O Canada

Well, this is it. The end of my time in Canada is upon me, but intermingled with my genuine feelings of sadness comes a gut-wrenching sensation of excitement as I stand on the precipice of a new adventure. Like many before me I'm leaving the simplicity of Easy Street with all the friends and comforts that I've made over my travels and striding out into unchartered territory. Direct comparisons with pioneers like Columbus and Cook seem a little egotistical - let's face it, there are maps and even Rough Guides available now which were far harder to come by then - so I'll have to satisfy myself with less impressive associations with the likes of (Uncle) Gobo Fraggle. Remember him? He always sent back postcards to the other Fraggles from his trips away which were conveyed to us via voiceover and a VT. An early Palin, if you like. So Uncle Gobo it is - Red may be more physically appropriate, but I'm gonna go with Gobo based on his inspirational travelogues. If I'm half the Fraggle he was I'll be happy.

Fortunately for me, I don't have to draw on mere memories to take a look back at my experiences over here on the second largest land mass in the world (damn you, Russia!) You may have noticed I've been keeping an online diary of events since I've been in Canada - street name: blog - and like all the cheapest sitcoms I thought it might be quite nice to rely on previous episodes to reminisce over the last few months. Do you remember the way my neighbour would always come over and borrow things from me? Or how about when some Germans came to my hotel and I mentioned the war once, but thought I got away with it? And who can forget when I (finally) got together with Rachel? Happy, happy times. Of course these are not my memories, they exist solely in a fictional realm constructed by fat-walleted writers. I, however, have brought you nothing but the facts - albeit slightly embellished sometimes - and for not a penny of remuneration, you understand. The somewhat sporadic comments are all the capital I need to fund my work, and what a mighty tome it has turned out to be. Printing it out so that I can pick on some highlights produced a 23,000 word 45 page document - I'll say sorry to the Rainforests when I'm there - nearly two and a half times the size of my dissertation, although not half the pulse-racing romp through the literary ages that turned out to be. Yup.

Looking back over this great volume of work has triggered all sorts of memories and predominately - having spent the last four months being able to sleep and, let's face it, masturbate uninterrupted in my own room - what it was like living at the mercy of other people's feet and armpits during those difficult hostel weeks. While it's easy to laugh at some of those reflections now and even remember other trials I didn't commit to the blog - like when I awoke jet-lagged in the middle of the night on my first morning to the sight of my Bangladeshi neighbour staring right at me from across the bunk chasm and giving himself a furious treat - it does fill me with some trepidation about my South American travels to come. I'm not that worried though cos along with these testing times, hostels have afforded me some of the more interesting and hilarious moments in my stay here in Canada. There's a youthful hedonism infused throughout these places and while that inevitably involves youthfuls and their droopy trousers, they're not all that bad. The droopy trousers are that bad, actually, and sometimes even worse.

Here are some top tips for staying in hostels:

1) If the first room they put you in stinks of cheesy helmets, don't settle, see if you can get another room. If they won't, glare at them. That seemed to do wonders for me.

2) Sleep with all your precious things either in your pillow case or down your pants. This does, however, mean it's not only the room that ends up stinking of cheesy helmets.

3) Offer to make food for everyone, then add an extra dollar to their share meaning they pay for yours. Follow this by putting more food on your plate than theirs and chuckle to yourself as they thank you profusely and clear up.

4) Don't get brutally tortured and then murdered by an evil ring of torture fetishists.

5) And this is the most important - go and find a hotel. The more expensive the better.

So what have been the highlights and what have I learned? Well, more highlights than a block of council flats here. Sailing across Lake Huron in the good ship SS Racist in my first month has to be one of them. The old sea-dogs may have been ideologically flawed, but they did let me steer the vessel and even referred to me as 'the captain' during that time and who can deny that would be fun? The festivals were also a scream – some were simply just screaming, like the now infamous Pride Festival, but also the Caribana and even the Greektown parades bring back summer memories I’ll never forget. I even bought a chocolate vagina at the Danforth celebration, which until then I’d always thought was a euphemism. Jet-skiing, white water rafting, hiking, drinking, singing, dancing, the list never ends – but in reality Canada isn’t that different from England. People here speak English, listen to the same music and act pretty much the same as us over there. We, obviously, get to be far more pompous in the Motherland and refer to baseball using its proper name, which as we all know is rounders, but in general if you’re looking for the ultimate travelling experience, Canada probably isn’t the place for you. However, if you’re looking for some of the nicest, most polite, genuinely interested people I’ve ever come across, you’ve come to the right place. It’s the people over here that really make it a great place to visit. Getting on a streetcar for the first time I didn’t know where to look when the driver actually spoke to me and asked me how I was. In London you’re lucky if you don’t get spat on for having the audacity to use public transport by the driver, but over here they’re glad to have you on board. In fact, the only person who’s had any kind of negative effect on me while I’ve been here has been from England (you know him, we need not say his name) and that about sums it up for me.

Thank you, Canada. You have been kind, generous and, surprisingly, bloody hot. I’ll miss you lots – especially in England next year where it’ll piss it down all summer.

Lots of love,

Andrew

(PS Two comments for last week's post. Thanks to Ron Jeremy, long time reader, first-time commenter - all magazines are gratefully received. And also to anonymous - all critisisms will be taken on board, processed and then duly ignored.)