Finales and Farewells

Three months since I left the (still snowy) land of Canada, it feels strange to set my thoughts once more into a blogging mindset and cast myself back to remember the events and occasions that filled my life in the last months of my year abroad. 

The final quarter of my Canadian year saw me, rather than dashing around the country every weekend, actually remain to experience more of the Ottawa life.  Ski trips continued, dodgeballing was a weekly constant (second place – hear hear), hangovers took us to diners with beautiful breakfast poutine, quirky coffee houses and Mexican restaurants.  A slight kick-yourself-moment when you discover a part of town in your final weeks, the ‘happening’ part, the part where you should have spent a significant portion of your months exploring. Oh sigh.  Balls and galas were occasioned, any excuse to wear heels in the snow... St Patrick’s day in all its Canadian/Irish glory was experienced to the full.  Green beer, free leprechaun hats and t-shirts, everyone loving each other. You get it.  And then of course, the visit to the Canadian version of a safari park occurred: picture a car surrounded by deer and the such, feeding them carrots in return for their drool; every now and then a particularly brave chap thrusting his head through the window in his desire for that carrot.

And naturally the weather was a constant background and conversation topic.  The thing of having such a cold and intense winter made the arrival of spring during the semester that little bit more epic.  The closure of the ice-rink-canal due to melting ice, patches of mud appearing on the road side, the ratio of snow to slush reversing, the day the sun shed not only light but a hint of warmth, such warmth that a hat is no longer a necessity.  Despite all this hope, the snow put up an outrageous fight and was still there to send me off to warmer climates.

The final fortnight was quite the fortnight as the need to pass exams was coupled with the absolute necessity to do ‘everything-you-haven’t-yet-but-know-you-just-have-to-do-before-you-leave’. Exams are the least of your priorities as you say goodbye to people you have no idea when you’ll see again, if ever.  And yet you’re still meeting new people thinking ‘should have probably had this introductory conversation about six months ago’. Everything becomes ‘the last time’.

Since leaving Canada I haven’t quite stopped until this week.  The travel bug has well and truly bitten me deep.  Weeks spent having experiences of quite a different kind in Central America and Ecuador had me end my year abroad on a backpacking high. However, my sad farewell (slightly hazy due to the last few days of goodbye parties) in April to set off on a grand Southern adventure was alleviated by a week in June – a pit stop on my way back to the English homeland.  I saw what Ottawa in summer could truly be like with its sparkling (flowing rather than frozen) river and blue canal, people on bikes, having picnics, strolling their afternoon away, finishing their days sat on one of the numerous bar patios in the downtown area.  Thus I felt like I’d come full circle.  Ottawa was lived in throughout the seasons from autumn sunshine, through the hellish freeze, and finally back to having leaves on the trees and a shimmering canal. The fact my year is well and truly over is strange, but with already planning my future trips, many more flights across many more oceans don’t seem too far away.

Cuba.

Flip the Canadian temperatures to positive and that’s the weather I was basking in for a week.  Pure bliss. Snow became a distant memory and the warm sunshine a constant companion.

Cuba.

Hands down one of the most interesting places I’ve visited on my travels.  A return trip shall have to happen.  First of all, who can resist that picturesque beach with its turquoise sea and white sand?  One had the feeling of being in the cover photo of Thomas Cook’s holiday brochure.  Unlimited supplies of piña coladas and mojitos, drinking out of a coconut and feeling genuine warmth on your face.  All you need for a great Spring Break really.

It’s the kind of country where you just don’t really know what to expect from it.  You've heard something about a Revolution, have the iconic image of Che Guevara in your mind, and are aware of its links to Communism but are not quite sure how they will all manifest themselves in the reality of the place.  People rave about it and I feel like I have joined that crowd.  If we had just stayed in our hotel resort in the tourist bubble of Varadero, one could have thought we were on any island in the Caribbean.  However, it was the trip to Havana which made the country stand out.  You feel like there are familiar aspects to the place, as if you've been somewhere like it before.  The strains of the European colonial influence are clear and unmistakable.  It’s in the architecture, in the food, the atmosphere of the busy streets and the side alleyways.  You can’t quite put your finger on how to adequately and satisfactorily describe it all.  Then you read the guide book introduction and your random thoughts are translated into words. 

Mildew Magnificence.  Faded Beauty.  Lost times of glory.  

