blogs. It has to be said, that apart from a brief sojourn into British Columbia, all of our experience has been limited to Alberta. I hope that over time I can enjoy observing the resident Canadian in other provinces whilst continuing to discover new things here at home. 1 year in eh?

Pride comes with the Fall

One of the many benefits of living in Canada is the definite nature of the seasons. I've already talked about this in a previous blog when I mentioned that the arrival of the first day of spring and the distinctive change that it can bring could almost be measured to the day. I feel that it is worth re-visiting for the change from summer. Also, as I will be 51 on Saturday, I have an excuse to start repeating myself. As soon as the weather reporters start talking about the first day of Fall, you can see people gathering in small groups outside your window, looking at the sky and muttering 'yep, Fall is here' as the first leaf decides enough is enough and heads earth bound. This is when the changes become instantly noticeable. One day the trees are green, the next it looks like some demented street artist has been let loose as the leaves transform into all the colours of the rainbow. We are particularly blessed in St. Albert as we have many, many trees and therefore the colourscape becomes quite beautiful.

With the falling of the leaves comes another Canadian pastime. Keeping your front lawns leaf free at all costs. People take great pride in their real estate here and that includes the grounds. The grass is neatly trimmed, shrubs are manicured to within an inch of their lives and borders are relentlessly tended. Therefore, the intrusion of half a ton of leaves on one's lawn is not so much a nuisance but more like a declaration of war. Needless to say, the average householder has a battery of weapons against this invader. They have leaf blowers, mulchers, leaf shredders, vacuums, electric brushes and other assorted gizmos. I have a rake. To be honest, a rake and a bit of elbow grease is all you really need, particularly when your neighbours are quite happy to lend you their equipment, or in the case of our neighbours, actually pitch in with you. With everyone helping, it doesn't take long. Even the kids chipped in, Charlotte specializing in 'leaf compression' (jumping up and down in the compost bins) and Eleanor in 'leaf re-alignment' (dispersing neatly piled stacks of leaves around the lawn).

With the onset of cooler weather (although we have been enjoying an Indian summer) comes another, distinctly North American task - blowing out ones sprinklers. Now this isn't as disturbing as it might sound. The majority of houses, to go with their immaculate turf, have built-in automatic sprinkler systems which can be programmed to water various parts of your garden at any set time. Our house is no different. We inherited a seven zone system (read that - a seven zone system baby), which can be adjusted to suit the weather conditions. They are pretty much 'fire and forget' systems and have a tendency to activate at inopportune times. It is not so easy to forget, as you stroll across your manicured lawn, when a jet of cold water blasts up your trousers. The cats have been led a merry old dance too as no sooner have they figured out how to retreat away from one zone, then another one pops up and zaps them straight between the whiskers. Anyway, I digress. A downside of this otherwise labour saving wonder, is that before the winter arrives and the temperatures fall below freezing, you have to clear out the water in the system to prevent the whole hose network bursting. For this you either need to contact a specialist, who will turn up with a complex system of pipes and a compressor and then charge you much dollar for the service, or you join the neighbourhood compressor society. This is great. One person in your neighbourhood arranges to hire a compressor for the weekend and then just passes it around to anyone on the list. You then carry out the procedure yourself - with the help of your ever reliant neighbours of course. I managed to purge my entire system for the princely sum of $16. Bargain.

Of course, underlying all this activity lies the fact that the big freeze is just around the corner and before we know it, it will be hats and gloves all round. In a strange and somewhat disturbing way, I'm looking forward to the winter and the challenges it will bring. Most of all of course, I'm looking forward to the winter because it gives one a very good excuse to stay indoors and do nothing. After all, it is a bit difficult to clear up your garden when it is under three feet of snow..

General election, private ignorance

A few days ago, Claire and I took part in one of those 'Test the Nation' quizzes on tv. It was all about Canada, so we figured we would have a go to see how much we really new about our adopted homeland. After all, we figured, the least we could do was fail miserably. As it happened we got 50%, so not bad really. We were pretty good on the generic stuff such as 'how many time zones does Canada have?' (6 if you are interested) and we guessed a lot, but what we were truly terrible on, maybe unsurprisingly, was Canadian politics. Of course, traditionally, politics is something that registers on most people's radar at an interest level only marginally higher than the tenth season of Big Brother, but I always found it interesting and stimulating, particularly at election time. At least I did in the UK. In Canada, I realised that I knew virtually nothing about the political landscape; the parties, the personalities and the policies of this nation.
This was all brought into focus recently by the announcement that there will be a general election on the 14th October. I felt duty bound to find out exactly what makes this nation's political heart tick. Now, I'm not going to go into too much detail, after all I do want anyone reading this blog to come back again, but I felt that this was as good a place as any to organise my thoughts on the subject.

So, here we go, Canadian politics in a nutshell. There are 308 seats in the parliament and four main parties. The outgoing prime minister is Stephen Harper, leader of the Conservative party who are very similar to the current Tory party in the UK. They held 127 seats and are expected to return to power. Trying to stop them are the Liberals (equivalent to the SDP, but with more seats than them - 95, pre-dissolution). They are headed up by Stephane Dion, a Québécois, whose main disadvantage is that he speaks English with such a broad French accent that no-one can understand a word that he is saying. Talking of French speakers, the third party are the Bloc Québécois who held 48 seats, all of them in Quebec, natch, and whose only policy seems to be a desire for independence for Quebec. The final party of significance are the New Democrats, who had 30 seats and are the Canadian equivalent to the UK Labour party. So basically Canada is just right of centre, with little chance of becoming anything more than liberal and who find the Bloc Québécois an irritating impedance to running the country generally. There is one other party which held a single seat, the Greens, who are hoping to pull in more support this time around. Then again, we have heard that before....

