Memories of the Canadian exchange have a fond place in my brain. Some good folk, a lot of fun and even a veggie hotdog from a street vendor. Awesome.

We were headed towards our destination a day early in the driving rain. The last night had been a stopover at a trailhead somewhere in some forest in some northern US state. Conny was panicky. Prior to going to bed in our isolated little spot miles from civilisation, we had binge watched a few episodes of The Bridge. A dark and occasionally violent TV show about the brutal murders and dismemberment of many people, often in an isolated little spot miles from civilisation. Also, bear in mind, this is a girl who made me switch off the Goonies as it was too scary. Sleep easy she did not. The country side makes noises. Conny is not keen on noises. She asked if I had the knife. I informed her that I don’t think our Swiss army knife is going to do much either way, but she was not happy that I had left it below. I however was tucked up warm and toasty and had to assure it would be my guns that saved her if anything were to happen. The knife was unnecessary.

Morning, came, as did the weather. We hit the road, and tried to call our host, but t’would appear my phone does not like Canadians. We ponder it then think to ourselves “Nah we’ll just wait til we hit the Canadian side of the border and pick up some wifi, drop a quick message or something.”

We pulled up to the border crossing and it’s policeman with some trepidation and a little extra pucker, given my previous experience. The policeman’s questions seemed to me to be overly pointed and somewhat angrily delivered, but Conny assures me they were fine and I was probably feeling the negative affects of my entry in to the US and the US’s near entry into me and it was clouding my judgement.

Interrogation over with we proceed to the nearest petrol station. WIFI all require codes and purchases from some less than savoury establishments. I think I’ll try my phone again, only to discover it really doesn’t like Canada, I am not even offered a carrier in my settings menu. Phoning is off the menu.

The night draws in and we are slowly progressing, but we don’t even know at this point if Matt, our host is aware we are gonna be early.

HALLELUJAH! A rest stop with WIFI, God (in whom I don’t even believe) bless you OnRoute.

…Twenty minutes, a Pumpkins Spiced Latte, an actual coffee and much shuffling around the service station, following the phone like a divining rod later…

FUCK YOU ONROUTE! DAMN YOU STRAIGHT TO HELL(in which I don’t believe) AND MAY YOU AND YOUR FALSE WIFI PROMISES ROT ETERNAL EVERMORE IN PAIN!

64 clicks down the highway, an entirely different OnRoute network connected to and 4 devices attempting to update our various messaging devices and still no phone service, my venom towards telecoms in the North American Continent is becoming decidedly audible and people are starting to look at me funny.

We proceed. And indeed arrive at our destination. I ring the bell, I hear nothing. I tap the door. Nothing. I figure they must be in bed.

Black Beauty it is then. Penthouse hoisted we post apologetic notes in finest upperclass English to the local residents on Beauty’s windows. Our Doublemint adhesed scribbles explaining that we are no threat and are indeed kindly folk not wishing to wake up the neighbourhood with banging and knocking and alarms and such and that we are indeed no threat to the kids and pets or indeed other valuables, we bunker down.

Morning comes. Another knock. Another bell ring. The note I placed strategically on their porch remained. I head to the park for a little stretch of the legs and head back to Conny.

“I’ve just seen him!” she beams

“What do you mean?” I enquire

“He just rode past on his bike…well I think he did”

“Did he come from that house?”

“Yes”

“Did he look Chinese”

“Yes”

“Well, I would hazard a guess that it was him…did you say hello?”

“Oh no”

“Come again?”

“Well he looked right at the tent.”

…

Tongue bitten, we head to Coffee Culture (more disposable culture I’m afraid…people love to throw things away on this great continent) we hook up to their wifi. Joy! It works. Matt had all my messages. Only he was waiting up til 11.30…we got thre at 10…then out the window Matt, in full cycle, blasts past. I inform Conny that she should refresh her email in 5 minutes. She does.

We are informed he has just been out cycling and got back in. We are welcome any time.

Moseying back, with newly acquired Boost bar (a surprising find along with some Vimto on the way back) we say hello to Matt. He informs me that the doorbell doesn’t work and that he waited in the basement, where one can hear no knocks.

At least tonight though, we would have a bed!

The good thing about being with friends is that you slip straight back into chatting the random and odd, much more than just updating on the ins and outs of life over the last age.

We are introduced to his young family who are suitably wonderful. Even his mum and dad come over to say hi, have a natter and watch the kids whilst we head out for dinner! Even knowing we are going out for dinner they bring food, and vegetarian especially for me, they know I am an eater, it clearly resonated in the Nip psyche that I love me some food. So pre dinner food demolished, we head out for deeeeeeeeelicious tacos at an awesome, vibrant and lively place. Their charred corn on the cob with chili and stuff simultaneously managed a trio of feats. Changed the very colour of my beard with all its adornments, the spice very nearly took my face off and the taste blew my mind. HolyChrist these things were tasty.

The tacos were a long way from the things I remember from the supermarket shelves all folded and crispy. They were fresh and soft and phenomenal. Boy did I dig me some tacos. Conny, too, despite that it gave her her customary chili lips (Conny is afflicted by a highly amusing condition that any time hot fat or chili spice is present, in any kind of even the most nominal quantity, she develops an extra set of lips around her already existing lips*, a bit Ronald McDonald, it does tickle me so) loved it. I plowed through as the sweat built on my forehead and even chucked down a couple of lovely churros to boot.

The night is young and we feel like pretending to be so we head to a brewery and I am designated as driver. To the right, Conny points out the veggie dog at the stall. It is a necessary addition to the evening. Goes down a treat. I don’t even know what the green stuff or the yellow stuff was that I smothered that thing in. But it was ace.

The brewery is in Oktoberfest swing as we enter, the ales look delicious and Conny, as any good germanic girl would, opts for the flight of all the germanic style beers on the menu. Our cohorts ordered their appropriate IPA’s and we looked set for a solid night. Then the band ended and those taco’s took their toll on one of our number, he shall remain nameless, but wasn’t me and those in the know will know of whom I speak. His first trip to the loo was a standard fair in our eyes as he popped off, no sign yet that anything was amiss, upon his third exit from the table we could see the build up of tension scrawled across his face, the purpose in his walk a tell tale sign. We collectively watched and felt for him as the queue for the stalls had become a long one and we turned around in giggles and utterances of empathy as he entered the final stretch and turned the corner.

A few moments passed however and our empathy turned to concern. There was some level of drama escalating in the line-up. One immaculately bearded man was becoming tense, shouting into the stalls, and banging. Empathy again swept over us as we only figured they were all waiting our boy’s exit, while he was looking after a torrid exit all of his own. We pondered the walk of shame having to walk past those vexed hipster folk and their scornful gaze as he walked back, past them and the waft of the murder scene in his wake hit their noses. Then out he pops, not a sausage of bother on him. The drama in his stall apparently paled in comparison to that in the stall next to him, despite his being intruded upon by an unfortunate hipsterette mid flow. No the boy next door in the stalls had managed to pick that spot for a nap. Tears were flowing and MacGuyver brains were at work upon how to enter the lavatory and rescue him, but judging by the time taken, MacGuyver was no Canuck.

We headed home at a reasonable hour upon which we were greeted by another friend from the exchange. It is odd how decades can pass and people are exactly the same. Odd but comforting. A cup of tea or two later and it was time for bed. A lovely, comfortable, warm bed. A delightful end to a delightful day. And for your info, I was happy that my very own Trump wall was doing it’s job, keeping the Mexican’s at bay.

*the lips on her face you filthy heathens. Keep your minds out of both the gutter and my girlfriends nickers.