As most of you know I have packed my bags and hopped over the pond to Canada to spend a year on a Working Holiday Visa.
After a very comfortable flight, quick process through customs, and a dodgy photo from the customs robot, I was allowed to sit in the queue at the immigration office, hoping my holiday visa was going to be granted.
So its my turn, I shakily hand over my papers, but he just wants my passport to ‘check my file’. He is taking what seems like a life time clicking the mouse every two seconds on the computer. What is he doing? Has the UK sent a warning out about me?
I mean, would you let me in, based on this photo?
Next thing I know, he just hands me my visa document. OK, what just happened? I decide to just grab it and move on before he changes his mind.
My luggage. This is basically the main character in this story, and it is not the good guy. I had one large 25kg suitcase and a 20kg rucksack plus my carry on. Not to mention my massive coat, scarf, hat, and layers that I am not yet accustomed to.
I so far had not had to lift any of my luggage as have been using a trolley, yes even on the terminal transfer, sorry guys. I had to get the express train to the city, and and I had to give up my beloved trolley, bye my friend!
F*ck you Canada
As my rucksack was so heavy, before I left for the airport my partner had ‘instructed’ me to put it on a chair then sit down to put it on, and strap yourself in like its some form of parachute, then stand up. So I did all that, and surprisingly, success.
Then I dropped my hat… note to self, in future do not bend over with a 20kg bag on your back, and think you are actually going to be able to get back up.
I get to Union Station, but I do not have a seat to put my rucksack on, Plan B, drag all bags off the train in front of the rush hour queue (that are waiting for you to get off) and drag on the floor till you find a bench to start the parachute manoeuvre again.
Now, it suddenly it hits me. I am in a City across the world, and I have know idea where I am, and whats worse, I have no WiFi to tell me where to go!
I decide I am going to walk to the hostel, whats a 13 minute walk with over 40kg of luggage, and not having a clue where you are going?
Now I reach the junction of Younge and Front Street, why I remember this junction so well? Its where I had my 4th breakdown of the day.
My phone died for no apparent reason, I pick up my suitcase from falling over for the 20th time, it starts belting it down with rain, and I look up to the sky, F*ck you Canada, this is not what we agreed.
F*ck you, F*ck you
I grab my luggage, and hastily start marching down the street, f*ck you, f*ck you, is repeating in my head, I am already planning to book my flight home.
Taxi drivers are slowly driving past me thinking I am going to hail one, but the more pissed off I get, the more determined I get to continue to the hostel on foot.
40 minutes into my 13 minute journey, I see the Hostel in the distance. I honestly thought I had imagined it and I was never going to get there.
I fall into the hostel reception, I just dump my rucksack in the middle of the floor and go to the check in desk. (dumping my bags in the middle of reception, not appropriate? Tell a face that cares)
My back, shoulders and arms are killing, I am cold yet hot, my chest hurts from the cold, and I am pretty sure I was about to burst into tears.
Once checked in, she gives me a voucher for a free hot chocolate in the bar, which I go almost immediately, and suddenly all is right again in the world, (chocolate, answer to everything right?).
One thing from this experience I have taken is, you have done the journey once, well done you, now Uber it you stupid girl.