In terms of who stands for what, well that is a bit foggy at the moment. I can honestly say that I have little idea of each party's manifesto and any attempt to read further on the subject, or watch a political programme, soon results in a mild headache and a desire to drink beer. One of the problems is that events here are rather overshadowed by what is happening south of the border. I get the impression that people are more interested (or should that be concerned?) in what is going to happen in the US than their own country and that the election here is distinctly of lesser significance. Of course, many of the issues involved in the election are pretty much universal. There are the two areas where Canadians are at their most piqued, the economy and the environment. Nothing is more crucial to their psyche than having money to spend on their most treasured pursuit, the outdoors, so the amount of that money and an outdoors to spend it on is of paramount importance. Also on the agenda are the city infrastructures and Afghanistan. Canada is not involved in Iraq (they had the sense to stay the hell away) but they are involved in what is, aguably, the more noble motives of defeating the Taliban.
Perhaps though, the more interesting issues are the ones that are absent from the political arena. Two issues that are big in the UK, are often controversial and which normally take up a sizable chunk of the budget. They are health, and law and order. It isn't so much that Canadians don't care about these areas, they do, like any society, it is just that they are just not issues. The Health Service here is not perfect, but it works and it is better than the US system. Also most employees are in a health care plan at work and are content with that. Law and order is the same, people here generally trust the RCMP, serious crime is limited to a few crazies and a few areas and the vast majority of people live in secure and safe neighbourhoods. You don't have that paranoia that is inveigling it's way into British society either, where every single white male is a suspected terrorist or paedophile and groups of teenagers are viewed as potential threats and not as harmlessly going about their business.

Maybe my self-confessed ignorance of the political landscape here has meant that there is more out there than meets the eye, I'm sure there is. That however, is part of the experience of being a relative newcomer to a country, discovering the important issues and uncovering the facts behind the fog. I'm looking forward to it.
As a footnote, because we are not yet Canadian citizens, Claire and I cannot vote, so we could argue that everything here is academic. The point though is that one day, we will be eligible and we owe it to Canada to vote from an informed standpoint. Claire and I are both avid believers in the democratic system and believe everyone's vote should count. So better to learn the ropes now so that we take an effective part later.

Fall guy

I've always enjoyed Autumn, or, as we are in Canada, Fall. This is just as well as the weather here has decided that summer is over and we are in need of some reminding of things to come. Therefore the temperatures have dropped, the wind has picked up and people are quick to ask you if you 'are ready for winter yet'. That doesn't mean that it is unpleasant outside, it isn't, but it is noticeable how different the weather is now as the nights draw in and the trees begin their colourful transformation. For most Canadians, this means one thing - yard work. Preparing their garden for the months of snow to come and making the most of the remaining fair weather to prune, clip, tether and secure their most precious plants. For me, this time of year means staring at the yard and willing some helpful yard fairy will appear and do the work for me.

Fall also means other things of course. The most prominent being the return to school/college. This is a big year for Charlotte, our no. 1 daughter, as she starts grade 1 and therefore will soon know the meaning of one of the most hated words in the schooling dictionary - homework. She has been very keen to start and hopped off to her first day with great enthusiasm. Pleasingly, she also came home with great enthusiasm and announced that 'it was really good'. Unlike the UK, during the summer recess, every child's parents are presented with a long list of items that are required to be purchased and presented on the first day. For instance, 12 coloured crayons, 6 erasers, 6 glue sticks, one painting shirt, 12 sharpened HB pencils etc. Also on the list was one cauldron, medium and their choice of a cat, owl or rat. OK I made that bit up. However, there was one item - 3 no. duotangs, assorted colours, which baffled the heck out of Claire and I. What the hell were they? I thought they may be a type of chewy sweet, Claire thought that was just wishful thinking. After a panic phone call to one of her soccer-mom friends, it was revealed that a duotang was a type of document folder with metal fasteners. Yeah, right, of course you knew that.

Another Fall type problem is when to purchase the winter tyres for the car. Over here, one type of tyre will not get you through the year, not safely anyway. So we must embark on the tedious best-price searching task to get new tyres in time before the roads magically transform themselves into skating rinks. The problem is, everyone will be doing much the same thing and probably finding that everywhere will be selling them at much the same price anyway. The best place apparently, is Canadian Tire (the clue is probably in the name), which is one of the biggest stores in St. Albert and despite it's name, sells everything from fishing rods and light bulbs to, well er tyres. (Please note the refusal to spell the word tyre incorrectly, thank you America). Canadian Tire isn't so much a store as a Canadian institution and it is one of those places that if you cannot find what you are looking for there, it probably doesn't exist. This is unlike the Evil Empire (aka WalMart), where if you cannot find what you are looking for there, they probably just haven't bothered to stock up the shelves...Canadian Tire also has the distinction of founding Canada's second currency, Canadian Tire Money. It looks just like Monopoly money and you get it when you spend any amount in the store. After saving up your Canadian Tire dollars, you can spend it in any store you like- as long as that store is Canadian Tire. Of course.

Finally for now: Last Friday the nominated provider on the Donut List at Stantec failed to provide their quota of doughnuts (I'm not being inconsistent here, Donut is a proper noun in this context and doughnuts isn't- for the nit-picky amongst you). Mumblings of discontent were heard in the corridors as were rumblings of likely consequences, as well as stomachs. I await the offender's punishment with great interest.....

Twin team Olympics

One of the many advantages of living in one country and being a national of another is that you get to support two teams when it comes around to international competitions. Thus it was, when the Olympics started in Beijing, I found myself in the position of being able to support the athletes from both Britain and Canada. It must be said, that no matter how long we end up living here, Claire and I will always retain our British nationality but we would also like to become Canadian citizens when the opportunity arrives. The children may have other plans when they come of age, but we would certainly like the choice of which passport to carry around. It is fair to say that I am still biased toward wanting more British success than Canadian, if only to arm myself against any lighthearted bantering at work. Also with 2012 appearing over the horizon, you would want the UK to go into it's own games with some sort of positive sporting reputation.
Anyway, I had it all planned. The British would get the medals in their traditional fields, sailing, cycling etc and Canada would be superior in erm, hang on - what exactly are Canada's strengths? A glance at the event lists gave only minor help. So there is the canoeing. Yep, Canada have to be good at that, lots of lakes and rivers, tough and manly. Hockey? Probably. What about shooting? After all hunting and fishing are strong activities out here too. Fast forwarding to the end of the first week, the Canadian strengths became more apparent - they didn't have any. As the British seemed to be picking up medals for simply getting out of bed in the morning, Canada were collecting, well, bugger all actually. I logged on to the official website every morning to see that team GB had won another clutch of medals and team Canada had a big fat zero.

