The odd couple

Most of the teachers who went south for Easter returned yesterday - I say most, because there are still one or two who, for various reasons, are not back yet - and with James and Sophie already having returned my house sharing adventure with Jacob has now begun.

As I have said before I am ostensibly a private person, preferring my socializing to be done on my own terms, but when one considers that my reintegration into society is now less than a month away, a little company is probably not such a bad thing. I used to love watching The Odd Couple when I was growing up, and over the course of the next few weeks we'll be finding out which one of us is Felix and which one of us is Oscar.

On the work front, most of my students don't return until tomorrow so I had myself a personal ped day today, and with this Friday being Culture Day I only have a three day teaching week this week. Nice. So, bearing in mind the possibility that I might actually be leaving a few days earlier than planned - more on that later in the week (maybe) - I make it that I have just thirteen, perhaps fourteen, teaching days left in the North. It's the beginning of the end...

The Long Good Friday

The Ivakkak crossed the finish line yesterday, and it would seem that I spoke too soon about Noah Annahatak's chances of victory. As I was writing Wednesday's post poor Noah and his team tumbled down a hill and off the trail in whiteout conditions; everyone was okay, but the time lost as a result put Noah behind Willie Cain from Tasiujaq, and he was unable to bridge the gap before the race finished in Kuujjuaq. You can see the final results here.

On the home front I'm now officially on holiday, and I'm looking forward to a week of doing absolutely nothing. Some of the teachers are staying in town but most have left for the week, and I now have ten days to relax before what is likely to be my final four weeks in the North. James and Sophie, my erstwhile neighbours, will be returning after the Easter break as they have now finished their paternity/maternity leaves, and as a result Jacob, my current neighbour (who has been working as a replacement teacher but is now staying on until the end of the year), will be moving in with me when he gets back from holiday next weekend.

I enjoy my own space and I'm basically a private person at heart, so I'm not sure how I feel about house sharing, but Jacob is a good guy - I have to say that in case he's reading - and it's only for four weeks so I'm sure we'll both cope. Good job that whole thing with the igloos isn't going to happen after all; something about the date, apparently.

A moving story

Climate change has long been affecting the way of life in the North, and this was further evidenced by the news that we all received this morning. It would seem that the permafrost has now melted to such an extent that most of the housing here will have to be condemned as the foundations are now too unstable, and as a result we are going to have to be housed in igloos until the problem can be resolved.

This is obviously a most inconvenient situation and could well affect my ability to update the blog as getting a reliable electricity supply in an igloo is not always possible, but I will do my best to keep you all informed of any developments. For now though I will just have to start packing and hope that I am given an igloo big enough for all my things.

Not the best start to the month, eh?

Live free or bliz-zard

Yet another blizzard swept its way through town today, shutting down the school in the afternoon and forcing the competitors in the Ivakkak to remain camped out some 65km into their 500km journey. Now, a blizzard day (or half-day) normally gives one the chance to kick back and relax at home without the need to go into work. However, one's ability to relax in said manner is severely compromised when the sewage tank is full.

Let me explain.

All the dwellings here have their water delivered by truck, and conversely the sewage tank is emptied and its contents taken away by another truck. Service is normally daily, but when the weather is bad such services either slow down or grind to a halt, and it can take days for everything to get back into sync again. In every house there is a panel of lights that indicates whether your tanks are full or empty, and my 'sewage full' light has now been on for the last two days. Now, this light acts a little like the fuel light on the dashboard of your car in that it serves as a warning, but it's warning me that my tank is almost full as opposed to the tank in my car being almost empty.

Once the sewage tank is actually full the water supply cuts of automatically, and then you are in real trouble. Until then you are playing a game of Russian roulette with your water, and each decision becomes critical. Dare I flush the toilet? Can I wash up the plates? Could I sneak a shower? Any one of these actions could tip the balance and cost you your water supply, and with the wind still blowing hard outside, what are normally everyday tasks become matters of great internal debate. Add into the mix that I share my water and sewage tanks with the apartment downstairs, where Pierre will probably be going through the same decision making processes, and life becomes very interesting.

So at the moment I sit with a toilet unflushed, a sink full of plates that remain unwashed and if I take a shower the water will have to remain in the tub until the light goes out.

It's times like these I'm glad I don't have a sense of smell.

There but for the grace of God...

I woke up late this morning. 8:32 a.m. to be precise. A power cut some time during the night had reset my clock and the alarm hadn't gone off. My class starts at nine, so it was a mad rush to get out of the house. No shower, no breakfast, just get dressed and go. Bugger.

However, my cursing at this misfortune stopped as soon as I got outside. One of the houses opposite me, a house that I see and walk past every day, was no longer there. It had burned down. There was nothing left save for a large pile of charred wood. Suddenly my problems were put into stark perspective.

I had never witnessed a house fire before, and now here was one almost on my doorstep. When I got to school I learned that no one had been hurt, which was the most important thing, but here was a poor family who had suddenly lost everything, literally overnight. I can't possibly imagine how I'd cope with that. Since I've been in the North I've learned to become less attached to 'things', but I still can't comprehend what it would be like to be stripped of everything you own, without any warning.

Earlier this year, the smoke alarm in my house kept going off despite there being no visible signs of smoke, so I called maintenance. When they came to the house they went to the boiler room and found that the furnace could have exploded at any time due to a blockage somewhere. It was quite a sobering moment; there but for the grace of God went I.

We all walk a thin line in this life, and 90% of the time we forget that fact. When there's an accident on the motorway, everyone drives slowly for the next mile or so, but the image soon fades and then it's back to the normal grand prix circus. I guess if we didn't think like this then we'd be too scared to do anything, but for one brief moment we are forced to confront our own mortality and we are made to realise just how ephemeral our existence is on this planet.

Time for tea.

The ultimate houseboat

Hello dear reader! It's good to be back online after a weekend when Shatner Net was at its Kirk-esque best (or worst, depending on your opinion).

Thought I'd let you into a little secret about our houses up here. Rather than building them on site, we have a deal with Ikea who ship them in for us on the big container ships. Most arrive flat-packed, but on rare occasions they are shipped in ready-built, as evidenced in this rare series of photos:

All we need now is some lingonberry jam and a bag of meatballs.