squash in the arvo

Apparently there are plenty of things that we don't do in Canada. Here I thought that Canada was such a multi-cultural society, taking in the ways and customs of lots of ethnicities, but it seems that there is still plenty we miss out on. Or perhaps it is only Blake and I who missed out on this information somewhere along the line. Maybe you will read this and know all about these items and sayings. If thats the case then I blame my parents (because its always easiest to blame them!). If not, then read on and become cultured! Out of our entire group of friends, Blake and I are definitely the naive ones when it comes to ways of the world. People are constantly surprised when we ask them to repeat a sentence because we haven't heard a word used before, or look at something questionably since we have never tried it before. The first day I realized that I had a lot to learn was when my friend Correne called and said the following " How you going? If you're keen bring your cossie and boardies over this arvo and we'll relax and watch the feral boys get all aggro over their footie." Say what????? It only took about three more repeats and a lot of guessing before I got to the real meaning of the invite. She wanted us to bring over our swimsuits and trunks that afternoon to watch the crazy beach boys play some aggressive soccer... And thats not all! Talk of "fairy bread" and "hundreds and thousands" ensued. Apparently in Australia they like to eat bread with sprinkles (hundreds and thousands) for birthday parties- called Fairy Bread. Its not just the Aussies either. The Brits are just as bad, especially when it comes to food. My friend Nikki asked me over for Squash a few weeks ago. Although the request was a little weird, it was before I worked and I would have eaten anything anywhere just for the company at that point! Over I went only to discover that squash is a beverage, not just a food. It is actually a cordial mixed with water. A fancier version of Aquafina or Crystal Light flavoured water! It also took a few conversations in which I wondered why Nikki and her boyfriend Ian consumed so much food during tea before I learned that "tea" is another word for supper.
This past weekend we attended an Australian ANZAC party held by our friends in support of ANZAC Day-much like Remembrance Day- only they celebrate that too... In typical style it was also melded with St. George's Day for the Brits. Everything here is multicultural. Our eyes were opened to the world of barbecued chocolate bananas and Pimms (a delightfully refreshing English dirnk of alchohol mixed with cucumbers, strawberry and other fruit bits). Not to be outdone, and feeling rather culture-less of late, Blake and I decided that we wanted to add a little to the event. We thought long and hard about what we could bring to the table (figuratively and literally). It seems that poutine has already been discovered by our new friends. I thought about Nanaimo Bars, my favourite thing in the world, but the idea of the sweaty melty mess they would become was enough to deter me. Then I had my best idea yet. For an outside gathering nothing is more Canadian than a good old 'Smore! Most people had never heard of them, or better yet, had heard tale of the ever-impressive 'smore but didn't know what it was. Surprisingly many didn't even know what a Graham Cracker was. After our little lesson on Canadiana, Blake and I realized that there are some things we do know...but even more that we don't!

Pictured above: Anzac BBQ gang, me tossing the 2up spinner for an Aussie gambling game, Blake gambling away our one dollar bills like he's a high-roller!

Belonging

How long does it take to belong somewhere? A few months, a year, a lifetime, never? That question has been puzzling me for a long time now. Living in a different country, no matter where it is, or how "north-american" it might seem always comes with a new set of rules and a steep learning curve. I love it here, but I still don't always feel like I "belong." As a foreigner I am constantly second guessing myself. Tonight on the way through rush hour traffic I got frustrated because a dented silver Pajero deliberately drove around the roundabout and blocked me, while traffic was crawling on island time. I could easily have passed in between this vehicle and another to make it around the circle, but he pulled up exactly at a 90 degree angle to block my path. He then looked at me and grinned. I was angry at him. I felt like honking the horn, but then the foreigner in me realized maybe he was in the right and I was delusional thinking I could sneak through. Even when people cut me off I still somehow feel like I must have done something wrong, or that being a Canadian, there must be some set of rules I don't know about. Whether it is simple chores that are just done differently here, or processes that seem archaic, I still always feel that I am the one who "doesn't get it." I must be wrong (even though I'm certain I am right some of the time!). I work with an amazing Caymanian woman who could be my mother. Listening to her tell stories of her life is like listening to a fantastic fairy tale. Hunting scorpions in the bushes, excavating ironshore to build a house, making scrumptious dishes of plantains and breadfruit. It is all so foreign and unknown to me. Sometimes she'll tell a story and I'll have to stop her to ask for more details, and she is always astounded that I don't know how to do these things, or how they work. It is such a humbling feeling when you are outside of your comfort zone. It must be comparable to describing everyday chores like shovelling the driveway, plugging in your car, and taking your car to put on winter tires to a Caymanian. This afternoon I met a man from Saskatchewan who came to pick up his daughter from her swim lessons. He immediately took me for Canadian and started chatting. He had come to the island for a year permit and is going onto 13 years now. I wonder, does he belong? Every day is a bit more familiar than the one before and I am always eager to learn about the different ways in which people live their lives. Part of me really wants to belong here, to know how to split a coconut and make conch ceviche, but I have to wonder if a true Caymanian would still be able to see right through me... an imposter. So the question is still in the air. Is it actually possible to belong in a culture you weren't born into? I'll let you know if I find the answer.