Much to their credit, the Canadian people didn't really seemed to mind. The press and tv continued to support the athletes by showing lots of clips of them in training, discussion of the games at the water cooler, although muted, was all about how close they came to picking up bronze in the womens 100m butterfly and there was a 'we are just pleased to get to Bejiing at all' sort of vibe. It was reminiscent of the UK 10 years ago. Plucky, but ultimately doomed. Optimistic, but quietly hoping that the athletes don't fail spectacularly and show them up. As time went on however, two things became noticeable.
Firstly, there were the British successes. The Canadian press and tv didn't mention it at all. Nothing. The otherwise excellent coverage by CBC of the games (apart from the infernal, overlong, overfrequent, repetitive and simply infuriatingly badly timed commercials) seemingly went out of their way to avoid showing any event where the Brits won anything. Naturally, they would show coverage of their own athletes, quite rightly, even if the competitor was challenging for 15th place in the archery or some such. The BBC would do no different. However, when settling down to watch Rebecca Adlington race for her gold in the 800m swimming freestyle, I was incensed when just before the start, CBC cut to the local news. They returned 5 minutes later to the mens 20km walk, and then back to the pool by which time, Adlington had dried off, dressed and was heading downtown for a well deserved beer. Was this deliberate? Could this be, dare I say it, jealousy? Or was it simply a coincidence of scheduling? Claire thought I was ranting unfairly, I thought hmmmm. It was noticeable, when Canada did start picking up medals, that coverage of British success started to become more apparent. I would be the last person to accuse the otherwise fair and decent Canadian mentality of anything resembling a toddler temper tantrum, but it all looked a bit too coincidental to me.....

The other noticeable change, was that everybody, especially the press, seemed to get a bit grumpy but in a kind of constructive way. You see, unlike the British in darker days, who would just blame the athletes for not trying hard enough, the weather, or the track markings being in the wrong language, the Canadians simply admitted that in many areas - they just weren't good enough. This is both laudable and noble and in my relatively short time here, not at all surprising. They cheered every performance of their team, no matter if they came 16th in a field of, well, 16 and not once did you hear anyone call the team's dedication and determination into question. Their support for their athletes, instead of waning, simply racked up a notch and when they did start winning medals, were all the more overjoyed for it. I became just as anxious to see Canadian success if only for the fact that I was starting to get embarrassed with the relative positions of the two teams in the medal table. I wanted Canada to do well. I didn't mind at all when their men's rowing eight beat GB's especially when, in typical Canadian style, they didn't crow about it. Immensely pleased they were, but not in a ' nah, nah, nah nah nah we beat you, we beat you' sort of way.

Which is why I really enjoyed these games more than I normally do, because the icing was really put on the cake at the expense of the world's perennial sporting big-heads. Yep, success to China and the USA is expected and well-deserved, GB's medal haul is unbelievable, Canada's resolve and sense of fair play is a pleasure, but the fact that GB won more gold medals than the bloody Australians is just priceless.

Jasper (2) - Down the creek (with a paddle)

There are many rivers in Jasper National Park. It should therefore not come as much of a surprise to know that many of the varied and numerous activities available to the daring traveller are connected to the water. One of these and an activity that has been high on my 'to do' list for some years, is white-water rafting. Once established in our comfortable chalet at the Alpine Village, we wasted no time in tracking down a reputable rafting company in order to book our water-bourne adventure. Claire was very much in the mind set too and we were pleased to see that children 6 and over could take part in the level 1 or 2 rafting, so we booked Charlotte in too. Now the difficulty level associated with rafting, aka the 'buttock-clenching rating' is measured from 1 to 5. Level 1 is for novices and wimps and it gradually increases to 5, which is for the clinically insane, the suicidal or the adrenaline freaks who think launching oneself of a vertical waterfall is 'jolly good fun'. We booked level 1.
On arriving at the launch point, having travelled there in a rickety old bus, we were read the safety rules, split into groups, appointed a jolly guide and distributed with our wet gear. This consisted of shorty wet suits, lifejackets and plastic bags for our feet - don't ask. Claire, Charlotte and I were teamed up with a pleasant family from Norway, all of whom, including the kids, seemed to be blonde and over 6 feet tall.

We all look particularly becoming don't you think?

A few instructions as to what to do if you fell in (panicking and freezing being already givens) and we were handed our little oars, took up our positions and launched into the fast moving waters of the Athabasca river. Charlotte sat in-between Claire and I and her job was very simple - scream at various intervals and hang on. Actually, I think that was me...Our guide and mentor, Jeremy, then proceeded to regal us with stories of rafts that capsized, ran aground or got eaten by bears. OK, the last one was made up, but you get my drift. Actually, after a few minutes, everyone settled down and the thrill of the experience started to kick-in. I was quite impressed with Jeremy's knowledge and skill and he had a superb knack of spotting a bit of white water and heading straight for it. After the first set of rapids and white-water navigation, it stopped becoming fun and became bloody good fun. Charlotte howled with laughter and glee everytime we got soaked. Our trip lasted about 45 minutes and took us right past where we were staying. Claire even rang ahead and told her dad when we were coming through so that he, Enid and Eleanor could stand on the river bank and wave as we bounced past. Eleanor looked a little confused and then, when she realised what she was missing out on, looked quite miffed.

