Minnie’s Musings

Yes, we had a lovely holiday, thank you very much.

Canada is a delightful country; big, beautiful and full of lovely people.

The Canadians are so polite. So genuinely polite. Not in the obsequious not-interested-in-you-but-I-am-paid-to-greet-you ambush as you enter the store (I am thinking specifically of The Gap in Quincy Market, Boston, where all I wanted was a pair of knickers), that is so prevalent south of the border and which is so alien to Brits who like to chat to staff at the till or not at all.

In fact, Canadians are so polite, I began to realise that I am really quite rude. About which I am now embarrassed. Embarrassed enough to change the habit of a menopausal life-time? Perhaps not. But embarrassed enough to have really tried very hard to emulate their persistent courtesy. So hard have I tried to smile to all and sundry after being brought up short in Quebec Old Town (I’ll get to that), the muscles in my face are complaining almost as much as my knees.

It is also clean and tidy, with lots of well kept parks and mown lawns.

Even accounting for the distortions of a two dimensional world map which distorts the far reaches of the northern and southern hemispheres so much that the north of Canada and south of Australia are stretched right out, Canada is a huge country, with huge distances. As my new found friend of previous posts (OK, rants), the Canadian student, observed, it takes less time to fly from London to Toronto than it does to fly from Toronto to British Columbia.

This has some significant logistical implications. National rail lines exist but are not comprehensive and I could not find a useful national bus service. Actually I was stumped at finding a national bus service full stop.

So much so that my plan to meet my sister, her partner and their dog at some point further east had to be kyboshed. You know that when someone offers to really go out of their way to help you, you are supposed to say “Are you sure?” several times before reluctantly accepting their generosity? Well, when my sister offered to pick us up at the airport (involving a 200 mile (+) detour on their journey north from Boston) I just said, “Yes, please” and “Thank you” before she changed her mind.