Initial Ramblings from a Foreign Land

There’s something exciting about entering a foreign land. Right from the moment you walk off the plane, everything feels different.

The first thing I noticed was the sweltering heat, engulfing me at the plane’s door. After clearing customs, we were enveloped by strange languages and food from lands that once seemed so far away.

That’s when it struck me. The strange language was actually English with every sentence ending in, “Eh?” And the food was sweet and sour chicken, served in the Air Canada lounge.

OK, so maybe the Toronto airport isn’t the most exotic place, but with an airport code like YYZ, it has to have been one of the most remote countries on earth, right?

It also is technically the first time I’ve stepped foot in Canada, the land that my grandfather immigrated from several decades ago. I suppose that you could maybe say I was in the Great White North that time in the Boundary Waters with friends, and we carried our canoes and camping equipment over a two-mile portage before realizing we had misread the map and ventured into Canada. (If INS is reading, please know, we turned back and returned to the U.S. of A. as quickly as our tired bodies would carry us back over the excessively muddy trail.)

Anyway, like most Americans, I don’t know nearly enough about Canada. I know that according to every Canadian I have ever met, hockey is the greatest sport ever invented, and if the rest of us would just give it a chance we would realize that nothing else could possibly come close.

Truth is, I like hockey quite a lot, but the argument has always struck me as being exactly the same one the rest of the world makes about soccer. Excuse me, futbol. It’s the sports world’s equivalent of explaining why a joke is funny.

I also know that Canada has turned out some really good music. And some not so good music (I’m looking at you Celine Dion). Ever since I left the plane, Brian Adams and Rush keep taking their turn in the continuous soundtrack of my mind. And now there’s a little Neil Young.

This all leads us to the question that probably should have crossed our minds long before this moment: Why in the world would one fly from Denver to Toronto en route to Peru? The answer, of course, is frequent flier miles. Not that we wanted to earn more, but that, as any frequent traveler surely knows, airlines make their “free” tickets as inconvenient as possible.

The airlines know what we both decided fairly quickly. A free ticket was worth 3-4 hours in an airport that is completely out of the way.

So, if you ever find yourself with the same option, there are worse places to hang out than the Air Canada Maple Lounge. Just make sure you try the lo mein.

Side note: I once had this exchange with my parents.

Me: Where in Canada did Grandfather grow up?

Mom: It was outside of Toronto.

Dad: What did you just say?

Mom: I said he grew up outside of Toronto.

Dad: Yeah, but it was eight hours outside of Toronto.