Yel Kaye – Travel Blog, Writing and Photography

Canada, at least in winter, does not agree with me.

(Considering I had two colds, two flues and even a kidney infection that sent me to the hospital, I guess you could also argue that Guatemala doesn’t agree with me… but let’s just overlook that right now.)

Edmonton wasn’t even “that cold” while I was home, meaning it hovered between -10 and -25. (Celsius. For you Americans, that’s between “well below freezing” and “really fucking cold.”) I have certainly been there when it’s been worse. Still, I could feel my throat freeze when I breathed in fresh air, and I couldn’t stand to walk the dog more than 5 minutes.

Winter takes a toll on us Canadians and other northern dwellers.

My hands, soft and smooth in Guatemala, is cracked and dry along the knuckles. My face is similarly scaly, and turns bright red when I try to apply any lotion to make it soft again.

It’s too cold to contemplate a nice long walk, let alone a jog, so my body has barely been used. As a result of lack of exercise, I have had a hard time sleeping the last two weeks.

It must be no coincidence that Canadians are prone to bouts of depression in the winter, myself included. Right now it only gets light after 8am, and the sun sets around three.

That feeling I get every year at the end of winter when the snow melts for the first time and it smells like spring – that feeling that everything is going to be alright and in fact might be wonderful – cannot be a coincidence.

In Guatemala in the middle of December I can sit on a bench in central park, basking in the sun’s rays. (With plenty of sunscreen, mind you. I am after all a pasty gringa.) Even if it’s not that warm in Quetzaltenango I can still feel the sun seeping through my pores, bringing happiness and contentment.

No, I am certainly not a winter person.

But does this mean that I am not, well, a Canadian person? Of course I’m Canadian… it’s where I was born, raised and nurtured. I do have that sweet little passport that gets me into any country with hardly a question asked. It’s not that I don’t belong in Canada. Of course I belong – I am Canadian.

It’s more of a question of whether I am suited to it. Suited to everyday life in Canada, a life that (let’s be honest) is pretty darn nice.

This is a question that I ask myself all the time. I am happy – maybe happier – living in Guatemala (or Burkina Faso, or probably a great number of tropical countries.) I’m out of my element there, which somehow makes me feel more comfortable in my own skin.

I was explaining this to a friend the other day. I’ve always been a bit of a black sheep, an odd one. Being somewhere where I really don’t fit in, then, is a relief.

Besides, many of the peers I surround myself with in the traveling or expat life (since I’m hovering somewhere between the two right now) are always more like-minded, especially other foreigners. They are all really interesting and diverse, but like-minded at the same time. Often the majority of my peers in Canada don’t really get me or my life choices. And while I certainly don’t click with every wanderer/expat/traveler type, I certainly do with a lot. Basically, the way I want to live my life, the things that make me happy are understood and encouraged.

Some of my family members feel that I should try to get my life more on the “career” track. Doing something like teaching English, even if turns out I’m great at it, make good money and love it, does not count as a “career,” apparently. I guess a “career” is something that sounds impressive.

But I guess if I’m happy, challenged and engaged with what I’m doing, I should stick to my guns… at least until I find out for myself that I should alter course.