One half of a building carefully and beautifully maintained, the other side a deteriorating ruin.  Open, clean, bright squares with cafes and statues, filled with pale/sunburnt tourists wandering round with their cameras trying to capture a fragment of the place's character and ambience.  A few streets away and you come across how the other half live.  The street sellers, the rubbish in the street, the old men sitting in their doorways just watching the world go past.  Open windows giving an insight into people’s lives.  Every glimpse an entirely different snapshot from the other.  It was in the midst of this maze of streets that our hostel was located.  However, labelling the place a ‘hostel’ does a great injustice to it.  A chandelier, ornaments everywhere, heavy wooden wardrobes, gilded mirrors and a stunning rooftop patio overlooking the city.  Not quite your average backpackers hole.

Slightly contrasting maintenace.

We started our visit literally being pushed into rickety bike taxi vehicles, fearing for our lives as cars tooted all around us as we clung on for dear life (whilst worrying that our ancient driver/cyclist would have a heart attack from the effort).  Might as well get stuck in straight away, I suppose.  Naturally what also had to be experienced was being driven in the classic 1960s cars.  Their heydays behind some of them, falling apart and subsequently having doubts about whether you would make it to your destination, practically leaving a trail of car parts in their wake (others being in the same pristine condition as the day they left the factory all those decades ago).  The sight of these epic cars becomes the norm as they are simply everywhere. What also caught my eye was the care and attention people took over their appearance.  The haircuts of the young men in particular, opting for a perfectly styled, modern short back and sides. The crisp white shirts and maroon ties of the school children.  Along with the amount of bright lycra worn by the women.  An odd contradiction to the dilapidated buildings, dirty streets and crumbling cars.

So the two days in Havana were spent wandering the streets, taking countless photos, visiting the Revolution Museum, relaxing in garden courtyards with cocktails and spending lazy hours over meals.  Music is heard from everywhere as musicians with their guitars and dulcet tones are present in pretty much every cafe, street corner and restaurant.  On different note, the socialist aspect of the country was evidenced in the lack of American influences, logos and merchandise and a general level of poverty wherever you went.  The caricatures of US presidents with Nazi helmets in the Revolution Museum drove home the hostile reality of that particular relationship between the countries... 

Apart from this little city trip, the days were passed sunbathing, walking miles up and down the beach, checking out both a local club (a special queue jump for tourists, awkwardly walking past all those who had been queuing for hours, a slightly uncomfortable experience yet balanced out by paying five times the entry price), where a bunch of 12 white girls dancing like no one was watching made us objects of great fascination, and a tourist club (the sweatiest place I’ve ever been to, crammed to the rafters with pretty much only Canadians.  Can't escape them even nearly 3000 miles away...). 

One of the other best experiences of the trip was the Jeep tour excursion.  Think of a convey of shiny silver Jeeps cruising through the Cuban countryside.  Not sure how much more of a ‘classic tourist’ one can get but at least it meant seeing more than just the beach.  A day of snorkelling, driving through historic cities, a boat ride, sampling a local farmer’s produce and enjoying a traditional lunch (i.e. rice and beans), drinking coffee Cuban-style whilst sucking on sugar cane, swinging in hammocks, observing an old man and his pet bull, and ending up cooling off in a cave pool.     

When there you don’t exactly have on your mind constantly the fact that the citizens have practically zero political freedom or that the economy doesn't follow the capitalist model we are so used to.  Yet, finding out that ninety percent of the hotel workers are actually qualified professionals, such as lawyers, doctors and physiotherapists, causes one to question the system.  Their provision and quality of education may be world leading, but if it means that the degrees of the most intelligent and educated people in the country have only enabled them to be tour guides for oblivious, unaware tourists, simply because that is where the money is to survive beyond the meagre government wages and rations, there is some subsequent mental challenging of the set-up.  

It’s the contrast of grandeur with poverty, of the tourist world with the lives of the locals, and of history mixed in with modern life, which makes Cuba so diverging and intriguing.   Not seeing a Starbucks every ten metres but rather a picture of the dashing and much loved Che, being heckled by the local men every five metres (a boost to the self-esteem one could view it as perhaps?), and seeing a horse and cart trotting alongside a 1960s American car as if it was the most natural thing in the world, made the week quite the memorable Spring Break. 