rubbish and rain

The grass is always greener on the other side, so I have noticed. Having a job has made the island living experience noticeably less exciting. I am sorry for the lack of blogs lately, but Speedo Lady has kept me running for the last week straight- but alas, there is some good news, she has left the island for a week, so I am able to go to work stressless and get my job done without a million ideas being thrown at me simultaneously.
This weekend Blake and I were signed up for an Earth Day "rubbish" Cleanup. We decided that it was a good way to give back. Every school year I take my students out with gloves and garbage bags and we do a thorough clean-up of the school grounds. It is a nice break and the students enjoy it- so I thought this year we should continue the tradition- minus the kids. Here is one thing I have noted from this experience. It is significantly more fun to hold a garbage bag and bark at the kids to pick up the pieces of trash while gossiping with fellow staff members than it is to actually bend down and pick up the garbage yourself. I'll keep that in mind for next year... Luckily there were plenty of us suckers out there at 7:15 am on Saturday morning delving into the jungle to fish out old toilet tanks, tires, umbrellas and mix c.d's. Except for the humid air, early start and numerous dead chickens and iguanas the experience wouldn't have been half bad. Today we are paying though. It turns out that an hour and a half of garbage pick-up is quite the workout and our hamstrings are killing us! Just as we finished our section of road the rain began to fall. Blake and I, being hardy Canadian souls, decided to brave it and head over to Public Beach for the Clean-Up Brunch being offered. As we headed west the rain began to beat down harder and faster. By the time we were a few blocks from the event it was so heavy that we could hardly see in front of us and it was too loud to talk over! In a moment of pure genius earlier that morning, I had packed an umbrella into the trunk (In hindsight I should have grabbed the one I found in the bush during clean-up too) We ran around to the trunk and grabbed it but we were too late. We were already soaked to the bone. Stepping out of the car was like stepping into a river. You know how when it starts to rain, you always try to cover your head and jump around the puddles trying to stay dry, and then there is that defining moment when you realize there was no point trying to stay dry- you are going to get soaked either way? That was pretty much the situation from the second we left the car. We ran over to the food tent and arrived 5 pounds of rain-water heavier. Now here is the biggest disappointment. The meal sucked! The ackee and codfish was overly salty, the cheese omelettes were made of processed cheese slices (and I question if there was even an egg in there), the juice was Tang (which mom used to use in the dishwasher for it's acidic cleaning power), and the buns were hard. We scarfed down what we could while we sat huddled together with fellow KPMG "rubbish-pickers" while keeping our feet off the pond in which our chairs stood. The second the last crumb was finished we bolted out to the car while failing miserably at dodging the ankle deep lakes. The rain by this time would be classified as torrential and stung as is hit your bare skin. Upon reaching the car we flung ourselves in to the seats and began our harrowing drive home. Thankfully it was Blake driving, since I tend to get scared when it rains too hard to see the road and the wakes you leave splash into the oncoming vehicles. We had to blast the AC on high to avoid fogging up the interior, and as a result were freezing. Upon reaching our place we were greeted with a huge lake in our driveway that reached up to the bumper of our car! Blake and I looked at each other and both thought the same thing.. what is rainy season going to look like?

