I spend these days skulking around the libraries a lot; first, the one down in Rue Rideau, which plays hosts to a dazzling array of vagabonds and other desperadoes including myself; then, the one in what used to be the City Hall of Nepean, a jurisdiction recently absorbed by the capital in what many see as a shameless money-grab. I almost forget to mention a third: a study room tucked securely in a residence for university students run by Opus Dei, and a fourth: a picturesque little lounge in the National Gallery from where I took this pretty picture of Gatineau. These venues give me ample supply of books, space to study, and distraction from the protracted visa paperwork with the embassy. The affair was anticipated to take only a few days, but evidently, it will drag for weeks to even a month.
I have decided to become Canadian in the meantime. To (interiorly) thumb my nose at the Yanks I have bought new clothes, bought a public transport card, registered myself at the library, mingled with the parishioners, and sharpened my French. Family friends have graciously taken me into their home, so that I have a taste of the most mundane Ontarian suburbia, and do not have to change hotels every few days while I wait for an indeterminable time for news from the embassy. New friends and acquaintances feed me so many opinions on how the country is (or should be) run that I almost begin to share in their anguish in the woes of Canadian society and politics, even though I do not have business in this country other than that wretched paperwork. Maybe, when things are going better, I will look back on these times and laugh.
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