Our highlight must go to the 'last chance wave'. This was a benign looking stretch of water, which at a distance looked less than challenging until you approached it at the right angle, when the river seemed to disappear down a vicious slope and form itself into a wall of water on the other side. Before you could think of any suitable last words, the raft tipped forward, hit the water, rode up the other side and soaked everbody in several hundred gallons of water. It was brilliant. We were still picking bits of flotsam out of our hair when we arrived at our exit point and our trip came to an end. We all enjoyed ourselves thoroughly, not just from the rafting experience, but the trip gave you a chance, in between moments of frantic paddling, to take in the majesty of the river and the sights contained therein. There were trees chewed down to pointy stumps by beavers, little creeks and streams created by waterfalls, a myriad of colourful birds and the constant potential of seeing the wildlife. The following day, we all took a leisurely trip down the same river in a much bigger boat, so that Bill, Enid and Eleanor could enjoy the spectacle. After the rafting the day before it was a bit tame and neatly summed up by Charlotte, "It was a bit boring dad, we didn't get wet once" That's my girl.

We are not at home to Mr Scaredy-Cat - honest

Jasper (1) - Here be bears

If anyone is in any doubt about the attraction of emigrating to Canada, then there are three words that can summarise the wisdom of that decision - Jasper National Park. One of the most beautiful, unspoilt and downright awesome places you will ever see. More importantly, it is only three and a half hours from our home in St. Albert. So it was, that with the invaluable help of the in-car dvd player and the complete lack of traffic on the Yellowhead highway, we pulled up to the entrance of the park with the full intention of having a jolly good time. As usual, Claire had carried out her exhaustive research of accommodation possibilities (she is now an unofficial expert on 'places to stay in the Rockies' only eclipsed by her study of 'places I would not touch with a well insulated barge-pole') and we booked in to the most excellent Alpine Village, just 2km south of the town of Jasper itself. Set in a forest and overlooking the Athabasca river, the resort consists of luxury cabins arranged around well manicured lawns with it's own on-site hot tub. The views across to the mountains were quite, well - awesome.

Now one of the first things you will see when entering the park are the wildlife signs. These warn visitors of 'Caribou crossings', 'Beware of the Elk', and of course, the ubiquitous 'Caution, there are bears in this area'. This last sign is often read with something of a dismissive snort. You see, seeing a bear in the wild, even in a protected area such as Jasper National Park and even accounting for their apparently sizeable population, is about as common as spotting Paris Hilton in a kebab shop. So it was a bit of a mystery, as we were driving through the park, to come across a traffic problem. Actually, it was more like traffic chaos, with cars stopped all over the road and people pointing animatedly at the woods. This, my dear reader, was a bear jam.

This phenomenon occurs when a lone motorist is driving along, his family scanning the woods for wildlife, when someone spots a dark shape in the trees. The brakes are slammed on, the camera is located and yes, there it is - a real life, in your face, would you Adam-and-Eve it, a black or grizzly bear. Other vehicles then screech to halt to see what the first car has stopped for and before you know it, you have a bear jam. Just like everyone else, we did what the rule book says you should never do when you see a large, agile 200 lb carnivorous mammal in the wild - get out of your car and walk towards it saying " Oooh look kids, a bear!"

Safety issues apart (I worked on the principle that I don't have to outrun the bear, just the overweight American tourist standing in-between me and said animal), the sight of a bear in it's natural environment is hard to resist and provided you do not walk too far from your car and are just sensible about things, there is little risk. As it was, we were rewarded with not only an adult Black Bear, but her two cubs too. The pictures don't really do them justice as they unsuprisingly blend in with their environment and no, I wasn't that close. The zoom lens is a wonderful thing. The children also managed to see the animals from the protection of the car and were amazed at the sight. Well, Charlotte was anyway, Eleanor just laughed, pointed and said "Oooh, teddy!"

Our first encounter with the bear population was somehow very satisfying. It had set up the whole trip and ticked a very large box. Seeing them in their natural home sort of stirs your soul, gives you a sense that Nature is the boss and her word is the only one worth listening too. Jasper National Park could be Nature's home too, with all it's majesty and raw beauty and to be able to spend time in her company is an honour indeed. Never again will we laugh at the apparent futility of the bear warning signs. Now, where can we find a herd of Caribou?

The Donut List

It was only when I went over to collect my Friday donut that I realised that the list had been changed. It often gets re-typed of course, as some people leave the company or get transferred to other units or simply decide to remove themselves to avoid the possibility of addiction to Tim Horton's finest. This time though, the dates had been changed and well, to be honest, I felt a bit miffed.

As coffee is to every Canadian's way of life, then donuts are to everybody's coffee. The Power and Resources division here at Stantec is no different and to prove this, the Donut club was formed. The concept is very simple, you put your name on the list, take the next available date and enjoy a free donut every Friday at the expense of someone else. That is, until it is your Friday and then you have to buy everyone else on the list a donut. So it isn't really a free donut, it just feels like it. The list ebbs and flows as people come and go and every now and then the Creator of the List (for no-one knows who it is, the list just magically revises itself every so often) will remove and add names as necessary. Your allocated date however, always stays the same. Mine was July 4th, a good date, easy to remember, not only is it American Independence Day but it is also Eleanor's birthday. Easy - sing Happy Birthday Eleanor, go to work, buy 36 donuts from Tim Hortons (cos they're cheaper by the dozen). Job done.

The problem was, I was away on July 4th. Horror of horrors, what was I to do? The penalty for failing to fulfil your donut responsibilies would obviously be severe. After all, a warning at the bottom of the list gives an indication of the Creator's wrath: " ..if you take a donut without your name on the list, the punishment will be obvious". Obvious? Not to me, I have spent some serious time thinking about an 'obvious' punishment. Banned from Tim Horton's? Forced to wear a sign on your back saying 'I am a donut thief, please chastise me'? Stoned to death by donuts? The dreadful possibilities are endless. If a punishment is implied for simply taking a donut to which you are not entitled, what fate awaits you if you fail to provide on your allocated day? The mind boggles and the spine shivers. Images of donut list members bearing down on you with flaming torches and carrying pitchforks come to mind. I needed to swap my date. Fortune smiled on me as I bumped into a colleague who was bemoaning the same fate, he couldn't make his date either. So we swapped. Unspeakable punishment avoided, flow of donuts remains intact. Phew!

