After hours of blue and white, suddenly there was green…
If you are ever in iceland, I can assure you, you will here this joke:
What do you do if you get lost in an icelandic forest?
I didn’t really find it that funny the first time, or the fifteenth… But you probably get the point, there really aren’t that many trees here. And trees are definitely a natural wonder that I have taken for granted up until my migration north…
We were still crossing the Atlantic. I thought I would eventually go insane from the same two toned view, but as we broke through another layer of blue and another layer of white, a new tone appeared. I had never been so happy to see green.
Green is the colour of the Irish, the colour of the sexiest M&M and the colour that your face turns if you eat too many of them. But more significantly, green is the colour of trees. As exciting as it would have been to see a forest made up of of Irish people eating sexy M&M’s, a forest of trees was exhilarating enough at that point. I really had missed trees.
We touched down quickly onto the lush land. We admired the incredible piles of snow that separated runways and disembarked onto freezing Canadian soil, known as the charming ex-military base, Happy Valley, Goose Bay. We shivered as we ran inside to the comforting warmth of central heating, hot chocolate and popsicles…
(I’m also confused about the popsicles).
But besides the cultural snack shock, my greeting to Canada was incredible (eh).
I had always loved my experiences meeting Canadians abroad, but the name ‘Happy Valley’ was extremely fitting of my experience with the locals. Being surrounded by the overly-friendly locals in their natural habitat was overwhelming. THEY ARE SO FRIENDLY (eh).
In particular, my friend Shandi, who greeted us with a beautiful smile, amazing company and, of course, popsicles…
Still confused about the popsicles (eh).
(I will stop Canadinising my sentences now, I think you get the point).
There was only one thing missing from my welcome to Canada. The golden liquid that the world associates with the friendly country. Maple Syrup. Preferably lathered over pancakes. Or waffles. Or a beautiful Canadian lumberjack…
Shandi gave us directions to the local diner where I would be able to find my true Candian desire. She handed over the car keys and a some badly drawn directions and we drove through the tree-rich town in hot pursuit of
beautiful Canadian lumberjacks maple syrup.
We got lost.
We pulled over to ask at a deserted gas station for directions and eventually we were able to find the maple-syrup-serving establishment. It was your typical road-side, all-you-can-eat lumberjack hang-out. (Well, at least how I imagine your typical lumberjack hang-out).
I quickly glanced at the menu before ordering maple syrup (with a side of pancakes and/or a beautiful Canadian lumberjack).
Breakfast was over.
I was in shock. Had I seriously just been denied maple syrup in Canada? I didn’t even question it, I just nervously named the only other dish I associated with Canada. I ordered Poutine. But I have already written about that experience…
With a belly full of cheese curds and a heart full of sugar-deprived disappointment, we returned to Goose Bay private airport. I explored all of the luxurious waiting rooms while Sean made endless phone calls, ensuring that my spontaneous presence on the plane would be accepted by the USA upon arrival into the country. We said farewell to Shandi and we were on our way to the home of the brave, the land of the free, and the border security of hell.
But that’s another story.