Long torso

Obviously joining FB was not a good idea, since even my tiniest blogging activity died since then.. but here we go again with new energy!

Recently I've been trying to find a new swim suit for myself. My dear old 2-piece Adidas is more like a see-through-swimsuit, and going to public swim pools is not really an option. (For a hotel swim pool it still worked 2 weeks ago, 'cause there was almost no one else swimming.)

The memory of my previous desperate search for a swim suit 2 years ago wasn't very encouraging, but I was hoping that the swim suit selection in Ottawa would have changed since then. It hasn't. I visited all the possible swim suit shops, sport shops, department stores in Ottawa and tested about 10 different types and shapes, but nothing fits.

My problem is a "long torso" which means a long back.

One piece swim suits end up looking like wrestler's suit - not long enough to cover my boobs - or if they cover boobs they are too wide and probably end up exposing something else. Most two piece swim suits are either meant for sipping Margaritas (bikinis), sipping Margaritas while covering your belly (tankinis) or swim fast and furious wearing as little as possible (competitive two piece swim suits).

Why I can't find the good old Adidas two piece set, which covers boobs and butt and stays in its place when swimming, in any store???

Giving up on a principle

I received a nice surprise email from an old friend whom I haven't seen in the past 4 years and probably not even emailed with in the past 2 years. The email, and my recent visit to Washington to meet Heta after almost 2 years stirred up something in me: I don't know what's going on in my not-in-Ottawa friends' life, but I would really love to know.

Obviously my favourite communication with you, my dear not-in-Ottawa friend, would be face to face, over a cup of tea or a pint of beer. But unfortunately, depending on where you live, this would also mean a 10-25 hours and 500-1700e trip over the Atlantic, and to my knowledge none of us is a millionaire so far. Emailing isn't really an option either, since emailing for work for 7 hours a day takes all the fun out of emailing for fun after work. What is left? The damn Facebook, where everyone seems to be. And what I've heard, it's a great way to stay in touch, if you just ignore all the negative sides of the virtual world.

So, lately I've started to think if I should finally give up on my anti-Facebook attitude and join the damn thing.

I haven't finished my inner battle about it yet, but if the battle comes to an end in the near future and the result is favorable for Facebook, I might be requesting your friendship in the virtual world ... but ONLY if you live outside of Ottawa. With Ottawa friends I want to stay in reality and meet for a real cup of tea or pint of beer.

Washington calling

Summer holiday! Even though it's almost autumn, Ottawa sweats in +35 c. And so does Washington D.C. where we start heading today to visit Heta and Mikko, yay!

Humidity: 100%

Rainy, gray Monday. CBC Weather says that it will stay as a rainy, gray Monday for most of the Monday: Rain. + 17 C. Humidity: 100%. A hot, sunny day with 100% humidity feels mucky and sweaty, but rainy, gray Monday with 100% humidity feels just wet, I guess.

I started to wonder how humid sauna is, something close to 100%? The world wide wonder told me otherwise: "Air humidity varies from 10% to 25%, depending on how much löyly is used."

This mind blowing humidity fact lead me to google humidity, and what did I find? In 100% humidity we don't sweat, we just feel hotter inside! "If the air is at 100-percent relative humidity, sweat will not evaporate into the air. As a result, we feel much hotter than the actual temperature when the relative humidity is high. If the relative humidity is low, we can feel much cooler than the actual temperature because our sweat evaporates easily, cooling ­us off. For example, if the air temperature is 24 degrees Celsius and the relative humidity is zero percent, the air temperature feels like 21 C to our bodies. If the air temperature is 24 C and the relative humidity is 100 percent, we feel like it's 27 C out."

The questions is - what should I wear on my way to work and at work, when it's +17 C rainy and 100% humid outside and AC freezing cold in the office?