Carnivals, Canals and Cuba (Nearly)

So I feel that before I leave this frozen land of Canada for the sunshine and beaches of Cuba, one must be informed of my various activities of the past few weeks (which have gone outrageously quickly and have brought me to a place where I am three quarters of the way through my year abroad. Ridiculous).

My final weekend trip away was my furthest afield yet.  A solid eight hours of travelling for two days.  In England, that would be a crazy concept.  I rarely make the five hour journey home during term time because it seems so epic.  But anyhow, when on a year abroad, one must commit to exploration of the nation one is visiting.  As such, it would be rude not see one of the main cities of Eastern Canada. And with that, the most beautiful by far.  We were transported to a European city with its Old Town walls, its little town squares, its gothic-style buildings and its grand parliamentary buildings.  A treat for the eyes indeed. Québec City.

We timed our visit with the start of their world-renowned Winter Carnival.  Think ice castles, DJ concerts at night, ice sculptures everywhere, and hundreds of people trudging through the snow, ice and slush to get in line for the ice slides or for a stick of maple taffy.  They say maple taffy is something one simply must try when out here (and it is true indeed).  Think a patch of (clean) snow, a wooden lolly stick and runny maple syrup.  

Stick. Roll. Lick. Beautiful. And then your teeth feel like they will fall out due to the amount of pure sugar, but it is worth it.  The carnival also meant that it felt like Christmas all over again as decorations were all up still - trees, tinsel, snowflakes and everything. (Though the slightly terrifying Carnival Snowman took the place of Father Christmas)

Maple Taffy Production Line

Carnival Snowman

So the days were spent exploring the streets and alleyways, having impromptu snowball fights, gazing at the views across the frozen river, wandering along the city wall, cooing at little children so wrapped up they looked like walking candy floss.  If we thought Montreal was French, Québec City is on a whole new level.  But, one must embrace. And that we did.  There was also a photo (or ten) taken of the most photographed hotel in the world. The Chateau Frontenac.  Well, surely it would be rude not to?

The Chateau Frontenac

The ‘champagne moment’ of the trip would be the trip to the Hotel de Glace.  It is the ‘first and only true ice hotel in North America’ (thank you Wikipedia).  And it was amazing.  Rather cool and fresh as one would expect.  Lots of ice.  Sculptures (some incredible ones at that).  It was also a bucket list item ticked off when we had an ‘ice-cocktail’.  Some kind of exciting cocktail shot in a glass made entirely of ice. *Gloves were found to be essential items when trying to drink it, so take note.*

Overall, a stunning city and an excellent weekend excursion.

Various 21^st celebrations peppered the next few weeks with meals out in DT (downtown) Ottawa.  Despite feeling that I may not have made the most of what Ottawa has to offer, in a fortnight I’ve been to three restaurants and a number of new bars and clubs so there is hope yet. 

Finally.  What I mentioned in a post when grass still existed in my life, where snow seemed worlds away and  my feet never felt cold: skating the canal from Carleton to Downtown.  This was achieved yesterday.  I had a trial run last week, seeming to have forgotten everything I ever learned and shocking people with noises that apparently sound like a Canadian goose (at least I fit in then).  However, 7.8km of ice were later dominated with no crashes or falls. Basically a professional now.  The moment of relief my ankles and calves felt when the spires of Parliament came into sight was immense.  It’s a situation similar to that of skiing when little children are speeding about past me... I also don’t think I overtook a single person, but in my eyes, that’s not the point.  Practically being born with skates on is a slight advantage that every single Canadian on earth (well in Canada) seems to have over me I’d say. 

However, moving on from this cold talk...within a matter of hours, the sight of white shall be replaced with that of bright, sparkling blue and green.  

Snow for sea.  

Slush for sand.  

Canada for Cuba. 

Come at me. 

Start of 2014

Two and half weeks into the ‘Winter Semester’ and straight into life once more.  We had a gentle re-introduction into the weather with a nice minus five degrees.  Or it was just us being lulled into a false sense of security as this week the Canadian winter returned once more with the experience of the frozen nostrils and headaches.  I just feel sorry for the guys walking around with frozen beards and moustaches.  I’d never really taken seriously the warnings about frostbite before.  Oh no, such potential was definitely felt.

