`Twas a year ago today that I was celebrating the beginning of a new adventure half way around the world. What followed was one of the quickest years of my life, and now here I am, full circle to the bosom of Melbourne.

hee, hee… you said “bosom”

Well ladies and gentlemans of “teh internets” (and yes I meant to write “gentlemans; grammar nazis), I don’t think there is any way I can possibly continue to draw out the chapter of my life that is the “Canadian Tales“. The time has come, one pregnancy term later, to dog-ear the page and put down the book for a well deserved kip.

That’s not to say that I haven’t done absolutely everything within my almighty skinny frame’s power to squeeze every last juicy drop from one poor carcass of an orange that now remains. For instance just one week ago I was once again extending my “working” holiday to the further reaches of Australia’s north, spending five days basking in the glorious humidity of a monsoon season’s grey sky in Port Douglas, Queensland with a friend.

I couldn’t have asked for a better wind-down than the Sea Temple Resort in little old Pee-Dee (Port Douglas). The holiday destination was borderline a ghost town being the rain season and my days were spent lounging around the pool and drinking. There’s something called the Great Barrier Reef up there somewhere, it didn’t come with a free breakfast buffet and mango cocktails though so I can’t say I got to it. I know, I know, sacrilegious, but another day.

This is all fine and dandy but I guess I should get down to the crux of it, which is the fact that my little soirée into the land of Canuck is over and it’s time to get back to the harsh realities of a real life, a new job and living in Melbourne to which I’ve just resigned to for the next 12 months having signed a new lease.

Obviously I’m asked quite frequently on my opinion of both Canada and my personal adventure and I must say excluding its abrupt ending and the ongoing battle I’m having with my travel insurance company (that’s another post altogether), I had an incredible time! Yes I missed everyone dearly and yes I was homesick on more occasions than I care to remember but it was an experience that I’d never take back, if anything it did nothing more than spur on my interest in doing it again!

For those of you that have seen me since my return I think you’d agree that something’s changed upstairs in the old noggin’. I feel free, unencumbered if you will and enjoying life in all its roller costing glory. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I’ve been contracting and not confining myself to an office 9 to 5, 5 days a week but I think it has far more to do with my own growth and a sense of achievement in knowing that I can survive out there in the big bad scary world; even if it was only Canada and everyone speaks English. But enough with excerpts from my upcoming novel “I went to Canada and I came back a self-help guru” let’s talk highlights!

Snow: Canada was just amazingly beautiful! I could list of a hundred different locations that were just so breath-taking but nothing compares to the first time I walked out of the office at 6pm and felt that first snow flake gently float through the sky to rest on my cheek. Sure I’ve been to snowfields before but this was just so different. You didn’t have to drive three hours up a mountain to find it all I had to do was go outside and there it was. I used to sit in my bedroom and stare out the window at downtown Toronto and just watch the wind carry and swirl the white dots as it pleased. It was just magical and I crave to see it again.

New York: Sure it’s not even in Canada but it was just a 20 minute flight across the border and boy does that city steal my heart! Having a couple of Lincoln lads there doesn’t do you in any disservice either. There aren’t words to describe the magnitude that is New York City. There isn’t anything you couldn’t find in the city and yet ironically you couldn’t not find anything to do. The architecture is what truly steals my heart though and with each visit I make the journey to “Top of the Rock” to breath in the enormity of the city’s beauty.

The Moose: Whilst it may not seem like a huge deal there’s a lengthy story to go along with it that I’ll now condense into one sentence. I saw a moose whilst simply driving down the road while my kayaking friends, rather desperate in their search for fauna, paddled their hearts out for six hours and saw squat! I win!

I had a truly wonderful time living on the other side of the world and to those who are thinking of going to Canada be it for holiday or work I couldn’t recommend it more. Now that I’m home I miss Toronto much more than I thought I would and I’m resolved to return (albeit most likely in a tourist capacity) to explore areas I didn’t have the opportunity to see such as Montreal and Quebec if not that then to see another NHL game!

Thank you Canada, or more specifically Toronto (and Hamilton) you were very good to me. And thus ends the Canadian Tales.

For those of you whom aren’t in the know I have made the journey home to the land of golden soil and wealth for toil. You might think that would mean the ending of my “Canadian Tales” series but until I stop living out of a suitcase I think it’s fair to say I’m still not “home”, well that and the fact I don’t actually have a home to speak of, I’d call it more of a splattering of possessions that spans three different friend’s homes, a storage cage and an attic.