Phone conversations

I noted in my "Signs of being Canadianized" that I've started to answer "Hello" to our phone (which doesn't have name display), like they do here, instead of answering with my name, which is what I learned as a kid. "Hello" might sound like a welcoming and friendly answer, but it often leads to frustrating moments. Like this:

Our landline phone rings.
Me: "Hello"
Caller: "Hello"
Me: "Hello?" (trying to emphasize the question mark in my intonation)
Caller: "Hello"
Me (frustrated, not sure whether it's about the line and the other person can't here me, or if it's just once again the annoying hello-hello-dance): Sorry, but who's calling?
Caller: Oh, sorry, I though you recognized my voice, it's --- (usually one of our friends or Abdallah's relatives - telemarketers are polite, they always introduce themselves). How are you?
Me: I'm good, how are you? Just a little suggestion, next time you could introduce yourself when you call!

Example 2:
Phone rings.
Me: "Hello"
Caller: "Hello"
Me: "Hello?" (trying to emphasize the question mark in my intonation)
Caller: "Hello"
Me: "Hello???" (really trying to emphasize the question marks in my intonation)
Caller: How are you?
Me: I'm good, how are you? (Trying to think who on earth the person on the other end is.)
Caller: Not too bad.
Me: Great. Sorry, but who's calling?
Caller: Oh, sorry, I though you recognized my voice, it's -----.

The last part can also go like this:
...
Me: I'm good, how are you? (Trying to think who on earth the person on the other end is.)
Caller: Not too bad, it was great to hang out with you guys last week.
Me: Oh, it's you ---- (name of our friends)! Sorry, I didn't recognize your voice! You should have introduced yourself! But yes, it was great to see you!

Bad burgers

I always thought that North America is the continent of hamburgers. I'm afraid that I have to add one more word to the sentence - bad.

I have (once again) declared a war against burgers. Or maybe it's more like a boycott. Or both. Why? Because all the burgers I've eaten this year (usually burger craving hits once a month) have been bad, no matter if they were veggie, chicken or meat burgers. Latest bad experience was on Monday at the Toronto Airport - why did I fool myself again to the wishful thinking of a pleasant burger experience???

Traditionally you would think that pubs are good places for good burgers. This has been proven wrong, at least in Ottawa. One pub burger was such a catastrophe that I left the meat on the plate. Reason to be vegetarian for sure, but unfortunately the portobello mushroom burger in another place wasn't much better either. Pub burgers suck. Freshly reminded by Monday's airport burger experience, you shouldn't expect too much from airport burgers either. Sadly though that even the low expectations can be too high. And the fries are another reason to cry - here they tend to serve industrially cut 1 cm thick fries, which are raw from inside and when you bite it, the raw, hot potate paste explodes into your mouth and burns your palate. Sounds ridiculous, but seems like my only good-ish burger this year has been in McDonald's!

So, from now on no burgers in pubs, general restaurants or at the airports, even when the burger craving hits. McDonald's isn't really an answer either. My only hint of hope is Works - a restaurant chain that actually specializes in burgers: last year's visit was quite pleasant, so maybe I can just stick with boycotting all the other places and revoke the declaration of war... unless Works disappoints me too.

Macgyver vs. Jack Bauer

Last week's experience in the elevator and thinking about Macgyver tricks made me think about Macgyver and the "new Macgyver" - Jack Bauer from 24. Sure, 24 is very well done, as it hooks you in no time and the addicted you craves for a new episode immediately after finishing one. Naturally technological development makes a difference too, and the speed of events in general - Macgyver's actions looks like turtle action when compared to the cheetah-like-speeding Bauer. However; Bauer's maneuvers are too harsh to my taste, since he's all about using violence, where as Macgyver had a clever and gentlemanny approach to solving problems and getting away from tricky situations. I'd rather think like Macgyver than act like Jack Bauer! (As if I would be asked to save the world often anyway.)

On another note, when googling Macgyver now I noticed how NICELY Richard Dean Anderson has aged ... I truly wish they would remake Macgyver!