I was still miffed however. My date had been changed - to February 20th. What sort of bland, non-descript, mid-winter, dragging-my-boxes-of-donuts-through-3 feet-of-snow-day is that? How am I going to remember such an obscure date? I felt a strong letter of complaint to the Creator was called for. If I knew who it was, of course. Then, the penny dropped. Next year, July 4th would be a Saturday. The Creator needed to revise all the dates to bring them in line with 2009 Fridays. My miffness was mollified as I realise it could be worse. It could have been Friday the 13th......

Visitors

Believe it or not, we have now been residents of Canada for nearly nine months. In some ways, the time seems to have gone by relatively slowly and in others it has flown past. For instance, it seems that we have been looking forward to Claire's dad coming over for quite a while and now suddenly he is here. Yes, the Welsh are coming. It is the first time that we have received visitors from the 'old country' and hopefully it will be the first of many visits by our friends and family to enjoy the many attractions that this country has to offer. After all, it is only nine hours flying time and a seven hour time difference away! In order to maximise Bill and Enid's time here, Claire has spent some time organising and arranging for us to spend a week in Jasper and Banff and with the weather set to be fair we looked forward to some fun-filled days in the Rockies. I will post more blogs on our trip in the very near future as there is a lot to tell, but just to tempt you further, bears were spotted, oh yes.

Before then, we drove the 50km down to Edmonton International Airport to pick-up said relatives and it was only a few seconds after passing through the arrival lounge doors before Charlotte and Eleanor threw themselves at their grandfather and his partner as pleased as could be to see them again. Well, at least it was a good start! Upon arriving at the house and putting the kettle on, we gave them the two-bob tour of the residence, which impressed them throughout, particularly our green and pleasant yard. Needless to say, it wasn't long before Bill was in the hot-tub - not something you normally come across in the Rhondda Valley. He even managed to magically produce four cans of Speckled Hen ale from his suitcase, splendid fellow. Apart from the beer, he had also received detailed instructions from Claire to bring various other consumables from the UK that were not obtainable here. T-Zone and some plastic cooking bowls to name but two. Don't ask, it is just too complicated.

As they arrived on the Wednesday and we weren't due to leave for Jasper until the Sunday, their time was spent lazing in the garden and sightseeing around Edmonton taking in the many attractions of the city as well as St. Albert. It wasn't long before the weekend arrived and with the car fitted out with it's newly purchased roof-box (in which you could comfortably house a small community - or two small children, if things got too fractious) and loaded to the gunwhales with well, stuff, we set out for bear country and the mountains.

Festivals and football

Now here is something that you probably didn't know, I certainly didn't until I read an article in the 'Edmonton Journal' the other day: The City of Edmonton, apparently, has more festivals and outdoor exhibitions than any other city in the world. Now that is a big claim you must admit. In the world? Bigger than London, Rio, New York, Venice? It seems so. From April through to September, Alberta's capital city is home to more theatre, music, comedy, art, children's, literature and sports events than anywhere else. The comedy festival held down in Strathcona on the south side of town is second only to Edinburgh it seems and barely a week goes by without some sort of street fair or event. This is a good thing of course, as Edmonton is keen to show off on any number of subjects, from street entertainers to jazz, from new writers to old masters. Such is the plethora of events that you need your own personal assistant on hand 24/7 just to keep track of everything. Personally, I'm waiting for the 'great paving slabs of our times' exhibition to come along as surely it must - just about everything else is showcased it seems.

Of course, St. Albert, our home town, is not to be left out. There is plenty to see and do here during the summer as a recent trip to the St. Albert Children's Festival demonstrated. This was only slightly marred by the arrival of an unwelcome rain storm half way through the proceedings, but although it wet the exhibits, it did not dampen the enthusiasm. The festival consisted of activity tents for the kids to get involved in, with demonstrations of such things as juggling, bird-house making, mud castles, magic shows, music making and face-painting. There were also a lot of exhibits demonstrating Alberta's first nation heritage and even the army turned up with some of their vehicles for the children to crawl over. Thankfully, they had disarmed any missile firing capability as surely if anyone was to find the wrong button to push, it would be Eleanor. My personal favourite, and a popular attraction, was the human water fountain. This slightly barking individual dressed himself up as an office worker, sitting at his fully equipped desk and wired himself up to a water filled paddling pool. When a child sat on an adjacent static bicycle and pedalled, it 'switched' him on causing him to shoot jets of water from every place possible whilst miming an office phone call. It was bizarre, eccentric, wet but very funny.

Lately of course, Europe has been having it's very own football festival, the Euro 2008 Championships. This four-yearly event stirs up a cauldron of soccer mayhem in the UK and elsewhere but historically has gone by fairly unnoticed in North America. Until now that is. As I have mentioned before, football or soccer as it is known here, has been steadily growing in popularity and so I decided to do my bit for the cause by setting up an office sweepstake. I was pleasantly surprised by the enthusiasm with which people were willing to part with their $5 for a chance to pick a team out of the hat, even if it wasn't matched by their knowledge of what they were actually doing or who the actual teams were. Are Brazil playing? asked my boss, failing to see the word 'Europe' in the details and 'I've got Italy - is that good? asked my Vietnamese colleague. 'Oooh, Poland', said my Canadian friend eagerly, her enthusiasm only waning when I said that a snowball had a better chance of surviving the fires of Hell than Poland had of winning. To everyone's credit and in a demonstration of team spirit, they all joined in without exception and every morning could be seen huddled around my wallchart to check on their teams progress, or overheard talking about the latest 4-4-2 formation. As I write this, only two teams are left and the anticipation is tangible. What has been really satisfying about this is the sense of pure fun everyone seems to have got out of it and the atmosphere it has generated. People have emailed me to say what a good idea it was and when can we do it again? We have ragged each other about our team's performances and discussed the finer points of penalty taking. Marvellous. After his team were eliminated in the early stages, my boss was overheard to say that he was as 'sick as a parrot'. I knew then, my work was truly done.....