My New Job

I'm a working girl!!! Not in that sense of course, but I officially have a job. My work permit came through yesterday at noon and I am now legally able to do the job that I may have been doing somewhat illegally for the past 3 weeks. When most people find out someone has gotten a new job their initial response is to ask what that person does. I am assuming most of you are probably wondering the same thing. Let me enlighten you. As my employer (hereafter referred to as Speedo Lady) likes to say I "wear many hats." The description written up for my work visa labels me as an educator and summer camp counsellor for a local health club, but the job description in the paper also includes administrative duties, swim instructor, personal training trainee and tutoring. The actual job requires all of the above in addition to the roles of secretary, personal taxi, personal assistant, accountant, janitor, pool cleaner, iguana and pest controller, best friend and family member. Luckily for all of those confused I can put it simply. Job description: slave.
As tiresome as Speedo Lady can be (I predict you will have the fortune of reading many entries related to her antics and mannerisms) there are some perks. I am able to stay in shape while I work- which is always a huge bonus. Plus I get to learn how to teach swim lessons, which seems like a very fitting thing to do while living here. When not being cheap, Speedo Lady can be incredibly generous. Last week she sent me to the Ritz-Carlton for a small champagne and hors d'oeuvre gala honouring the end of Woman's Month . Cheryl, who was visiting at the time, and I got to "network" with the money of the island. The man sitting at our table turned out to be a sponsor of the event! Finally, Speedo Lady has also mentioned work trips to Cayman Brac (a sister island) and Orlando.
To sum up Speedo Lady in one word would be impossible. To describe her as the boss in the movie "The Devil Wears Prada" would be more accurate... except we have already established that she wears speedo, and on the rare occasion Under Armour. My time working for her will be colourful and eye-opening, I have no doubt. However, I am very thankful to have found a job and to have been granted a visa, so I won't complain... excessively. No, no, honestly I look forward to the opportunity to learn new skills and network with people on the island. It is a refreshing break from teaching, and it does make me realize that ultimately I do love teaching, and that is what I want to do, but I welcome a career break for now.

Scuba Len

In an entry a month or so ago I told you about our Scuba instructor, Len. Well Len is still our scuba instructor, we are still not certified and we still have 3 more dives to go. Len is one of those guys who you love to hate and hate to love.All of our friends have taken a weekend course, or at most, a few weekends within one month to become certified. Even those who began after us were still finished weeks ago. Since we began scuba over two months ago we have gotten to know Len quite well. We have discovered that he cancels on you with less than a day's notice, he loses his cool at the drop of a dime and his reckless behaviour has made me cry on at least one occasion. We have also discovered that he is a big softie, he invites us out on his family boat outings and he is overly generous with his supplies of pop, goggles and anti-fog cleaner. On Saturday we were scheduled to do a two tank dive that would leave us nearly finished our certification. As soon as Blake and I arrived at his place (two minutes early I might add) we could tell he was in a bad mood. The other three group members arrived ten minutes late and we were then subjected to a five minute speech on lateness and he told us he did not have time to do two dives due to our tardiness. However, another five minutes later, a group of three frat boys showed up and we discovered they were also on our dive. Once on the boat Len proceeded to get in a heated argument with one of the boys about safety. At the top of his voice he proclaimed that he was the safest operator in the country (however, only a week earlier I had the scare of my life when he gunned his speed boat directly into oncoming waves in the open ocean, launching myself and a fellow diver four feet in the air multiple times). The argument lasted quite a few minutes and left all of us not involved a bit scared of him! He must of felt badly about both the argument and cancelling our second dive, as he took us to the StingRay City dive site, where we did our first open water dive with a family of 8 stingrays. The magnificent rays floated above our heads and inbetween our legs. They are very affectionate and love to have their underside rubbed. They followed us around for our 40 minute dive, often rubbing up against us! What an amazing experience. It definitely made up for his behaviour. Back on the boat he privately invited us out for a sunset cruise to Kaibo followed by dinner, and a night swim.He told us he had finally fixed up his big boat and needed to take her out for a cruise. We couldn't help but accept! That evening we met Len's family and had a blast on his 70's style yacht while cruising the north sound. Blake even jumped off the upper deck of the boat for a night swim. But no trip could possibly be complete without some idiotic stunt on his behalf. Upon our return that evening there was a pirate ship docked in the quay. I could see that he was pulling up alongside the ship, and I noticed that he also had a protruding radio antenna that was aligned to hit the mast of the pirate ship. I mentioned this to Blake, but we both assumed Len would notice. He didn't. There was a loud THWACK as his antenna got caught up in the rigging and his antenna was ripped sideways while doing unknown damage to the pirate ship. Radio frequency was lost and Len now has to fix his yacht... again! Once again Len has proven himself to be a great host and a dumbass all at the same time. Can't wait for our next dive trip!
Pictured above: Hanging out on the old-school yacht, Blake diving off the boat