The Early Days of our Canadian Experience

Yesterday was the two year anniversary of the day Oliver and I first came to Canada. I don't think I've ever really told anyone the story beyond a quick sentence or two... but it's actually really interesting. And I feel like writing today, so I'm going to share it.

Before we left China, and after we had decided that we were going to stay together, Oliver and I had to figure out where we were going to live next. It had to be an English-speaking country, since I wanted to go somewhere I could get a "real" job (no bartending at a beachside dive in Mexico, for example). America was out, since green cards are hard to come by, and London was out too, since it would be difficult for me to get an EU work permit. We eventually decided that Canada was our best bet, since work permits were "easy" to get, and I was staying close enough to my parents to keep them from the grisly fate of death-by-worrying.

We flew from Milwaukee to Toronto on November 29, 2005 (picture of us waiting at the Milwaukee airport above left). When we got to customs at the airport in Toronto, we knew enough to keep quiet about our plans to look for jobs, since border officials really frown on the sort of guerilla immigration that we were attempting. Unfortunately, we hadn't put together a plausible story, and the border guards were incredibly suspicious. Rightfully so, really. We said we wanted to travel around Canada for the six coldest, darkest months of the year, and we couldn't name a single place we wanted to go other than Toronto. Riiiiight.

The experience/interrogation at the border really shook me up, and added to the already powerful fear that was building up within me. We didn't know a soul in Canada. We didn't have any leads for anything beyond a good hostel to stay at for our first night. There was no guarantee that I could get a work permit (as a German, Oliver qualified for a special program), which meant that I couldn't work anywhere, not even McDonald's, unless someone agreed to sponsor me. And sponsorship, as I later learned, is not easy to come by. That's a story for a different day, though.

Waking up my first morning in Toronto, I was overwhelmed. As much as I kind of hate to admit this, I spent most of that day sniffling as I walked with Oliver around town, looking for internet cafes and other logistical spots. I felt like everyone I passed on the street was glaring at me: "get out of here, dirty foreigner. Quit taking our jobs." Having just come off seven months in China where I either earned subsistence wages or didn't work at all, I had a limited amount in the bank to work with and wanted to find a job as quickly as possible. Being a foreigner in Canada though, I had a red-tape barrier that I didn't know how to get around.

We spent our first two days looking for housing. Toronto is teeming with new immigrants, and there's an extensive network of "guest houses". Guest houses are a step above a hostel, because even though you share a bathroom, kitchen and living room with a small group of strangers, you have your own bedroom. You can pay by the day, week, or month. Unfortunately, almost all these guest houses are located out in the suburbs. We spent a lot of time on the subway and buses that connected from the subway and seemed to go out further and further... We sucked it up though, and eventually found a good, affordable place and quickly moved our suitcases and backpacks in.

I can't adequately describe how good it felt to have a home base. We were still cold, jobless, friendless and unsure of what to do next, but we had a room of our own to feel the uncertainty in private. On day three I sent out a resume while the snow fell outside our window... and I went so far as to feel cozy. Three days after this, our landlordess bumped us up to her other property, and this time we even had a tv in our room. We lived on the 8th floor of a giant, boxy building and overlooked the parking lot for the commuter train into the city. This was my first experience with joblessness, and every day I watched the commuters run to catch the train to work.

After we got settled, we fell into a pattern for the next couple months: send out resumes, read, go to interviews, hoard money. That last one was mostly me. I had $x to my name, and I was going to keep track of every cent because there was no way I was going broke. We bought macaroni and cheese, large bags of potatoes, and the materials to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We stood and argued in the housewares aisle of Wal-Mart for 10 minutes because Oliver wanted to buy a $4 teapot and I thought he was being too extravagant. I obsessively tracked my expenses and patted myself on the back each time I managed to make it through the day without spending any money. I still have that Excel sheet. A couple examples:

January 20th:
$.95- mailed Grandma's card
$.67 - chocolate
$3.47 - milk

January 24th:
$3.00 - breakfast
$4.25 - Mississauga bus fare
$.76 - snack
$23.50 - groceries

Things eventually worked themselves out, of course. I won't pretend that this was a real hardship, or that I can understand what poverty or real uncertainty feels like. I will say though, that it was something that changed me a bit, and that I'm glad to have in my "stable" of experiences. I feel proud of myself for doing something that really frightened me, and awed by Oliver because it didn't phase him a bit. And even though I know it's a really cheesy thing to say I can't help myself so here it comes: Gol, isn't life amazing?