Arriving just before Christmas I spent a week in my old home town of Melbourne crashing in the spare room of good friends. Melbourne was a bit of a blur, every day seemed to be filled with drink and cheer, fitting the season perfectly really, but impeded greatly on the progress of some contract work I’d picked up to tide me over until my working life recommences next March.

Checking on the remainder of my post Ga-RAJ sale home-ware possessions that I’d stashed in the storage cages of my old building’s cafe (with permission from their owner of course, who had unfortunately passed whilst I was in Canada) I was filled with relief to find them still there under the cafe’s new ownership and even more so to find out there was no problem in keeping everything there until my return to Melbourne in 2009.

Life of storage secured and an exponential-increase-in-alcoholic-intake week later I was in Adelaide with family and more friends to celebrate Christmas. It was fantastic to see my family again, it may have only been seven months since I saw them last but with what I’d been through with the attack in Seattle I’ve wanted nothing more to see them all again. I was treated to a wonderful new lens for my SLR and many other great presents but as corny as it sounds being home to see everyone was present enough for me.

Two cities and one major holiday down the only place left to go for the holiday season was Port Lincoln (Plinkin’). My Mum is the only person who lives in Port Lincoln still, my home town, and whilst I saw her on Christmas day when she flew to Adelaide my brother’s Christmas present to her was to tile her house and seeing how I didn’t really have anything else to do until March I, along with my sister and my brother’s girlfriend had all volunteered to help.

So that’s where my nomadic life is at the moment. I’ve rung in the new year Plinkin’ style at the local hot spot, my arms feel like lead weights that wont stop tingling from the four hours of jack hammering I had to do yesterday and where I sit in wait of figuring out exactly what it is I’m going to do and where I’m going to live?!?

Lastly for those I’ve not been able to get in touch with directly, a happy new year to you all. I hope you rang it in with style.

How would you spend your last full day in Canada before returning to Australia? Ice skating in Nathan Phillips Square? Watching ice hockey in a local bar? Randomly selecting strangers and asking them if they “know what it’s all a-boot?“. All great suggestions and worthy activities to keep one occupied during their last hours in Canadia-land but no, no, not for me; instead I took it as my opportunity to visit the newly redeveloped Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO). Why you might ask, well that’s just how I roll bitches.

In fact the real reason I wanted to visit the AGO before leaving Toronto has absolutely nothing to do with the art within it’s glass curved walls but rather for the walls themselves. You see the new building was designed by none other than everyone’s favourite architectural doodler Frank Gehry.

Gehry, who was born in Toronto, is one of the world’s most famous living architects. His signature curves provide breath taking aesthetics utilizing natural light as an almost catalytic emphasis upon them. His most well known piece of work, the Guggenheim Museum “Bilbao” , is in great company including the Walt Disney Concert Hall, Dancing House and Seattle’s Experience Music Project, which I have also just recently visited.

Immediately upon entering the AGO’s foyer you’re greeted with signature Gehry, a curved-maze-like ramp providing an unique version of access for the disabled or merely adventurous, leading you to the counters of ticketing agents guarding the gallery’s true core via an CAD$18 toll.

Just yonder of the AGO’s ticketing smurfs is an area of open space that has to be experienced first hand to appreciate completely. It’s just sex in architecture, there’s no other way to describe the open hall almost church like area, so vacant with it’s sparse Gehry designed furniture and three story high ceilings yet so warmly immersive as if held by it’s beech coloured wooden floors, spiral staircase and echoing acoustics.

With such an amazing beginning I must admit the remainder of the gallery was rather disappointing. I presume there are only so many ways you can make one square room after another different and the contrasting flat walls are a necessity for the artworks most effective display. For me there was really only one other area that was true Gehry genius and that was the buildings street fronting glass atrium (as seen in the picture above).

Running the length of a city block the upper floor of the AGO’s curved face is a composite of hefty serpentine styled wooden beams and their conforming glass sheets. The internal area itself is home to only a few large pieces of art yet it’s emotive atmospheric warmth is undeniably comforting even whilst only exposed to the darkest of nights beyond it’s half domed enclosure.