My luggage arrived from who-knows-where just in time for a fraternity ball on the first Saturday back.  Actually taking time to get dressed, get made up and an excuse to tame that ‘fro into something socially acceptable was a rare and welcomed experience.  Wearing heels for the first time in months instead of just my standard snow boots and a full length dress rather than leggings was just excellent (although my walking in the heels probably left much to be desired after such lack of practice).  The above plus a three course dinner was an oh-so-casual start to the semester indeed...

A week later and my attire altered slightly into oh so sexy and flattering ski gear, wearing half my Christmas presents of thermals and ski socks.  ‘Snowbutter’ was the name of the weekend trip to the favourite place of Mont Tremblant.  Tons of students from across North America, lots of drinking, quite a bit of hanging, some hot-tub timing with skiing now and then amongst all that, meant an epic weekend and renewed appreciation of the snow out here.  Oh so there is a reason for it... The state of our hotel room after just 48 hours was rather unbelievable.  Who knew girls could be so messy?  Made best friends with the bouncers of the Après Ski bar (naturally).  Dared the cold by running to the club in just a strap-top (why not).  Actually drank more than one can of beer (first time in my life) during the copious games of ‘Flipcup’ (even got a ‘one flip’ a number of times shockingly).  However, living off bagels, packet noodles and wine for the three days meant needing the whole next week to recover came as no surprise. 

This term a couple of us Internationals have signed up for Intramural Dodgeball. Anyone who has seen my throwing and catching skills will have guessed that those genes don’t run in the Pike family in the slightest.  I can’t really catch the ball to get people out or hit people to get them out, so my game plan is to just bounce around, avoid being hit and somehow stay in.  The pain I felt in my throwing arm the next day proved to be that throwing is just not a natural action for this girl... But who knows, miracles could happen.

Continuing the theme of sport, the annual event of ‘Capital Hoops’ occurred this week where the Carleton Ravens basketball team took on our ultimate rivals from the other university in Ottawa, the Gee-Gees. Yeah. What even are those?  Apparently it’s the first horse out the gate.  Not even the winning horse.  And indeed they lived up to that name by losing in front of an overwhelmingly red and black, Carleton supporting, screaming crowd.  We are number one in Canada so not exactly a shocker.  School spirit at an all time high.  Facepaint and chants in abundance.

My final and most recent excursion was back once more the city of Montreal to visit a friend with whom our friendship has covered Costa Rica, England and Canada.  The trip was a slightly difference experience from the beautiful summer weekend of September with the city covered in snow and ice. Such a chilled weekend of roaming, eating and shopping (buying a bikini for our Spring Break trip to Cuba felt just slightly at odds with the weather outside).  Walks in the snow have become one of my favourite things out here so couple that with a hill, a gorgeous blue sky and a panoramic view of Montreal and it was not a bad time at all.     Basically some ideal weekends.  

The 'Polar Vortex' Voyage

Travelling is a rather strange experience if you think about it.  You become part of a bubble.  The real world and your real life pause.  The only people you communicate with are total strangers.  Your focus and ambition in life is getting from one place to the other.  Something that can be to next to impossible as I found out this week.  A journey that only has to take 7 or 8 hours was enhanced, embellished and elongated until it was actually 72 hours later that the final destination became a reality rather than a far off dream. 

Airport.  A word I now hate. Along with border control (having been through it practically a hundred times), baggage (having lost mine somewhere in the ‘polar vortex’), boarding pass (having racked up an impressive collection of now just empty promises) and the dreaded word of ‘delayed’ highlighted red on the board (you know that hour by hour the delay time will increase until suddenly, ‘cancelled’ flashes up.  Hope once more crushed into the frozen ground that is currently North America). 

72 hours ago I was rather excited to be returning to the land of snow and ice.  That excitement has evolved into frustration, anger, tears to pure numbness.  That 24 hour wait I had for my journey home at Christmas was nothing compared to four airports, two nights stranded in cities which weren’t even on my original journey plan, sitting on planes multiple times waiting to leave to be told we have to return to the terminal once more.  It’s the expectation that this time shall be the time we get lift off.  Everyone has their own horror story.  Though not going to lie, I did have to bite my tongue multiple times when I heard people complaining about having been waiting in the airport for 12 hours.  That, my friend, is nothing.  Trust me and the guy on his way back from Malaysia.  Though one plus is that unlike not wanting to miss Christmas two weeks ago, the only thing I’m missing is introductory lectures which I probably would have skived anyway.  And it does slightly put life into perspective.  All I really suffered were uncomfortable seats, a lack of sleep and a touch of mental anguish.  Nothing if you really think about it.

I’ve met a range of people along the way.  You’ve got those bitching about every little thing, trying to place the blame on anything and everything.  All they are doing is making everyone else around them more pissed off than they were before.  Helpful.  Then there are those who take out their anger and frustration on the nearest person wearing a uniform.  Because they were obviously the person who chose to shut down the whole of Toronto airport right and personally caused you to be stuck on the ground, right? Sure. There’s the teenage girl sat in the corner with tear stained cheeks.  The parents trying to entertain two 5 year old girls for hours upon end, drawing other passengers into the mix (impressive job indeed).  The restaurant manager, just glancing at my face and its expression, giving me a free drink of coke even though I didn’t have enough money. The woman with her pet dog which had the power only animals and babies hold to put a smile on people’s faces which were ones of thunder just moments before.  Then those to whom you say a random comment to or ask a question about which gate to be at and suddenly you’re just chatting away like you’ve known them for years.  They are the people who help you forget that you’re on your own and life is pretty crap and just dull dull dull. 

My holiday at home is a distant memory.  Even English accents are already foreign to me.  I feel like I should have done something momentous during this epic ‘adventure’.  Rather I’ve just read over about a thousand pages of Games of Thrones and literally just sat.  

And all of this sounding like I’m actually home.  Oh no. Abandoned the airport after losing all hope in the air by means of transport after 24 hours of 5 cancelled flights to go back to basics: four wheels on the ground.  Good old Greyhound.  Only 5 hours of icy road separating me from my bed.  Though this is me however, so I’m expecting the bus to not arrive/break down half way in the snow/or simply look at me and decide not to take me as I’ll surely bring a curse upon the journey.

Nevertheless, I refuse to think that this disgraceful start to the term is a sign of things to come.  It better not be anyway...

First Snow of Winter

After mutterings of an approaching ‘snow storm’, the rumours materialised and last week the world of Carleton and Ottawa was buried overnight.  So a foot of snow here isn’t exactly much (only the beginning, they all say.  Just wait for the freezing rain) but at home it would be the most we would get in a year and even then it would be gone in a week (its staying strong here and I feel like I’m not going to see any colour other than white and grey for ever.  Green grass? What even is that...).  If England had been hit by what we’ve had over here, there would be chaos.  A similar amount fell at home a few years ago and the world seemed to stop turning (prevented from returning home for a good three days sums up how well England can deal with any kind of weather other than fifteen degrees and drizzling rain).  Here however, life continues as normal; except everyone is now wearing real sexy winter boots and is bundled up in massive coats with woolly hats (or a toque as they say out here) worn everywhere, even in lectures and in the caf.  Necessary indeed.

No dramatic falls (yet) but some rather close calls and unexpected steps into snow about three times deeper than expected (cue frozen numb ankles and pretending in front of the mass of people waiting for the bus that I totally meant to do that, whilst trying to scoop the snow out of my boot and basically crying inside - frozen tears of course.)

To fully appreciate this arrival of winter my weekend was filled with snow-related activities. Saturday had me hiking through Thousand Islands National Park for the day.  Was a casual minus twenty degrees.  It actually wasn’t too bad until you stopped (and even then we had a spontaneous fire started. As you do)  Indeed, the journey there was actually colder on a rickety school bus with metal sides...not ideal having the window seat.  But overall, a nice little excursion out of the grey jungle that is Carleton. 

Sunday meant first ski of the season. And I’m still alive!  Excellent (and surprising) stuff.  I thankfully hadn’t forgotten what I had learnt earlier this year and it even took until my third run to actually fall over.  Achievement.  No catastrophic disasters either other than having a 5 year old boy ask if I was okay when I’d fallen over.  Less than half my height, a quarter my age and ten times as good as me.  Great.  The ski resort we go to is Mont Tremblant in Québec and it is as picturesque as you can get.  Cute little fairy lights everywhere, beaver tail cafes and cosy bars means that skiing is not going to be the only entertainment when we go (Après Ski anyone?).  Anyway, the plan is now to go most weekends if possible to make the most of my ski pass and kit.  Might actually get to an acceptable level by the end of the year out here...  

Final week of assignments then just exam period for the next two weeks.  Oh joys.  My advent calendar sent from home – thanks parents – has the combined role of counting down to Christmas and my flight home (the excitement over receiving an advent calendar will never diminish no matter how old one gets, particularly when it has survived its journey across the Atlantic).  Until then, essays, exams but with more skiing and internationals Secret Santa to look forward to.d seemed to stopped turning (prevented from returning home for a good three days).  Here however, life continues as normal. 

The 'real' Capital City

You know you’re acclimatising to life out here when you get overexcited at it being 0 degrees rather than minus 9 (practically the return of summer).  The joy of a day when your face and brain don't actually freeze while battling the wind tearing through campus.  However, I am now fully equipped up with a proper winter coat (coat envy is definitely a thing out here.  £1145 was just slightly out of my price range, though it was a thing of utter beauty and I’ll be hating on anyone with it).  Snow boots have also been purchased.  Designed to keep my toes toasty until minus 32.  Good but that's just a slightly depressing thought...

However, on a positive note a ski season pass has been purchased (for the equivalent of £220 which is just a little bit great).  So the plan is to return home an absolute pro skier, breaking no bones, reducing the number of slopes which I slide down on my face and not falling off any mountain somewhere. 

More winter related activities have included going to see my first ice hockey game.  Loved it.  Total new convert to the sport.  Team4life = Ottawa Senators.  Always a good introduction to the sport when your team wins.  Just a lot of shoving and fights really, with one guy being smashed in the face by the puck.  The ‘sin bin’ is just hilarious, the players being put in there for a few minutes if they misbehave.  Naughty. Classic Brits getting lairy and nearly starting a fight with the opposing team (they were French Canadians so it’s not exactly surprising).  Subsequently, another aim of the year is to come back knowing all the players, having my personal favourite and owning at least one item of Sens fan kit (actually understanding the rules may just be an incidental consequence).

Travels in the last few weeks have taken me what has been referred to as the New York of Canada. (Another of those place which people always assume is that country's capital - New York, Sydney, Rio de Janeiro etc).  Anyway, I am a fan.  It’s very different from Ottawa so was a refreshing change.  Also it seems like pretty much everyone at Carleton is from 'near Toronto' (basically 5 hours away is near here) - The 'GTA' to those in the know - 'Greater Toronto Area' - So it obviously had to be visited.  Full of skyscrapers and just the classic city buzz.  With that naturally came a mix of very interesting people but what can you do (cross the road to escape pretty much).  Our three day mini-break started with having a gorgeous Thai curry (something which the Caf here does not do to my sadness), delicious crepes, ending up in a random bar place with live music (the punk/rock style was a little different to my usual kind of place and taste but all about new experiences...). 

As with all city visits, the amount of walking we did was impressive (in my mind at least).  The ‘hip’ Kensington market had to be ticked off.  However I think we went too early so all we really saw was closed shops and a lot of homeless people and had a random man following us on a bike singing/shouting out Top 40 classics.  Envy was felt towards the University of Toronto campus.  Buildings that were built before the architecture disaster that was the 1970s and don’t hurt my eyes?  Something of dreams (The memories of Oxford’s spires seem oh so far away out here). 

Yonge and Dundas Square = a Times Square wannabe. But St Lawrence food market (apparently one of the world’s best) was a delight.  We got chatting to an English lady and pretty much everyone can talk about here is the cold.  All about the face mask to survive apparently. Excellent.  Anyhow, a little ferry trip later and we were on Toronto Island gazing at the city’s iconic skyline (after a session of skimming stones on the beach. Natch).  Probably the highlight of the trip watching it all light up. Classic tourist life.

Overall a great weekend with Sunday spent eating more crepes and then moving onto the nachos in a sports bar, listening to die-hard fans prepping (i.e. drinking up) for some Canadian football game (awful game, just saying).  Finally, a glimpse of the ‘Santa Claus Parade’.  Cue  marching bands and good old Mr Santa Ho-ho-ing everywhere, with lots of excitable little children walking just everywhere, getting all up in my path (I’m the one with the suitcase. Move. Please otherwise I will trip you up... See? I did tell you...).  The whole thing was so North American...

Gradually colouring the map in and this week getting my Carleton Raven’s spirit going again (oh the return to the Frosh week joys...) with seeing the school’s basketball match and who knows what else.