Stuck in the elevator

I've often wondered how would I react if I would get stuck in an elevator. Would I panic? Would I be calm and do some Macgyver tricks to get out? Well, I don't have to wonder anymore what I would do, now I know what I do when I get stuck. I panic, I calm down and wait for someone else to do the Macgyver tricks:

Last Tuesday, as I was on leaving from work, I realized I forgot my cellphone on my desk. I decided to go back to the office to get it. I step into the elevator and press the button for 3rd floor where my office is. The door closes, but the elevator doesn’t move anywhere. When it finally moves, it goes to basement – but the door doesn’t open. I press “open the door” and 1st floor buttons but nothing happens.

First reaction? Panic. “I don’t have my cell phone with me and I can’t call anyone – office is closing at 5 and there's not many people in any more – will I be stuck here for the whole night? What do people usually do in these kinds of situations? Should I faint? Should I throw up?”

Second reaction: Calming down and assessing the situation. “It would not be wise to hit my head, so at least I should sit before I faint, if I will faint. Maybe better not to faint. Also, if I end up being here longer, it won’t be nice to sit in the small room with the puke smell, so better not to throw up either.” After this chain of thoughts I remember seeing a couple of my colleagues in the office just before I left, and I hope they will come and rescue me if I push the alarm button.

I press the alarm button. After a while I start to buzz in several different rhythms, and keep on buzzing for quite a long time. I hear some noises from ground floor, someone is banging the door, but that doesn’t help me much. “Maybe they are tired with the current buzzing rhythm, I better change the style.”

After getting tired of buzzing myself I sit down on the floor. I hear a noise from the elevator, and I notice that below the floor buttons there’s a little door, with a tiny dim sign of a telephone on it. I open the door with hopeful curiosity … “Could the picture mean that there’s a phone in the elevator??”

“YES! There’s a phone in the elevator! And it’s ringing! I’m not alone! Someone knows I’m in the elevator!”

A friendly employee from another office talks to me in a calm voice, and tells that she knows that I’m stuck, and she’s been stuck several times as well. She asks me to try couple of tricks with the elevator (push the floor buttons, push the open the door button), which I try, but nothing happens. She asks me to follow instructions on the phone panel (call the numbers as suggested).

I thank her for her instructions and read the phone instructions. I am slightly hesitant to use the phone, because the instructions say “only in emergency cases” – “Am I in an emergency enough to use the phone? Should I be more panicky before it’s an emergency?”

I decide I am in an emergency enough, so I call the elevator people, who then tell me that they called someone to come and rescue me. “It will take about 15 minutes” they tell. I ask what time it is, and I’m surprised to hear that I’ve spent about 40 minutes in the elevator already. Time flies when you’re stuck!

I call my boss (who happened to be in her office still) to tell I’m stuck in the elevator. I call Abdallah to tell I’m stuck in the elevator.I call back the friendly employee to inform her that I’ve called around the city and I’m now waiting for the elevator people to rescue me. She assures me that she won’t leave before she knows that I’m out of the elevator.

Since the phone is an emergency phone after all, I decide not to use it in a while, especially if the elevator people try to reach me on it. “No one else knows the number anyway.”

I sit on the floor, and try to do some yoga breathing, “Maybe that will save some air in case I have to spend my whole night in the elevator”. Soon I notice that the elevator sounds a bit like a boat. “Where I would be going if I was on a boat?” Obviously I’ve also noticed how small the elevator is (although it looks actually bigger when you sit on the floor) and I think about people who end up in jail and spend years in a tiny space like the elevator. “If I was in a jail, how would I spend my days in this space?”

I stare the phone and hope that someone calls me. No one does. I read the emergency instructions again and write down some ideas on how the instructions could be improved.

After a while I call the elevator people again for updates, and they tell me it’s going to take another 15 min before anyone is there. I ask for the time, and again I’m surprised to notice how time flies – I’ve been in the elevator almost 1.5 hours by now! I call Abdallah again and discuss what we should have for dinner, if and when I finally get out of the elevator.

