My last year

My last year

TR # 15 - New horizons

For some time I've been neglecting my blog and I apologize to those who, alarmed by my absence, wrote me heartfelt appeals to have news from the Land of the Maple Leaf. I wasn't lazy but -as my master's colleagues know too well- I was fully immersed into the maze of teaching English, which made me lose sleep but alas not pounds, because of the abundance of Nutella, and I was officially given the title of Teecha of the English language. But beyond that, the course was a valuable source of teaching practice, and a valuable source of new friends, fellow teachers as well as tireless travelers which will add new locations on my map of "friends around the world." And the first day of school my horizons changed completely. No, I'm not speaking metaphorically. During the admission test to the students I met two Italian students, Franz and Pav, who unlocked the mystery of the extendable visa and the next day I received an email for a job. Shortly, I found out I had the opportunity to extend the visa for another six months by making a simple request. Then, a local association of private teachers called me for an interview. The interview went well, I have the first students and tomorrow I will start classes around Toronto. I'm still amazed by the unpredictable amount of people who want to learn Italian here and I don't know what to expect from the first lessons.

My horizons ahead have therefore completely changed: no Vancouver in November, no going home, no Christmas with my family... or Easter... or birthday. I'm not excited about the prospect of the Canadian winter but I take this opportunity to gain experience and curriculum, knowing that I will not come back to Canada soon and I can enjoy all the time here trying to make the best out of it. I will also try to teach English and not think too much about my home.

Meanwhile, I think about tomorrow -the first class- and the move later this month. The rest... we'll see.

TR # 14 - Among the secessionists

After preparing Foulie (the suitcase) with the bare essentials, I leave late at night for the streetcar stop, destination coach. Destination of the coach: Quebec, the separatist region of Canada. When I arrive at the bus stop I'm filled with doubts: on which of the three buses do I have to go?! The doubt is dispelled by Brit, "La Negra" as will be renamed by my fellow Spanish travelers: follow me, you're with me! So I sit down, the group travel bracelet on the wrist and seek a comfortable position to sleep during the trip... the search goes on for the whole trip keeping the well deserved rest at a safe distance. The landscape outside the window is monotonous, as I already knew: green green green green green green green water boooringgg. At 3 am we stop at a gas station to go to the bathroom: the place is dingy, but music comes from a radio... French music, you can tell we have crossed the border. I enjoy the sunrise at 6.30 am from the bus, a spectacle beyond description that only me and the driver witness, given that all the others are sleeping -good for them. Finally arrived in Quebec City we refresh ourselves with a tasty breakfast not included in the price and there I make the acquaintance of four Spanish women who are easily convinced that my understanding of Spanish is quite good... forcing me to try and catch a word every five, without much success. Without any time to rest we're back on the bus to go walking in the city center. Brit tells us about the history of Quebec City, where the governor stays during the summer, where there's the last Canadian fort since the war, where the French fought fiercely against the British enemy. The war lasted exactly 10 minutes. Maybe the soldiers at the end of the line had not even pointed their guns yet. And the French were humiliated, but you'd better not tell them. There is a tree with a cannonball embedded in the roots: for the French it's the symbol of their culture that grows and develops in spite of the English bully trying to subdue it... everybody laughs at this latest proof of French arrogance except for the group of French speakers, especially the Parisian-like girl who poses as a great diva and is perfectly in line with the spirit of the Québecois. After the tour of the old-European part we have five free hours. And the question arises: why couldn't we relax a bit in the hotel instead of hastening to walk around the city?! I take this opportunity to go to the park and sleep on a bench... what a relax! Then I take the public bus back to the hotel asking the driver to warn me when I should get off and take a look around: The hotel is "on the right" according to Brit... except you forgot to mention the need to cross a highway hmmmmmmmmmmmm. Finally I get in the room where I will divide the tiny bed with one of the Spanish girls and where the air conditioner is loud as ever, kinda like the bathroom's exhaust fan. No time for a shower 'cos it's already time for dinner at an Italian restaurant downtown. Risk-loving as I am I order a pizza and, surprise surprise, it's even decent! Only it's small, but OK, never mind. I'm sitting with a group of Brazilians who believe that an Italian like me must certainly understand Portuguese.... gulp. We go back on the bus where I can appreciate the driver's long face (at my question "ooohhhh how come there are fireworks over there?" his reply is "Well, there are fireworks. Period." ... I know he has French ancestors...) and it's finally time to sleep in a real bed, ready for day two.

