Journeys

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Okay, Im in a big tin can at about 0,000 feet in the air and all I can see is water, water water everywhere and not a drop to drink, hang on a minute, there is the air steward with a jug of water and a cup. So, for six hours water is all I can see, great stuff. The in-flight movies are never any good and if you are short sighted then its perfect; there is a tidgy screen in front of you but if you are long sighted then you are in trouble. It doesnt matter anyway; you spend most of your time trying to open those dam tiny packets of peanuts and the rest of the time contemplating if the airline food is in actual fact, food. Ah now it get interesting, I can see land, granted for two more hours it would just happen to be bare land, one tree every fifteen minuets to keep the excitement going. If anybodys interested this bare land is called Newfoundland but the natives pronounce it Nufundlund. I met somebody from Newfoundland once, she was very peculiar, its like going back in time to the 50's, the dress sense, the mannerisms and the general old fashioned style of the 150's, one of the many interesting people I have met over my brief existence. Anyway, by this time I have lost all my feeling in my legs and am probably about to collapse due to DVT. Finally we land, I have arrived, Toronto airport, Ontario, Canada.

As I am British the first thing I am bound to comment on is the weather, and thats exactly what Im going to do. Its humid, its hot, Im sweaty, Im now short of breath, Its either a scorching day and I am immensely tired from carrying my eight tonne suitcase or I am having a heart attack. Well, I really do love this country, all the Canadians have one of the most euphonic accent I have ever heard, and dont for one minuet try to suggest that it is exactly the same as the American accent because they would be highly offended. In the summer months the days are perfect, blue sky, hot sunny sun, ah, the bliss! Another thing about the Canadians is that they are all really polite and they are nearly always smiling. Okay, enough of me praising the Canadians, lets get going. The five-minute trek down to the car hire place is always interesting; I always have an observant eye open, just in case I spot a moose, Toronto was filled with loads of them when the millennium was happening.

Have you ever had that feeling when you thought you were awake and totally conscious but in a flash you are about a hundred kilometres away looking at your friends? No? Well, thats just happened to me, my face is pressed up against the glass of the car and Tony is pointing and laughing at me. I am in Ingersoll, the home of the famous cheese factory, no really, Ingersoll is a really small town where the highlight of its attractions is the cheese factory museum.

Tony (the one who is still pointing and laughing at me as I fail to wake up) is who I am staying with, his wonderful wife Gina and spawn of Satan, Sarah, I mean it, last time I was here she tried to set me on fire, and she's only six. The emotions are flying around like a demented bat that has lost his sense of hearing; this is because we (we as in my family) haven't seen these people for a year. They used to live next door to us for ten years then they decided that they liked us so much that they wanted to emigrate to the other side of the world. I manage to scramble out of the car to have a welcome reception by Tony, he promptly throws me in the swimming pool, we always did have a love hate relationship, I just didn't realise when he said beware of my wild side that it involved me being submerged under six feet of water.

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After a good nights sleep and acclimatising to the time zone I am up and ready to meet the world In Ingersoll town centre there is a supermarket, a LCBO (liquor store to me and you) and a Beer store (and that's a beer store to you and me). The Canadian law is very strict about alcohol, they have to have separate stores for beer and wine and a different store for spirits and heavy liquor, also you have to put it in a brown paper bag so that the general public cant see it and if you wan to drive with alcohol then you have too keep it in the boot of the car, or the 'trunk?as they like to call it. I think the best store in Ingersoll has to be the Shoppers Drug Mart, basically because the name just rocks! In nearly every town in Canada there is a chain of coffee houses called Tim Hortons, it's the type of place where you are really reluctant to try, but as soon as you take your first sip of whatever beverage you decide to purchase you immediately become addicted to it, I was no different, I think the Canadian economy must have considerably benefited from my visits to Tim Hortons. Well in all fairness it's the best place for coffee and bagels, you see very large businessmen go through the drive through every morning to collect their bagels, doughnuts, coffee and whatever else they don't need but buy anyway, no wonder why they are very large with a breakfast like that every day.

Usually it is a family ritual to go and see all the nice friendly people that we have met in the previous years. There are some very strange people in Ingersoll, I suppose its just what I'm used to, Ingersoll is a very close knit community and due to that everybody knows everybody else and it is very hard to get up to any mischief, so they don't. That makes my time with my new friends very challenging. Makenzie, Rachel, Simon, Benjamin, Mitchell, Lucinda and Annabelle, all from one family. All I can say to that is WOAH! Makenzie and Rachel are the nearest to my age, they are so different from my friends back in England, they are well behaved all the time, they are polite all the time and weirdest of all, they have absolutely no interest in alcohol! I asked them if this was just because their parents were strict but alas, they said no, they know its illegal to drink before they are nineteen so they don't even think about it, amazing. After a day of reminiscing and a night of not getting drunk with the locals I am ready to go and have a relaxing day at the beach, yes I know, we are nowhere near the sea but we are near the great lakes.

Its about an hours drive from Ingersoll to the lake, the road is almost exactly straight down, there is no real driving skill involved and that probably why young Canadians can start driving at sixteen. On the way down to the beach we drive through some real shantytowns, they have names like, Vienna, Paris, Oxford and even Norfolk. These are the types of places where the locals sit on their porches with shotguns while they guard their junk which is neatly dumped on their front garden, or yarrrrrrd as they like to call it, notice the emphasis on the r, these yokels have a slight adjustment to their accent where their r's sound like they are coming out of their noses for about five minutes before they say the last part of the word. You notice that all traffic speeds up when you reach these towns, I wonder why as we drive past a bullet hole filled sign that says thank you for visiting Vienna, please come again?

The tranquillity that surrounds Port Burwell is possibly an opiate for the masses, as soon as anybody arrives there they almost immediately go into some sort of lazy comatose state, I know I did exactly the same. The beach is home to one of the great lakes that links Canada to America, it is so huge that it looks like the sea, even on the clearest of days you can't see the other side. I think the greatest feature of this lake is that when you finally decide to move and have a swim then if perchance you swallow some water then it tastes pure, isn't it amazing, I think so. Funny story about this beach, I call it the paranoid seagull. There once was a travel writer, she went to a beach. The travel writer saw a seagull, seagull was suffering from a severe case of paranoia and decided to attack travel writer with great hilarity to travel writer's companions. The end. Nice story. No, not really, I hated that seagull, I think it was possessed. Anyway, after being stalked by a kamikaze seagull the next mini adventure might not seem as interesting.

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