The Rainmaker Rodeo

Naturally, as one is now living on the prairies, it is expected that sooner or later you will cross paths with the ranching fraternity that inhabit the open spaces surrounding Edmonton and St. Albert. Yes, this is horse country folks and I don't mean the inane section of society that believe chasing foxes in red coats is somehow a sporting thing to do. Nope, this is real horse country, where livestock are still rounded up by said beasts and you are not considered worthy to sit in a saddle unless you have a really big hat. To celebrate their farming heritage, the locals indulge in a spot of roping, racing and riding in a competitive environment known as a rodeo. Now, the Calgary stampede is the most famous rodeo in the world and Edmonton, although hosting the Canadian Rodeo finals, cannot compete with the sheer razamatazz of that event and sleepy St. Albert even less so. But that doesn't stop them trying, no sirree.

So once a year, the St. Albert Kinsmen, (no, the cross-burning pointy hat brigade are Klansmen OK?) a local round table type of charity host the Rainmaker Rodeo in our own backyard. This attracts cowboys (and girls naturally) from all over Alberta and adjacent regions to compete in a number of events such as bronco riding, steer roping and other manly cowboy crafts. Attached to the rodeo is a large funfair and several thousand places where you can purchase a hot dog. Of course, the Palmer family duly trotted along to indulge in a bit of whoopin' and hollerin' and to watch the always amusing sight of grown men being hurled around on the back of less-than-amused horses. The weather was clear, with a bit of a breeze with which to waft around the exclusive smell of horse dung and, taking advantage of the park and ride service from St. Albert Centre, we duly took our places high up on the temporary bleachers overlooking the arena. For a while the site of the various events was enough to keep Charlotte amused and Eleanor just did her own thing, which mainly consisted of eating french fries. It was a good show, but alas, we didn't get as far as my personal favourite event - the bull riding. It is to be expected that after some time sitting on a breezy bench watching another horseman will soon lead to fidgety 6-year olds and this proved to be the case. So we adjourned to the funfair and petting zoo for further entertainment.

Much fun was had by both children chasing chickens and elusive rabbits around the zoo and even Eleanor was bold enough to attempt to stroke the tame wallaby. Not an indigenous animal to Alberta it must be said. It was a while before we could persuade both of them to move on to other attractions. These mainly consisted of hair-raising rides that made Charlotte blanch at the sight of them, although we did get her on the dodgems (with me driving), the bumpy slide and fun-house. The time passed quickly and was a good way to spend a weekend afternoon even if the finer points of horsemanship were lost on the kids.

It also made me realise that St. Albert has a specific history, one separate from the more commercial and industrial Edmonton and that it is one peculiar to our adoptive country. It is essentially farming territory, mixing the traditional horse skills with the modern agricultural and having that cowboy edge that we previously only came into contact with from the movies. Although not in the same league as the desert states across the border, Canada has that understated link to the frontier so typical of the nature of the country. Although not quite ready to join the redneck fraternity, you do get a feeling that learning to ride a horse has more meaning out here than in the country lanes of England. Now, where are my spurs? Yeeeeehaaaa!

Raining cats (and dogs)

Good grief, what's this? It's wet and falling out of the sky - haven't seen this before. Oh, yep, wait a minute, it's rain. I remember now. This last week has seen us experience our first rainfall in Alberta since we landed 7 months ago and with it, winter's final demise. Spring has indeed sprung and in the course of only a few days, the entire landscape has changed. No more the muddy brown fields and verges, the bare trees and the naked earth. Grass has changed to a vibrant green, the trees are in full bloom as are the plants and shrubs and the local wildlife is in full voice. It really is a remarkable transformation. Last weekend was spent in shorts and shirtsleeves, pottering around and reclining on the deck in temperatures of 28 degrees celcius. Yes, that's +28 to you. Who said Canada was cold all the time? Not me.

With this warm weather came a problem we knew we would have to face soon. OK, it is not as serious as dealing with earthquake, hurricane or the local Jehovah's witness, but a problem nevertheless. For those regular readers of this blog, you'll know that Max and Merlin, our resident moggies have been confined to quarters since our arrival in Canada. To be honest, they haven't really cared about venturing outside to date. After all, a nice cosy armchair or two feet of snow and freezing temperatures? Hmm, tough one. Now spring is here, however, it is a different ball of wax. The last couple of weeks has seen Merlin peering mournfully out of the window and both cats sitting hopefully by the deck door. So we must face up to the fact that soon we will have to bite the bullet and let them out. So what? I hear you ask. Well, considering that last time we moved house in the UK, Merlin disappeared for 3 days and found his way back to our previous residence and that Max has a tendency to get lost in our bedroom closet - we were a little concerned. We would hope that several thousand miles and a large body of water would deter either of them from trying to get back to the UK but the strangeness of their environment may well just confuse them completely. Facing the prospect of trying to explain their disappearance to your two distraught children does not fill you with unbridled joy. So we compromised. We bought leads, collars and a metal stake for the garden. We put the collars on the cats, attached the leads, tied the other end to the stake and let them roam in a space in the garden. Our theory was that they would get used to the garden and orientate themselves without the danger of them legging it. After tying themselves in knots with the leads, throttling themselves with the collars and driving themselves insane trying to get the collars off, we decided that that was a really bad idea.

Now cats in Canada have a different place in society than they do in the UK. Back there, you can't go outside without tripping over the local cat population and virtually all cats enjoy the outdoors. Here, it is the opposite. In the time we have been here I haven't seen one cat outside, plenty of dogs going walkies but no cats. After initially thinking that the coyotes were to blame or that any cat venturing outside was by now as stiff as a garden ornament, I learnt that the vast majority of cats are housebound all year round. Canadians prefer dogs it's true, but the many cat owners simply don't let them out - ever. Now our two have been lifelong outdoor types, so we had to let them out eventually. We will have to keep them in during winter of course, but now, they are free to roam, pee on the neighbours dog, scratch trees and torment the bird population. So far, they have embraced the outdoors eagerly and show no signs of getting lost. Even Max has managed to negotiate the garden without too much trouble, but then walking from the living room to his food bowl is a major expedition for him. Now, I must cut the grass before it gets too long and they lose themselves in it.