The morning begins with another abundant breakfast (considering what I pay, I try to make it as abundant as possible!) and after paying I get chased by the waiter "did you pay??!" Yes moron, yes. On the bus once again I try to sleep in vain and I see Montreal approaching. Mostly you see the gigantic roller-coasters of the amusement park approaching... are we going??! No. The bridges of Montreal deserve a separate chapter. The one we're crossing was involved in secessionist attacks in the 70s (yeah sure, 3 years of terrorism with a couple of bombs here and there... amateurs!) while the near one was built on an Indian burial site: despite the warnings they continued to build it, and it collapsed twice killing 89 people, exactly the same number of people buried in the cemetery; the one we see in the center's mini-Eiffel towers on top just to celebrate a bit of French culture. We stop to photograph the Olympic stadium and while Brit draws a veil on its history, I learn from the inclement travel guide that the costs to build it doubled in the 70s, they made a project for the expensive opening roof that never worked and especially the stadium was hardly used at all during the Olympic Games and Canadians are still paying for it with taxes. The designers were Italian, confess! We spend the rest of the day shopping which has never been a passion of mine in Italy, let alone when I travel. "There isn't much to see, only the Notre-Dame church" says Brit... not much, you say! But given that it rains and the umbrella is safely in Toronto, I resign myself to go shopping. Among others, "Noël Eternel" stands out, the store that sells only Christmas stuff. I feel like the Little Match Girl who spies on the homes of rich people: used as I am to see exclusively religious articles, I'm amazed at the astounding variety of decorations for the tree (there's even the Little Mermaid!) and Charles Dickens village houses with even skaters on the ice. I buy a couple of souvenirs and take pictures of the cathedral of Notre Dame, then I go back to the bus. Destination: the Eaton Centre, which is exactly the same shopping center as in Toronto. Argh. The only peculiarity is that it's almost all underground, as during the winter in Montreal they live most of their time underground to avoid going out. As I head back to the bus I find another church worthy of pics and then spend the evening at the hotel, bored to death.

The third day begins with an included breakfast and continues with the riddles that Brit gives us into the bus as we head to Ottawa. On the way we see the prime minister's residence and that of the governor manned by guards of the Queen (the ones with the bear's hat, for instance). After having passed all the consulates of various countries and having appreciated the mega-spider in front of the art museum (spider worth millions of dollars...) we get downtown and head to Parliament Hill. The queue to visit the Parliament buildings is endless, I get through the controls (where the policeman opens both my phones... yes, I have two phones, what's wrong with that??!) but since it's finally a beautiful day I give up the tour and go for a walk around the city. Ottawa is very nice, the stroll along the river is pleasant and the landscape is beautiful. I admire the monument to one of the greatest champions of Canadian hockey (we don't have monuments to Totti or Alberto Tomba!) and I head back to the bus, destination: the 1000 islands.

The cruise on the thousand islands (on the border between the U.S. and Canada) is worth the whole trip, the views are breathtaking and the atmosphere is of total relaxation. Just across the border, we see what is now a luxury hotel but was originally built as a private castle expressly as a gift from a loving husband to his wife.... Canadians are the best, nothing to say about that. As usual Vodafone is grateful, and I receive EIGHT text messages on the inexpensive rates to call from the U.S. ... gulp. It's time to go back, and I enjoy the awkward efforts of the sixteen-year-old Spanish guys to conquer their peers... she won't give it to you darling, you'd better sleep!

Finally, I'm sure that Montreal is worth a visit as well as the other two cities, but I'll come back to make sure. Aside from the absurd organization, I still found what I was told, namely that Québec is very European from the disposition of the roads to the buildings and even the smells, and of course the language. A breath of home overseas.

TR # 13 - Teecha

With Rui it was love at first sight. No matter that he's engaged, and to a polyglot too. Yes because she speaks "another European language". Really? What? Italian? No. English? Obviously she speaks English, we're in Canada! No, another one. OK, so French? Spanish? German? Russian? No, no. I got it! Taiwanese!