Suddenly I hear some noises; sounds like someone is trying to open the door!

Someone is really opening the door! Dave the Elevator Hero opens the door from the first floor at the same time when my boss bangs on the door in the basement. It almost looks like she had a magic touch and she just opened the door by talking through it to me, but Dave the Elevator Hero takes the credit after all.

So, now I know how I react if I get stuck in an elevator. Now I know that there's a phone in the elevator. And now I also know that being stuck for 1.5 hours in the elevator is great for imagination!

5 months and 1 week later

Hmm.. what has happened in the past 5 months? Other than me being lazy to write any posts?

Feb-March: Canada won many gold medals in the Olympics. Finland didn't. Snow melted early, and in March we had a summer-hot weekend. Followed by several colder weekends.

April-May: I visited Lebanon for the first time: 2 weeks of great, fresh, local food, wonderful people, stunning landscapes filled with cute and not-so-cute villages, 1.5 m tall roses, dry mountains, green mountains, rocky mountains and the sea. Below is a pic from my favorite spot, 8000 years old city of Biblos.



May-June: I was offered and started a new job within the same organization. Going to work is so much more fun, since I can bike to office in 10 min or walk there in 25 min, instead of sitting 30 min in a full bus.

What else is new? Oh, I have picked up (in my opinion, very) North American hobbies: I'm going to chiro once a week (after 10 years of back pain, it's finally gone!!!) and trying to do yoga once a week. Soma Yoga, which is about functional movements and strengthening spine and core muscles, and re-connecting body and mind ... whatever it is, it does feel good.

I also have a new neighbor - my dear old friend Heta has moved to Washington DC! I never made it to Moscow to visit her, but a trip to Washington is happening in a month, yay!

Life is good indeed.

Celebrating in a Canadian way

Yesterday was my official 1 year anniversary of being an immigrant in Canada. I celebrated it throughout the day, in a Canadian way.

I started my day with a (cinnamon-raisin) bagel - an essential part of a Canadian breakfast. By noon I had said dozens of time "hey how are you?" and also answered dozens of time "good" or "not too bad". For lunch I had a cheeseburger and a coke - the cornerstones of North American cuisine. I also practiced speaking Canadian, and told my colleagues that the burger was "awesome". For dinner I had a combo of pizza, beer and a hockey game. (Finland is in the Olympic finals! And so is Canada!)

Couldn't get more Canadian, eh?

6 days to Vancouver 2010

I hardly ever watch TV due to our snowy-picture-quality on English speaking channels (French speaking channels are clearer, but my level 1 French skills didn't make me fluent yet). However, few days ago I was watching snowy CSI and I became very emotional. Not because of the bluelight of the CSI dudes, but because of the advertisements. Basically any Canadian company, or foreign company in Canada, had an advertisement related to the Olympics.

No matter whether it was a beer, technology or clothing ad, slow motion images of Canadian athletes competing, winning, celebrating were combined with images of Canadians of all ages and colours cheering for their athlete heroes. "We were made for this" and "I believe" are some sort of official Olympic slogans, which are being repeated over and over again, all over media. Like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OEFmfgXtJ08

And not just media. Clothing stores in Ottawa, 4500 km away from the Olympics, have decorated their display windows with Canada hoodies, hockey pucks, pictures of athletes.

And it works. Lately, on my way to work I've been getting slightly emotional when I see the display windows and few days ago, the ads during the CSI breaks made me sit in front of the TV with teary eyes. Earlier I had only been annoyed that most likely I won't see live ski jumping (it's not a big deal here, I wonder why) but this week it hit me, that it's probably the only Olympics Canada will be hosting in my life time, so I better enjoy it!

So, 6 days from today, I'll be glued to Olympics and learn who are the Canadian heroes. Another, as important mission is to hope that Janne Ahonen would finally win gold in Olympics - no matter if I can see it on TV or not.

