Oh Canada, home of superlative mountains, relatively clean waterways, laid-back line-dancin' locals and admittedly intimidating over-sized everything. Our conspicuous re-assimilation into the Canadian-way-of-living, under the auspices of a great canadian wedding, was surprisingly smooth and reassuring. We ended up feeling good about moving back to Canada except for the hard part; learning to speak 'Canadian' again.
Immidately after arriving on Canadian soil we were met by Naomi's mother, Donna, and her step-father-to-be, John, who both sported 'lamp' tans much darker than our two month 'travel' tans. After hugs, kisses, introductions, jokes and the realization that what validates several months of gruelling tropical beach time can also, simply, be purchased with several hours of local tanning-bed-salon time, we drove to the first location of reverse-culture-shock; Earl's Restaurant. Having just come from the surprisingly conservative Thailand where shorts and t-shirts are forbidden in all wats, governmet buildings and upscale hotels, and having just lived in Japan for four years, where modesty is the height of sexy, we were shocked when our chicken wings were served with cleavage. Not a modest 'V' of asian mammaries, but a whopping Double 'D'! of great canadian hooters. The wings were tatsy, it was wonderful to be back in the ample bosom of our homeland.
After lunch we all, stuffed-to-the-brim (great canadian proportions), headed towards the mountains, more specifically Invermere, Naomi's old stompin' ground. As rows of huge cedars and numerous breathtaking peaks flew past our wide eyes we realized that Canada has a geography just as dramatic and magnificent as anything we had seen on our travels. It was in our back yard the whole time and we didn't even know it! I blame my asthmatic aversion to cutting the lawn.
Once settled into our hotel and our approval of John, who's humour and love of the sweetest ice-creams of life immediately won us over, it was time to explore this land of ours. Time to mingle with the locals. Our attempts of mingling, the foreign art of small-talk, was quickly sabotaged as conversations either ended too quickly because we sounded too eager or simply wouldn't end because we'd forgotten the neighborly art of how-to-end-a-conversation. Our ineptitude was quickly sussed out by the locals and we were, ultimately, betrayed by our own accents. "Where ya from?" usually invaded our check-out banter after a minute or two revealing our 'otherness', even in our own country. "We're fom Canada...Toronto." partly quelled their suspicions, but not entirely as they'd never heard a Canadian speak that way before, not even an east-coaster. In any case, we were treated cordially, if not entirely 'at-home', and experienced what Canada must be like to a visiting Australian or the mysteriously accented New Zealander.
Quickly making up for our linguistic shortcomings we were surounded with warm embraces by all of Naomi's friends and newly extended family. Days came and went with the intensity of wedding preparations and we, despite one false malarial scare, hardly noticed the jet-lag. The wedding went by in a blur of snapshots and line-dances (a hidden talent that N and her sister expertly unleashed in the wedding reception). The bride and groom, both 're-treads' by their own admissions, looked fantastic. The reception was a blast; N's energetic aunt Rita was the highlight of the party, eclisped only briefly during the afformentioned line-dancing. I nearly lost my eye when a gangly hormonal youth sliced past me to catch the blue garter. He obviously didn't realize the in-law in-appropriateness of me catching that sure babe-magnet.
After cleaning and sobering up we were left with one afternoon to explore the surrounding area. It as enough to fall for the narcotic paroxysms of mountain dwelling. In short, I'm hooked. Not only on the Great Canadian Rockies, but organic hippy stores, Alberta beef, prarie sunsets and roadside elk. Now, if only I could learn how to say that in 'Canadian'.