Whistler (part 2)

Charlotte's enthusiasm held for the entire holiday, which was a bit of a bonus as we did think that she would run out of steam in the later days. In fact, she was quite disappointed when she was informed that she had to stay home whilst the rest of us went snowmobiling. Maybe next time. Her skiing improved exponentially and was no doubt due to the encouragement she received from everyone and the most excellent ski instructor. Some photos of Charlotte in full ski monster mode are shown below;



For the rest of us, the skiing was, how shall we say, less structured. Some days we skied well, others we skied as if our legs had been inserted into sandbags. But all in all it was great fun. The week was broken up by our participation in two other activities; tubing and snowmobiling.

Now tubing, despite sounding like some dodgy method for ingesting narcotics, is a lot of fun. It is particularly so for all forty and fifty somethings who still have that teenage streak for mindless fun. It takes place at a special 'tube park' consisting of a series of parallel bobsleigh-like tracks, without the hair-raising corners. One receives a large inflatable rubber ring, one sits in it at the top of the slope and one hurls oneself down said track at speeds roughly equating to Mach 1. You then drag the tube back up the hill, partly aided by a moving carpet and you do it all again. It was particular fun when you linked the tubes together so that myself, wife and eldest child could hurtle down the track with added momentum. Eleanor, being too young, was kindly looked after by Anne and Shep, who found a small tube with which to drag her around in. Needless to say, she enjoyed every minute - as did we all.

Our other, more manly activity was the snowmobiling, which we took part in at night. The kids remained in the house with Shep whilst the rest of us donned cool looking bike suits, boots and helmets before mounting our motorised steeds, two to a bike. Claire did opt to have a go at driving, but her enthusiasm for this faded as we sped along the tree lined route and evaporated altogether when I nearly turned the thing over trying to cross a bridge. Take a faster run up next time - that's the answer.

Queasy riders - The St. Albert Chapter hits town

The ride was terrific, better for the driver I think, although the thumb operated throttle did cause a bit of a problem when I lost my feeling in said digit. Claire's attempts to talk to me were often foiled by the shape of the helmets as it resulted in us headbutting each other when I turned my head to catch what she was saying. To her credit, she managed to refrain from too much criticism of my driving, then again, it could be that I just didn't hear her.....The views were spectacular over Whistler village too.

All too soon, the holiday was over and we had to say our tearful goodbyes to our friends before packing everything up into the car and heading back across the Rockies. It will be some time I feel, before we see them again, but our memories of our brief time together and the holiday itself will keep us going for some time. Now, where are we going to go this summer?

Whistler (part 1)

There is only one thing better than skiing and that is skiing with friends that you haven't seen for months. After some weeks waiting for this particular vacation to arrive Claire, Charlotte, Eleanor and myself finally climbed into our car for the 14 hour drive to Whistler in British Columbia with a cheer in our hearts and a determination to have a jolly good time. We were meeting some friends from the UK who had flown over direct for the holiday and with whom we had skied many times before. The accommodation was booked, work and our new home mothballed for 10 days and the slopes awaited.
Now, 14 hours in a car with two young restless children is a prospect that fills even the most hardened tourer with abject terror so we took the precaution of splitting the journey into two parts. First we drove to Jasper, about 4 hours (360km) from St. Albert, through what can only be described as monotonous farming country until you hit the Rockies in all their infinite majesty. We spent the night in a good hotel in Jasper before tackling the remaining 9 hours (740 km) the following day. This, coupled with the in-car dvd player, a good supply of movies and snacks, cruise control, a dash of patience and the awe inspiring vistas of both the Jasper National Park and route 99 through the BC Rockies enabled us to complete our journey with only the odd fractious moment and our marriage intact. (I did get a ticket for speeding from one of BC's finest after I had the audacity to overtake an unmarked police car though. Really unfair)

We arrived at the resplendent house in Whistler before our friends, unpacked and marvelled at our accommodation. Built into the side of a hill with views across to Blackcomb mountain, it was all log pillars and beams, modern in it's design but classic in it's chalet-style architecture, it had all the essential trappings for a successful skiing holiday - hot tub, sauna, barbecue on the balcony, pool room and plenty of space for 15 people. The arrival of our friends was both welcome and warm as we caught up on news and gossip over pizza and beer and looked forward to the days ahead. Charlotte and Eleanor, initially nervous and shy, soon thawed out and started the holiday as they meant to go on - noisily and energetically. Before the trip, Claire and I, both avid skiers, knew we had a logistical problem. Although Charlotte was skiing now and was organised quite happily into a group lesson with four others, Eleanor, despite her protestations and her apparent eagerness to get on the planks, is too young and thus required one of us to babysit. We could have employed a nanny or put her into daycare, but our experience with Charlotte and our subsequent misery as we handed her over kicking and screaming to strange but well-meaning carers, eliminated that possibility. Anyway, it was Eleanor's holiday too. So we agreed to alternate, I would ski the first day and Claire the next. It worked pretty well and I can quite honestly say it was much more fun than I first thought. The main lifts to the slopes were only 5 minutes drive away, so the one babysitting would trundle down to town after everyone had finished for the day to meet up for a cold beer and to hear of runs conquered, lessons learnt and jumps jumped.

The weather was variable. It alternated from foggy and cold to sunny and warm, but the snow on the upper slopes was wonderful. We were all relieved to discover that we hadn't forgotten how to do it and boy, was there a lot to do. Whistler resort actually consists of two mountains; Whistler and Blackcomb and there are a number of excellent runs on each. During one such run, the obligatory group photo was taken and the picture to the left shows the team in full kit. From left; Russell, Camilla, Richard, Paula, Charlotte, Shep, Anne, Martin, Jack, Max, Jenna, Rick and Claire. Eleanor and I are absent as this was taken during one of my baby-sitting days. Ok, now pay attention. Shep is married to Martin and their children are Russell and Paula, Camilla is Russell's girlfriend, Richard and Jack are Paula's sons, Anne is married to Rick and their children are Max and Jenna. Got it? Good, you'll be tested later. Shep (aka Iris) organised the whole shabang and as usual, did a darn fine job. Charlotte and Jack got on like a house on fire and had skiing lessons together with Russell, Camilla and Paula. The weather here was warm and clear, which although welcome, did cause the snow on the lower slopes to become slushy. Martin remarked that 'it was like skiing through mashed potato' which may explain why he had his face in it on a number of occasions. Despite the usual problems of ill-fitting boots, inappropriate skis and aching limbs to overcome, the scene was set for a great week, particularly as it seemed from Claire and my point of view, that our six year old daughter was having the time of her life.