Yes, because Rui is six years old, he's been in Canada for not even a year and doesn't have a very clear idea of geography. It's hard to make him understand where Europe is and even more that Canada does not border with Africa. Rui has come as a surprise, at the very last moment his mother decided to enroll him to the summer camp where I volunteer as a teacher -Teecha as they call me here- of English to recently immigrated Chinese children. They know me as "the Italian, the one who can make pizza" which is now an inevitable association. The supervisor immediately puts her confidence in me and considers me the group leader, which doesn't make me feel calm at all. Then I ask Rui if he wants to play something. Yes, Teecha! Let's play Tic-Tac-Toe! Which if I was brought up in Canada I would know is what we call "tris" but this is not the case. And how do you play it? "Eeeehhhhmm it's a game.... That is it's easy. It's just a game. With paper and pencil. And you draw the lines so and so and then you put the ball and then you win." Then we play other games and children often re-create the rules themselves. Ste in particular, only to lose anyway... "Sure I made the rules myself, but I must also respect them!" Then we study Canada and it's assumed that I know how many provinces and territories there are or how many points the maple leaf has. But I know the official languages, and also Rui: "English and....... Chinese!" no honey, it's French! "But I know many people who speak Chinese and no one speaks French! And then you know that they do everything in China? Also this case is made in China because there they do everything and then they sell all over the world!" Rui likes to exercise, therefore every day he wakes up at 6 am to go jogging do tai-chi and then have breakfast before going to school or to us. What sports do you like? "Baseball, hockey... football, soccer..." and here we have to write your favorite sport, what is it? Badminton! How do you spell it? " Sure you don't want to write baseball hockey or any other sport that I KNOW the spelling of?! "No, I like badminton!" gulp.

At the summer camp it's important to do many different activities. Manual activities such as origami (Rui says that I'm doing pretty well), projects such as "my home in Canada," baking cookies and playing outdoors. On his project Rui is doing the highway and the river and the bridge over the river. Why don't we also draw the wooden planks on the bridge? "Eeeehhhh. Eh. Because then if the car goes on the wood it falls into the river." Yeah. It's true. But maybe there's the asphalt under the wood? "Eeeeehhh. Yes then I color gray underneath so you see it." What's that, a plane? "Eeeehhhh no. It 's a rocket in the rocket-station which is close to the river." And why are you doing people on horses? Who are they? "They are soldiers then there's the king here and that is the tower of the soldiers and the great one for the king." But why are you doing the soldiers? What are they for? "Eeeehhh. Because they are the ones who protect us from evil and so we are sure that Canada is free, right?" Self-evident. Meanwhile, I make a car "very good, put it on the highway, Teecha!" Now write the words you learned "...eeehhh car? King?" Are you sure they're new words? "Hihihihi eeehhhh eeehhhh not really?"

Before cooking you should learn the words related -it would be even better that I knew them but never mind: break the eggs, you know what that means? "Eeeehhhh break like when you break stuff?" exactly, precisely. But what do you like to eat? "Ooooohhh I eat a lot of rice!" Really? And do you cook it? "Eeehhhh no, grandma cooks it for breakfast. Ohhh but at lunch yes, I cook! Do you know how to do it?!" no, tell me! "You take the rice Teecha you put it on a plate, open the microwave, press the button, wait for the third beep and then it's ready!" Better than Chef Ramsay. Then we make cookies and I pretend to be able to measure in cups and teaspoons because the other teecha's afraid of the dough. And fortunately she's not there the following time, when we eat half the dough raw... she would've fainted. The supervisor then asks me to teach good manners... but why so much confidence in my native culture?! Rui loves his parents, rightly so. But "they just arrived from China and sleep all the time, they don't work!" tells me the first time, so they can follow him in the garden ("like eeeehhh you bury the seeds, water, and after a while the plant comes up... but a couple have been eaten by the raccoons!") or take him to swim ("yes, because here I go to the swimming pool but in China instead my mother took me to a cold cooold river which is big like a sea! "). Then his father gets a job and what does he do? "Oh, a Chinese job. He like... sells. Sells Chinese fruit." So Rui stays with his mother and asks me: "But do you believe in God?" eeehhhmmmm... you? "Nooo, hahahahaha. How could a God exist who doesn't have a mother? I think my mom is always there, but God has no mother!" His logic is flawless. We also go on field trips. In which the supervisor gives me again the role of leader. And asks me at inopportune moments, "how many kids do you have?" just when I've not counted them for at least two hours. But in the end everyone arrives safe and sound. At the science center I don't know whether to keep an eye on the children or the teenage tutors who play more than them, then we visit the oldest theater in Toronto but Rui only remembers the ghost upstairs Sam the trombonist: "We have visited the haunted house!" ehm not really. At the amusement park Rui is too short for almost everything but the next day "eeehhhmmm can I tell you something, Teecha? eeehhmmm just wanted to say thank you for giving me the money to shoot even if I didn't win the toy." You're very welcome darling. Rui always wants me to play with him "eeeehhhmmm Teecha, would you mind playing with me?" And at Taboo and Apples to Apples we make an awesome team together. And even with the sand castles we aren't bad at all. Rui perhaps didn't learn a lot from me during these weeks but has an excellent memory: he perfectly remembers the first thing I taught him and he tells it to me while we say goodbye the last day.

