Um, Canada

The ubiquitous Canadian backpack patch. This one is on Brandon's bag.

“Miss, where you from?”

“What is your native place?”

“Where you come from?”

“Country?”

This is the most common question that a backpacker is asked. I am asked where I am from (“well, you're clearly not from here, missy...”) on a daily basis and the question ranges from polite and friendly to mildly accusitory, asked with a leering eye.

“Canada.”

But I find that lately the moment that the word has escpaed my lips I feel like a fraud. Am I really from Canada anymore? The answer seems too limiting. I haven't been home in 10 months. I lived in Mumbai for part of that time. My accent is changing. And is Vancouver even in Canada? It doesn't snow and we are all left wing commies. Aren't we like, our own thing? I feel like I should add this information into my answer, but that would just confuse matters. So, Canada it is.

My brain is always like “Wait – don't you wanna know what part!?” because to a Canadian that is of tantamount importance. A Vancouverite is a very different animal than an Edmontonian, a Montrealer, a Haligonian (from Halifax – the coolest demonym ever) and especially from a Torontonian. I think that some of us have more in common with the closest American cities than to eachother, other than the weak thread of patriotism, politeness and pride in our free health care. Some cities even have full blown rivalries. So, if was going to answer truthfully the response should be “Vancouver – in Canada.”

But no, they do not care about your city. Just country – and Canada is an acceptable answer. “Canada – very good country! Very Cold!” Sometimes in small villages people have no idea what or where Canada is. “England?” they will respond.

I sigh. “Near America.”

“Oh! Amereeka!!” Suddenly I am much more exciting.

In India the word Canada would really confuse matters. “Bangalore?” people would ask, confused. Not as confused as I was, until I pieced together the fact that B'lore is in Karnataka, and they speak a Dravidian language called Kannada....

I spent my teens and early twenties (and still do some days) dreaming that I was European. Some kind of European – any kind, just so I could get my hands on that EU passport and live and work freely on the continent – settle in Berlin, Paris, Prague. (That still sounds pretty good, actually.) I regarded the Dutch, French and Italians I met as unimaginably lucky, born into a wealth of history, art, food, culture and tradition that made ole' (young) Vancouver look like a vapid (but beautiful) cesshole of mediocrity.

I have been to Europe four times - strolled cobblestone streets, ate croissant and cafe au lait, visited magnificent museums and unimaginably hip bars and clubs and felt like what I was – a Canadian. Regarded by the Europeans as sweet, polite and friendly but a little thick – kind of like a really good dog. (I won't tell you how they regard Americans...)

There is a Unicorn on the Canadian passport - look on the right hand side of the crest. It's like we're a nation of wiccans....

I was fascinated by the locals, who always seemed so poised, so cool – so far ahead of the trends in Vancouver or Seattle. They sat at sidewalk tables drinking wine and coffee until the wee hours discussing politics and philosophy looking effortlessly chic and all I could think was “wow – these people are the ancestors of the great poets, playwrites and sculptors in a much more tangible way than we Canadians or Americans are.” I was jealous of that link to our shared history.

But lately, as I meet more and more Swedes and Germans and Spaniards who seem really fascinated with me and my Canadian-ness I realize that I am just as exotic to them as they are to me. Maybe my cadence has a lot of 'likes' and 'ums' and even the odd Canuck “eh” thrown in, my country is young and uncultured and I do guiltily regard Pizza Hut quite highly (it's not exactly pizza, but whatever it is, it is delicious. Stuff that crust!) but my relationship with my country is full of quirks.

Things that have amazed and interested Europeans:

*There was a bear attack at my Junior High. I lived in a city that edged onto the woods, and cougars and bob cats were also spotted nearby on a semi regular basis. In my province we have bear sirens in mountain towns, and if one sounds you nonchalantly head indoors.

*My grandfather drove a tugboat up and down the British Columbia coast in the 40's. Landlocked countries find tugboats neat, I guess.

*My great grandpa came from the Ukraine in 1898 and lived in a dug out house (a room dug into the ground to protect from the cold) on the Alberta prairies for the years that it took his family to clear the land and begin farming it. My Baba (great grandma) was born in Canada and died in her 80's never having learned any English other than “Eat, Eat – you're too skeeeny.”

*One of my dearest friends is First Nations (Native Canadian.) This one endlessly fascinates Germans, who collect Native art more than anyone. They are even more fascinated when I tell them that he is gay and speaks fluent Swiss German...

*My city is hosting the 2010 Winter Olympics. I voted against it in the referendum we had 8 years ago (because we also have a major poverty and drugs problem) but now that it is happening I am really excited.

*I visited Winnipeg (S's hometown) last year and it was minus 40 degrees Celcius outside. When I started crying on Portage Avenue ( I am pretty sure my face was getting frostbitten) S was like “Ummm, baby. Maybe you better not cry. Your eyelashes will freeze together.” This made me cry harder. We had to spend a lot of time in the Portage Place Mall....

*I know all of the major hockey teams and players despite watching roughly one game every few years. “It just kind of gets in your brain in Canada. Like math.” I tell them.

Admittedly, these are not the same as being able to see the Eiffel Tower from your bedroom window, but I can drive to Whistler in 3 hours. It's also a lot easier to get a railpass and explore Europe than it is to try and backpack the vast emptiness of Canada if the roles were reversed. That's something, I suppose. It all depends on perspective. And I guess that even though some people in Asia don't know where Canada is, it is a lot easier than trying to tell them I am from Estonia or Luxembourg...

And if you are an Estonian or Luxembourger in Asia – just say “Near America” when people are confused. They'll get really excited.

Will I be needing a new passport for this move?

(It turns out that I may be re-locating to ....gasp!....Toronto when I return home, which will really wipe out any ambiguities I have about my national identity. I actually suspect it will feel like living in a Margaret Atwood novel, and you can't get much more Canadian than that.)