Some years, fall can be like a long French movie where you can almost see each leaf changing colour while having an identity crisis and wondering about the meaning of life.
I reached over to grab my phone, plugged to the charger because surely, the power must have been restored at one point during the night.
There are events you know you will recall vividly years later—what you were doing, where you were, how you dealt with the situation.
On the evening of December 23, we drove to downtown Ottawa in a blizzard. Why? Because we’re Canadians and we fucking drive in a blizzard if needed, that’s why.
In doubt, come to the lawn of the highest office in the land and express your Canadianess.
On Friday night, twelve hours before what had been hyped up as “Canada’s big milestone” in “Ottawa, the place to be,” we had facts but no specific plan.
It starts with a predictable giant sign—well, two, actually, “Ottawa” and “#Stand for Canada.”
You wouldn’t believe how popular the yearly Tulip Festival is. Busloads of tourists suddenly show up to take pictures of flower beds and it’s almost impossible to find a parking spot around Dow’s Lake.
I still couldn’t believe how far the car had travelled from the moment it had crossed the median to where it had finally landed.
The “extreme weather warning” issued by our messiah, The all-almighty Weather Network, was not a joke. Yet, until the night before, it felt surreal.
Grab a leaf or two and admire the unique range of colours and patterns along the veins. No, I’m not stoned, thank you for asking.
Thanksgiving is not hugely commercial. Sure, supermarket aisles feature all the fixings you need for your Thanksgiving dinner, but you’re not expected to decorate your front lawn with fake glow-in-the-dark turkeys.
On Canada Day, after snapping the expected Mark-with-a-flag, Mark-with-a-moose-hat and Mark-being-cute shots, I started to…
It had been a while since our last Canada Day in the national capital, aka “for once we are the centre of the word” city.
We had been waiting for this moment with the same eagerness as an American teen about to turn 21. Jackpot: a long week and hot weather. Finally!
You can find pretty much anything in Chinatown if you can read a language other than English or French.
Most of the Christmas “magic” happens indoors, in malls, or in the many front yards of suburbia, where the same people who go overboard for Halloween go completely crazy for Christmas.
After our trip to France last summer, it was hard for me to get used to the quietness of Ottawa. Except for the downtown core and the Byward Market at the height of the tourist season, most streets are deserted here.
This Wednesday was a perfect—blue sky, barely any wind, about 15°C. Not bad for early November. It’s probably why we weren’t the only ones queuing in front of Rideau Hall to see Prime Minister-designate Justin Trudeau and his new cabinet being sworn in.
“Apparently, you are out of PUMPKINS!” the angry customer spat out. “On October 30! Tell me this is a joke. Tell me you have a box left in the back.”
This year, I didn’t even notice fall had started. It was still nice and warm…
It’s hot. Like, really hot. Like shit-I-had-no-idea-Canada-could-be-so-hot hot. We are experiencing a heat wave and Dairy Queen is making millions of dollars.