Canada, our "new" posting
By Andrew Caddell
For most Canadians, autumn means the falling of the leaves, a chill in the air, the return to school, football games and maybe even hockey. For diplomats and their families it means moving home. Back to a Canada they have not seen or experienced, in some cases for several years. Back to a Canada that may seem to them a foreign country.
When we returned from Geneva in the fall of 2000, we decided we would treat our homecoming as if it were another posting, with Ottawa as the capital of a "new" country. Otherwise, "Murphy's Law of Presumption" would have kicked in; namely, if you presume something is going to happen positively, exactly the opposite occurs. So, if you think your sea shipment will be waiting for you, it will not be. So best thing is to prepare for the worst possible scenario. If things work out, then one is pleasantly surprised. Perverse logic, but an effective strategy.
To wit: I presumed getting home would be a nightmare. So I was not disappointed when on our flight back from Europe (we had taken a last week in Italy before flying home) our reservations from Rome to Toronto were lost. So we ended up in the very last row of the world's oldest 747 (the wings flapped on takeoff) near the washrooms, among people who had never flown before and insisted on videotaping each other as they were tossed about the plane during the never-ending turbulence. In Toronto, we were forced to wait in line an hour at customs to register our returning belongings, which meant that we missed our flight to Ottawa, and when we did arrive, our baggage had missed our flight. Twenty-four hours after our wake up call in Rome, I waddled in to the in-laws, bags in tow. Tired and frustrated, but not surprised.
Otherwise, things went fine. We left for a month in rural Quebec and both shipments were waiting for us when we came back to Ottawa. Our house was not yet ready, and we spent the first few days of school and hockey tryouts travelling from a downtown hotel.
But when we moved back in, the boxes started arriving: both shipments and long-term storage. Over 200 boxes and other items. Things that we had not seen for years, things that had been packed in the wrong box when we left Ottawa. Some items left over from a move a decade before! In short order, the boxes and their contents took over our lives, multiplying like the Tribbles that took over the bridge of the Starship "Enterprise".
Archimedes himself would have been impressed by the way the boxes multiplied and displaced cubic metres. For each box there were contents, but once the boxes were emptied, they and their contents occupied double the space in our living room, dining room, kitchen... We tried folding the boxes and putting them in the recycling - but of course it rained, leaving the cardboard with the consistency of damp bread. Soon our front porch began to buckle under the weight of hundreds of folded boxes. Within a few weeks, we had unpacked, hung the pictures and moved the furniture. And we were all still speaking.
Luckily, I had decided to go back to university for a Master's degree and my wife was taking some time off from DFAIT. So we were not "overly-pressed" for time. As for the children, they hardly noticed the change of venue. We thought it would be traumatic to move from the only home they had known (they were 3 and 1 when we left) but their lives did not really change: in Geneva they went to French school, played hockey, skated and had friends in the neighbourhood. Ottawa was the same. But to ensure an easy transition, we had promised (read bribed) three things before we left Switzerland: an ice rink in the backyard (impossible in Geneva's moderate climate); Christmas holidays at our country home in Kamouraska; and a Golden Retriever puppy, named, naturally, "Geneva". All three made us very Canadian.
Or so we thought. When we started exploring this new country, there were many discoveries. In Geneva, every Canadian we knew was well-educated, fascinating and unfailingly polite. However, when we were first cut off on the Queensway or given the single digit salute, we immediately remarked "Oh, they can't be Canadian." As a hockey coach, I had the chance to witness the phenomenon of the "ugly hockey parent" first hand. While in Geneva, a visit to a foreign country elicited a range of questions, in Canada, there seemed to be a "30-second rule". "Oh, Bangladesh, what was it like? (Pause for 30-second response, followed by glazing of eyes.) "Well, how about those Senators?"
Another area that shook us was the "big box" store. What seemed to be large shopping centres were dwarfed by single stores - hardware stores I could understand but bookstores?! Then we noticed the people, the "BIG" Canadians. Of course, on our annual return to our rural country home we would notice them, but nothing compared to the city. Cars would unload with what appeared to be squads of linebackers, who were just a family going shopping or on a trip to Tim Horton's.
Ah, Tim's. One of the few genuine cultural meccas in Canada. That and Canadian Tire. You find neither in Europe. And the Europeans are the poorer for it. The Swiss, with their penchant for doing it yourself, gardening and coffee might take to them, but it would not be the same.
Of course, Europeans are different from Canadians, but Ottawa was not unlike Geneva in one respect: the degree of reserve. While people in the Nation's Capital were not openly hostile (as some Swiss can be) and the retail salespeople were incredibly helpful and cheerful at all times, that was it. In Europe flirting is seen as an at form, and Geneva is surrounded by France. However in Ottawa, a smile at someone of the opposite sex can be tantamount to harassment. So, in my return to university, surrounded by attractive twenty-somethings, I was so dour that I found myself incredibly dull. But out of court.
We had missed Canada enormously while we were away, and we did come back for our annual pilgrimage to Kamouraska. But when one returns permanently it is not unlike being Rip van Winkle rising from a five-year nap. Things had changed and everyone else had aged while we were away. And we had become "European" in many ways, drinking more wine, enjoying cappuccino, following "football", now soccer, and decrying the chippiness in Canadian hockey.
I am glad to report that we survived our first year in this "new" posting, Ottawa. Soon, we were settled in to our Canadian ways, going to the arenas and soccer fields, walking the dog, drinking coffee and chatting amiably, if briefly with our countrymen and women. And shopping in the big boxes. It was as if we had never left.
Andrew Caddell was posted with his spouse to Geneva from 1995 to 2000. He worked for WHO and UNICEF while abroad. He has finished his master's degree in journalism from Carleton University and is currently working in the Trade Policy and Consultation division at DFAIT.