Spring freeze

Just like a movie villain clinging onto the edge of the cliff before they plummet over the precipice to their doom, winter refuses to release it's icy grip on Alberta, despite the collective will of over a million Edmontonians to get it to bugger off. Returning from our delightful skiiing holiday in Whistler (more of that in the next blog), we fully expected to return home to greener grass, flowering crocuses and clear roads. Stopping off on our long journey home at a diner and glancing up at the weather channel soon put paid to that optimism. Calgary and Edmonton had been hit by an unusual spring snow storm, dumping over a foot of snow in a day with more to come. It is the last week of April and I'm still clearing my bloody driveway.

It has caught the local authorities on the hop too. Having cleaned off the snowploughs and snowblowers and sealed up the grit stores, they have been caught out by the recent blizzards. The result is that the roads and sidewalks have not been cleared, particularly off the main roads, making travelling around a bit of a nightmare. It even foiled the normally dauntless St Albert Transit. My journey home from work on Monday was curtailed when the bus got stuck and refused to move. I abandoned all hope of rescue and set out for home, a good 2km away, on foot. As I stepped off the bus, I couldn't help but turn to the driver saying 'I'm going outside, I may be some time' before launching myself into the white void. When I got home, I was refused entry on the grounds that Claire didn't know any talking snowmen, but if I should see her husband could I please tell him the kids need bathing. It was all a bit Scott of the Antarctic.

Albertans of course, just shrug and go about their business. They are all, after all born of the land and the weather that goes with it, a strange mixture of redneck farmer, tough explorer and frontiersman, but I do get the distinct impression that even the hardiest of local really has had enough of the snow and cold and is itching to get out on their decks with their refitted barbecue tools. I'm one of them. Our car sucks in the snow too, the tyres are all-weather rather than winter and the ground clearance is too low for the depth of snow encountered on the side roads. We may well be changing vehicles in the not-too-distant future. It was great on the long journey to Whistler though. Smooth, comfortable and in possession of one of the greatest stress reducing inventions of the 21st century. No, not cruise control, although that helped - but the in-car dvd player. Charlotte has never been so quiet. It didn't stop Eleanor going psycho for the last hour on the way home, but then so would you if you were strapped into a seat for hours on end without the preknowledge of how long you were going to be there. She must have thought we had moved into a mobile home.

Boxes and brickbats

At last it is over. I swear I am not going to move again until I retire and even then I'm going on vacation whilst someone else does it. Hopefully by then it will be my adult daughters. Moving day has past and with it the memories of the endless vacuuming, box shifting and general stress that you associate with house switching. Actually, it has to be said, it did go relatively smoothly all things considered, although Claire's blood pressure did almost reach Vesuvius proportions following the comments from our buyer's realtor.
The thing is, here in Canada, most residents seem to be fixated with two areas concerning domestic habits. The first is their need to collect everything and throw away nothing. This becomes apparent when you are house hunting and you see the amount of stuff that they keep in their closets/basements/garages and store rooms. Our removers even commented that 'we didn't have much stuff' relative to other clients. This is actually quite an endearing habit and is probably a result of the long winters hiding in their basements, surrounding themselves with paraphernalia as a sort of security blanket. Well you never know when you might need that broken wind-up nail remover or the stuffed moose head. We must seem quite minimalist by comparison.

The second, less endearing habit, concerns cleanliness. Now I'm all for hygiene and keeping things tidy, but Canadians have elevated this to an art form bordering on obsession. Houses are meticulously laid out, cleaning is a national hobby and the wearing of shoes inside the house is punishable by death. I'm sure there are exceptions but in St. Albert I would not be surprised if there was a byelaw forbidding the scattering of children's toys over a certain area. Nowhere does this cleanliness kick become more marked than when you move out of a house. Not only do you need to vacate the premises by a certain time, watched over by the buyer's realtor but you must leave the house in a condition which can only be described as pristine. Most people, it should be said, would not leave their old house dirty and untidy. They would clean and tidy up as best they could. Here, if you haven't steam cleaned the cupboards and sprayed the work surfaces with an industrial degreasing agent you will receive a firm reprimand. If you don't collect up every stray cat hair and speck of dust off of the floor you are perceived as a social menace and pictures of you and your family are published in the local paper. OK, I'm exaggerating a teeny bit, but this is a fact - if the house is not cleaned to a certain standard, you can actually get fined by the realtor. Yep, actual hard cash.

This brings me to Claire's aforementioned blood pressure problem. Despite only having an hour or so to clean the house after the movers had taken out the last bit of furniture and despite the welcome help of our friends Ian and Shirley to tidy up and clean - it wasn't good enough. You can trust me, dear reader, when I say that that house was clean. Their realtor was not impressed however and even suggested that we should pay for the professional cleaners that had already being contracted to remove all traces of cat, the new owners apparently being allergic to them.

I thought it was a cheek, Claire thought it was a crime against her very being, a heinous slur on her substantive cleaning abilities.

Still, all has calmed down, our new house is starting to turn into a proper home and Claire, the children and cats already seem happier and more content. We have yet to buy a cooker, fridge and washing machine amongst other things, we have no idea which light switches turn on which lights and we are having to do our laundry 'off site'. However, the hot tub is luxurious, the house is warm and cosy and the basement is full of possibilities as well as many unpacked boxes. Nothing much more will get done as we are now counting down to our vacation on Wednesday. No sooner have we moved in, then we pack up and go away again, although this time it will be a lot more fun....We can't wait. Whistler here we come.