I think it’s pretty obvious that I was taken aback by this building or perhaps more so the mind and work of Frank Gehry. I’m a little bit of an architectural nut I must admit but I don’t think you need to be to truly appreciate the beauty of this building and even if you don’t find the structure exciting there’s always plenty of art scattered about the place, or so I’m told!

As I rapidly approach the final days of my Canadian experience it occurred to me that I’ve not really shared a great deal of the “real” day-to-day Toronto with my internet peoples. So in a rather weak attempt to introduce you all to the digs I’ve called home for that past six months, I present to you “My Toronto” – A Video Tour (with Audio Commentary).

Just in case there are any of you out there that think this is actually serious; it’s a joke.

For my second to last weekend in fair-ole-Canada-land I was treated well beyond my wildest dreams. Joined by an all Aussie crew consisting of Andrew “Sweet Cheeks” Dansie, Dave “El Presidente” Smithson and Aimee “Technically American” Wagner we embarked on adventure into the now frequented cottage country district of Muskoka ending up in the appropriately named destination of “Port Sydney“.

Clambering into Sweet Cheek’s new Jeep (after losing it in the Airport carpark for 20 minutes) we were off, cruising down Highway 27 taking in the beauty of pitch black darkness as you become accustom to blanketing the sky after 4pm. To relieve the boredom of it all the heavens opened with a flurry of snow dancing in the glow of freshly installed headlight globes.

Once arriving at the now snow clad cottage, three hours after our originally predicted ETA, there wasn’t a great deal of activity beyond alcohol and sleep to make clear mention of. We had a constant light dusting of snow falling throughout our stay that was just beautiful, a lot of my time I spent staring out the window and watching the flakes fall against the glass amazed at their intricacy in random design. There was one brief parade of enthusiasm, it involved a snowball fight on the side of Highway 11 in front of the gates to the closed national park we were kicked out of (if it’s closed for winter lock the fucking gates you idiots), but after 15 minutes of running around in 0 degree weather your lungs start to burn just a tad, well ours did anyway, and besides there was more alcohol to consume back at the cottage.

Unfortunately for me alcohol still isn’t going down the best since my little hospital stay. I did luckily managed to consume one of El Presidente’s fine Mojito’s made with the skill and precision only that of a true “muddler” master could achieve. It’s a shame they tasted like crap without the sugar added but that wasn’t his fault ;) My lack of alcohol consumption did however mean that I was the only half sober one in the place, thus automatically delegating me as the cottage’s personal chef for the weekend. Over the two and a half days we were there I managed to cook 3 T-bone steaks, 20 marinated chicken drumsticks, chocolate chip cookies, and 6 egg, bacon & tomato muffins each to the individuals personal preference. Hmmm, maybe I should start The Cooking Show back up again!

Put it down to good friends, hospital stays or the miraculous beauty of a snow kissed scenery but with only one weekend left in North America it’s going to be very hard to top this one! Thanks guys!

You can see all the photos here.

Just as the first snow begins to fall in Toronto I am making a sooner than expected departure. In less than two weeks (December 4th) I will be boarding a plane and heading home to Melbourne.

Unfortunately the return will signal the end to my “Canadian Tales” adventure, which in turn has been cut short as a result of my recent hospital stint.

A lot of people have asked if I’m going home simply because of what happened and whilst it was a terrible ordeal the act itself is not the reason but it does construct the basis. The healing fractures in my skull require further medical attention with specialists that I can simply not afford here in Canada, the one in my eye socket especially as it may require surgery to prevent any eye damage.

I am regretful that I wont be staying longer, especially now that I’ve seen the city under a blanket of snow – it’s a magical sight and I’ve now decided that I simply must have a white Christmas in years to come. That said seeing my family after seven months over here is going to be the best Christmas present I could ask for.

See you all in Australia December 6th!

It may have been way back in early August but it took the Pure Pwnage peeps 3 months to upload the video from the event and then another month for me to realize the thing even existed! Whoops.

Oh well better late than never they say. Check it out below and listen out for my almighty roar when they ask if anyone from Australia made it. Believe it or not that is my voice screaming “yeaaaaah”.

OK, so I’m a big kid… what did I do with my last day before returning to work? I stood out in the freezing cold *snowing* weather and watched the Toronto Christmas Pageant. It did happen to being going along the street in front of my apartment building which may have had something to do with me actually braving the elements to watch but truth be told I just wanted to enjoy myself and be a kid again.