Blueberry kisiel forever

Feels like I went back to 7th grade when I was in Finland during Christmas. Not only I re-learned how to knit, but also how to make kiisseli again. Since I had no idea what kiisseli is in English, and I was not satisfied with my "something between thick juice and thin soup" explanation I relied on the wonder wide web.

Wikipedia expanded my vocabulary and knowledge by telling me that kiisseli is kisiel or kissel in English and кисель kisél’ in Russian, kisiel in Polish, kisielius in Lithuanian and кисiль in Ukrainian. It is said to be "a popular dessert in Eastern and Northern Europe. It consists of sweetened juice, thickened with arrowroot, cornstarch or potato starch, and sometimes red wine or dried fruits are added. It is similar to the Danish Rødgrød or German Rote Grütze. Kissel can be served either hot or cold, also together with sweetened quark or semolina pudding. Kissel can also be served on pancakes or with ice cream. If the kissel is made using less thickening starch, it can be drunk - this is common in Russia." I wonder if the Russian кисель includes Vodka too? The one in the picture doesn't, even though it is drinkable as the Russian kisiel. I haven't made kisiel in a very long time. One reason in the past couple of years was that I haven't been able to find potato flour in Ottawa. I was graving for kisiel as well as (lingon)berry pudding last autumn, but the lack of potato flour hold me back. Once I decided to make cranberry pudding out of the local fresh cranberries (replacement for (lingon)berry pudding), and I bought corn flour to replace potato flour. That trial ended up with nicely pinkish and pretty pudding -- with a texture of glue. I bravely ate most of the sticky pudding in the next couple of days, but the fourth morning I had to through it out.

I wised up from that sticky experience and brought some potato flour with me from Finland; the first blueberry-strawberry kisiel of the year turned out to be non-sticky and delicious. (And inspired me to play with the camera too.) Thanks to Wikipedia now I know that Poles make their own kisiel and I could have a good chance to find potato flour in the local Polish store. If this is the case I don't have to worry about regulating or smuggling potato flour anymore, and I can make kisiel whenever I want!

One year in Canada, yay!

I arrived to Canada a year ago to start my new life. A lot has happened in one year, tears have been shed and laughter has been heard. All in all, it's been a good first year in Canada, and I'm looking forward to starting my second year here.



"Arriving one year ago" doesn't mean that I became officially an immigrant a year ago, time for that was a one month later - so on February 24 I'll have yet another reason for a 1 year cake, yay! There can never be too much cake.

Oh, Ethan

*Sigh* We watched Before Sunrise last night, and I found myself falling in love with Ethan Hawke again. 15 years ago, when I saw the movie for the first time, I was SO in love with Ethan, and I was dreaming about my own future-Ethan.

But then I was hit with a thought that all the nice lines of Ethan were just a product of some Hollywood mogul who was earning tons of money by feeding the perfect love story to thousands of teenagers around the world. I was devastated. However, the devastation didn't kill my love for Ethan, it only made me angry at Hollywood for turning me into a cynical teenager.

But the cynical teenager is long gone, and yesterday Ethan stole my heart again. Even though the characters seem teenager-ish to a 30 year old, their shy smiles and slight awkwardness, yet at the same time youthful straight-forwardness with each other is so captivating and so true. Oh, Ethan. *Sigh*

More sighing is in the schedule for the weekend, for I absolutely HAVE to watch Before Sunset before the sun sets on Sunday!

Helsinki = Kinshasa

For some time I've been trying to convince myself that I'm an adult and I should travel as adults do. Maybe "not being adult enough" is the reason for why most of my airport experiences have been as irrational as the equation in the title.

Based on my observations on the real adults at the airports I should have a small purse which only includes my wallet, passport, tickets and a book/magazine; a neat carry on luggage on two wheels for extra clothes in case checked in luggage gets lost or delayed; a larger, neat luggage (or two if needed and allowed) on two wheels for rest of the stuff. Of course the real adults also look always fresh and rested even after traveling for 28 hours.

