Surviving the first week: coffee, cots and cold!

A little more than a week ago I was gettng around Brisbane in a singlet and shorts, the anticipation of what lied ahead secondary to the denial it was actually happening. For years, I've wanted to live overseas. As a teenager I planned world voyages, after University I planned a year of work exchange, somehow knowing they wouldn't be more than wishful thinking. So, surely the denial that in a week I'd be leaving sunny, humid Australia behind for what looked to be a freezing, wet Vancouver, was justified? I packed my daughter's suitcase in a daze, avoiding questions from friends and family that began with "has it sunk in yet?", maintaining a cool composure on the outside (while internally, unashamedly freaking out). Then, somehow, and I'm not sure how, I found myself at a gate at Sydney airport with my husband and one-year old, and it finally hit. The little girl inside wanted to turn around and run as fast as I could, to somewhere in between infancy and adulthood, where it was all about barbie dolls and "responsibility" was just a word my parents used. Of course, I got on the plane, survived a 14 hour flight (just) and braved the harsh Vancouver wind (and rain) as we set course for what would be home for the next two months: a one bedroom apartment just off Commercial Drive - which according to Google - was trendy with just the slightest hint of "don't go out alone at night if you know what's good for you". Somehow still functioning, impressed that I hadn't collapsed into the puddle at our doorstep (Emmelia was in the carrier, so surely she'd be ok, right?) my husband uttered the words no traveller, especially after what seemed like an eternity of being awake, wants to hear - "Veena, where's the portacot?". After making our way inside and exchanging pleasantries with the owner (her warning us to keep the doors locked to keep the "harmless homeless guys" out) we set about trying to find out if our super-expensive cot was still at Vancouver airport. But of course, our phones weren't working...so my husband went out to find a payphone, and I laid Emmelia down to have a nap. All I wanted was to fall asleep next to her on the bed, but I needed to pee so badly, that I spent the next hour internally cursing myself for not peeing on any one of the last 15 times I'd reminded myself. David returned with a new cell phone and instructions to the airport that would save us the "$50 cab fare". Two buses and a train later, we had recovered the cot - and were in a cab home. The rest of this day is a blur of deep sleep intertwined with the best pizza I'd ever had. A few days later, and we were pretty well settled in. Emmelia was sleeping well (slowly being brought back from a 10 pm bedtime to 7 pm to allow for time zones) and I was internally weighing up the necessity of every trip out of the house (one tires of putting on all the extra layers every time you leave the house pretty quickly). I also quickly learnt not to underestimate the importance of always taking an extra layer after a long day out in what had to be the harshest wind I'd encountered for a while. I've also become accustomed to looking out the window and not seeing Brisbane's M1 motorway, but instead picturesque snow capped mountains surrounded by unique and trendy apartments. My morning trip to Starbucks is as much about the backdrop as it is the caffeine (for those playing at home - a tall, half caff soy latte). So, all in all - I am slowly realising that I'm actually in Canada. But instead of it being a solo adventure or work trip - it's a journey of discovery with the two most important people in my world. It all makes sense now, why none of those other planned adventures eventuated - they weren't supposed to. I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Just like I am now. PS - Commercial Drive is aweseome - no dodgy encounters at all!!