"Eeeehmmmmm can I tell you something?" Of course, anything you want. "Now when I see the Moon in the night sky you know you know you know what I think? I think of my Teecha because Luna means Moon in Italian!" I hug Rui and maybe watching the Moon I'll think about his round face too and the wonderful person he's destined to become.

TR # 12 - I've seen a million faces, and I rocked them all

Whoever is not a true Bon Jovi fan can skip this post without any painful consequence.

But instead you faithful reader who keep on reading despite already knowing the topic, here is the chronicle of the second concert of this year, the sixth overall, of the most... most rock band in the world. My afternoon starts with the usual long-sleeved BJ shirt -what was I thinking?! - an atrocious hot, a hotdog and a hot water bottle at the stand. I head to the Rogers Centre at 5.30 pm, admiring the kitsch sculpture above the entrance representing supporters cheering on the athletes. I put myself in line at the gate and in the meanwhile the stand of the local radio station plays BJ songs at full volume while the lady guard tells us: "we hope you enjoy the show!" The building is huge but honestly I imagined it even bigger, considering it is a hockey and baseball arena. Canadians are smart: instead of putting a normal soil of any material they covered the field with fake grass, which is among the most uncomfortable things to walk on. The average age of viewers is incredibly high, with hale old guys ready to rock out with the 80s' hits of our idols. Of course there are also 80s' girls dressed in improbable matching colors and leather skintight leggings on thighs that they'd be better not show off with such impudence.

Already during the opening act I realize that for the first time I'm in a closed structure, rather than in a stadium or an arena. The acoustics are terrible, the sounds echo and the echo is unbearable. Good, very good. I have the opportunity to deepen the problem with the second performer of the evening, Kid Rock. I don't know much about him, except that he has long hair and a huge tattoo on his back, plays rock and metal with hints of country, that he's well-hung since the video shot during the story with Pamela Anderson (strange, a scandal related to our Pamelona!). Instead I find out that Kid Rock kicks ass on stage, has a stage presence and energy beyond description and also finds time to insult Britney Spears (here we don't do that shit, here we play live!) He ignites the audience with his most famous hits ("All summer long ", for one thing), but is also capable of much more intimate country ballads like "Picture", originally a duet with Sheryl Crow. And finally, it's time for Bon Jovi. Again you hear the jingle "This is our house" and then they start. Jon is in good shape despite a sprained ankle, women go crazy (me included), and he doesn't wait to be asked twice. "I spend a lot of time in bed but baby I don't like to sleep no" he sings winking, and then smiles to the girls in the front row singing the most famous ballads. The opening gave me a song that I never heard live, here's the setlist: Blood on Blood, We Weren't Born to Follow, You Give Love a Bad Name, Born To Be My Baby, Lost Highway, Runaway, It's My Life , I'll Sleep When I'm Dead, We Got It Going On, Bad Medicine / Old Time Rock 'n' Roll (w / Kid Rock), Love's the Only Rule, Lay Your Hands On Me (Richie Vox), Bed of Roses , I'll Be There For You, Something for the Pain, Someday I'll Be Saturday Night, In These Arms, Work for the Working Man, Have a Nice Day, Who Says You can't Go Home, Keep the Faith. Encore: Always, Wanted Dead or Alive, Livin 'on a Prayer.

This time I'm almost moved at the thought of how much water has passed under the bridge since the first time I saw Bon Jovi live in the dramatic Padua concert in 2001 that many remember with distaste. That was before 9/11, for one thing. And now I'm here, who would have thought?! I leave the Rogers Centre with my ears plugged, the smile on my face when finding out that the radio stand is still playing Bon Jovi songs. While crossing the bridge to catch the tram and go home I sing along with thousands of other people "Livin 'on a Prayer" while the stand turns down the volume on purpose to hear our voices. "Take my hand, we'll make it I swear... we're livin 'on a prayer" we sing in chorus as we go back to our lives. Until the next gig.