I must admit I was slightly disappointed by the quality of floats. Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen a pageant in about ten years or so but I remember the one in Adelaide to be far more impressive. Sorry T.dot you lose this one!

Flickr set here.

In case you’re wondering what this series of posts is in regards to I had a recent stint in a Seattle hospital after being assaulted. Details on the “why, what, when, how” here.

OK everyone prepare yourself I’m about to shock you; nope, blow your minds even! Hang on, no, even better, I’m about to turn your world upside down bitches! Are you ready? Are you sure? OK, here goes… 3… 2… 1… I’m an Indian. There, I said it. Well, no, that’s a lie, I’m half Indian, and no it’s not “Woa, woa, woa” Native American Indian, I am in fact half curry-munching-bad-BO-thank-you-very-much-come-again Indian. Can you believe it?!

I’m surprised more people don’t figure it out for themselves to be honest. I mean my name is “Raj” after all but then again my skin is about as dark as an extremely over-milked cup of tea. You know, that brown that kind of sits in between blood-nut white and tanning-salon-addict orange. The point is I get mistaken for pretty much every other nationality besides Indian. Italian, Spanish, French, Cuban, fuck I’ve even had Thai and Chinese! In most cases I’ll generally respond with a correction of “Nah mate I’m `stral-yan” (Not really, I speak the Queen’s English) not actually letting them in on the fact that I’m also part Indian.

Now there’s plenty of reasons that this is probably the case, the biggest of which is that I was never brought up with a great exposure to an Indian culture, but if I’m to be honest with myself one of the real reasons is more likely to be that I’m a bit ashamed. Indian’s don’t get the best rap when it comes to social acceptance in Western culture. They smell, they take our call centre jobs, they drive our cabs, their heads wobble as they talk, etc, etc, the list goes on.

It took the shit kicking of a lifetime for me to re-evaluate my own perception of Indians but I’m glad it came about. Whilst in hospital in Seattle I had three different Indian nurses, two male, one female. One of them in particular “Vic” was there from day one, he would come in every couple of hours and check my sugar level, empty my urinals and then leave again as quickly as he had arrived. It was like clockwork, he was never late, he never pried, he was always professional and proud of what he was doing. I would watch him come in and perform the routine meticulously time and time again until on the third day, when my senses had begun to return, I finally asked him his name and where he was from. After a brief conversation, one that is almost identical to every conversation I have with a newly met Indian; “I’m half Indian”, “No, Dad’s Indian”, “He’s Punjabi”, and finally “No I don’t speak Hindi”, Vic left and we barely spoke another word until it was my day to leave and we said goodbye and good luck.

What amazed me most about Vic was just how professionally he went about everything. He wasn’t being a snob he knew that I didn’t want to talk, he just went about what he had to do and did it with the upmost of attention and decorum. It took me a while, but when I thought about it the majority of Indians I’ve encountered in their workplace did the same. They work hard, they do jobs no one else wants to (I mean the guy was emptying my piss into a toilet for Christ’s sake) and they do it proudly as best they can. Vic’s work demeanor made me proud to be Indian, made me feel almost guilty that I, at times, can be a pre-madonna when it comes to working matters and most importantly made me want to be better. It was much needed inspiration.

Professional pride is however only half of the story because what happened after that first conversation is more of the amazing culture that is India. You see, once it was established that I was of Indian blood the grapevine did a’flutter. Eevery Indian within a 50km radius knew of my situation within a matter of minutes. By the end of the day I’d met three more Indian nurses and by the next day I had my Dad’s extended family calling me to take me in as soon as I returned to Toronto. I swear the gay rumour network stole their schematics from the Indians, either that or they outsourced its construction to them!

Indian’s accept any as their own, if you’re Indian you are family. My Mum and I were talking about this the other day because of how confusing it makes things when you’re actually trying to figure out who’s a blood relative and who isn’t. For example, every Indian male I meet who is friend of my father is my “uncle” and any Indian I meet of my generation is my “brother”. They have an unbelievable sense of family, something I’ve unknowingly inherited in the way I always put family before anything, but never really understood how passionately I do so as what I believe to be a result of my Indian genetics.

Hospital was an eye opener on my heritage. I’m not about to whack on a turban and migrate to “the homeland”, that’s not what I’m getting at all, but the next time someone asks me about my background that silly feeling of shame isn’t going to be there any more.

P.S. I’m not just saying all this because Indian beat Australia in the cricket either :)