Since 2004 I've crossed the Atlantic 15 times, and most of those times I've been everything but an adult. My luggage are not adult-like, for usually I travel with a knapsack, a giant army-looking bag and a smaller, stripy hippy-style bag which has been my dearest travel bag since I bought it in Germany in 1997.

The worst (or the most ridiculous, fun and memorable) trip over the Atlantic was my return from the exchange year in Toronto in 2005. Back in those days passengers could have two checked in luggage, each 32 kilos. Without having a scale at my Toronto home I packed everything and imagined that I probably have about 35 kilos in each. I was wrong.

The airport-lady told me that my luggage were 35 kilos and 50 kilos, which was unacceptable. With a you-are-in-trouble-tone she told me that I should remove 20 kilos from the bigger luggage into a box that she gave to me, and obviously 20 extra kilos would cost like hell. I didn't have a visa card or any cash, and I couldn't pay anything. I was afraid she will tell me that my stuff will stay in Toronto. Fortunately she had a moment of compassion, and she looked at me and told with a VERY serious face "Don't you ever do this again". I promised not to.

The next 45 minutes included unpacking the luggage and packing the box and repacking my knapsack (which weight over 10 kilos too, but the lady didn't know that, lucky me!); passing the security without a bigger hassle; repeating some of the unpacking-repacking-exercise once more at the gate and having yet another extra checked in package without a cost. Finally I was sitting on the plane. With my (clean) underwear in a sack and a stripy purse with a wooden cat statue in it as my carry on package. I was laughing so much that I didn't even have time to cry when the plane took off and Toronto was left behind.

After that my travels across the Atlantic have been more graceful, but something is still usually going slightly wrong. Either because of something I do (like forgetting my wallet at a desk or dropping my ticket before the security gates and noticing it after the security gates when there's no way back) or something that the system does. In December, when I was flying to Helsinki, Finland, the system would have sent me to Kinshasa, Congo. It was only after my checked in luggage was already long gone and I was about to leave from the check-in desk, when the gentleman serving me noticed that he was sending me to Kongo. Luckily (again!) everything was sorted out and even the luggage found its way to Finland, only a day later than I did.

When preparing my return to Canada I decided that this is it, now I will be an adult. No more over-weight luggage, panic, hassle or other irrational behaviour with wooden cats in my purse. On December 30, when I was checking in at the Helsinki airport, I could have passed as an adult. I had a large checked in luggage on two wheels, a neat carry on luggage on two wheels and a purse for my wallet, tickets and passport... and for two kilos of chocolate and woolen socks. If I have to behave like an adult, at least I will be an adult with warm feet and a sweet trip!

New Year, New Socks!

Happy this year!

December was full of events and updating the blog was often in my mind but I never found the time or energy to write anything. But now I'm back in business, especially since superb English wasn't in Santa's sack and I still have work to do with my English. So, one of my New Year's resolution is to write more often again, once a week as I did in the beginning.

Another thing that wasn't in Santa's sack was a pair of woolen socks. Even before meeting the Santa I was hunting down a perfect pair of woolen socks, and I traveled to the other end of the world, to the capital of woolen socks (Kuopio) to find a pair. No luck. All the socks in Kuopio were either boringly gray or ridiculously expensive, so I decided to brush up my knitting skills and make my own socks.

Memories about knitting weren't very positive. About 15 years ago, when knitting was part of my school week, knitting was everything but my favourite subject. I was famous for making knots and messes that even the teacher couldn't undo, and I often had to start over whatever I was knitting. I was soooo jealous for my friends who without problems made all kind of beautiful knitted things. Finally after stuggling for several weeks, I managed to make a pair of mittens, which actually turned out to be pretty. I was proudly wearing them as long as there was any thread left.

Now, 15 years later and desperately wanting to have colourful woolen socks I asked my mom to show me again, how knitting works. She did, and a knitting fever hit me hard. Within five days I had beautiful, colourful, little loose socks, made by my own hands: