CANADA, oh CANADA

He really fits in, said a teacher at the boy school. I was suspicious of British school life with its uniforms. Teachers were made slaves to the system. Endless meetings, high demands on the quality of teaching, in which the learning processes of each individual had to be meticulously recorded.
J. liked travelling. He had been to Australia. He also had contacts in Canada. There was Guillermo ,
a Catholic nurse who had been barred from becoming a monk because he was gay. The Easter holidays were approaching and J. decided
that we would fly to Ottawa. We landed in Montreal at the end of March. The moment I saw the American mainland. I was in America.
As a teenager, I had been invited to IOWA by distant relatives because I had translated all the letters for an uncle. The uncle was a war invalid and his hobby was the family tree. But at 18, I was afraid of flying and the idea of being in Iowa for a month was just beyond my imagination.
The weather at the end of March was not very pleasant. On the bus journey I saw farms for sale.
Sleet fell on the fields. Rusty farm machinery stood around. Was this supposed to be the NEW WORLD? Guillermo introduced us to his friends.
I marvelled at the cohesion and good humour that prevailed in the group. I missed that so often in Germany. Canada was a country of immigration.
Ottawa borders directly on Quebec. You cross a river and you're in Hull, where the Museum of Civilisations is located. It is still my favourite museum today: the craftsmanship of the First Nations, a variety of ornaments unknown to me, put me in high spirits. Diversity . An expression of a rich life.

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