So long, and thanks for all the fish

And so it ends.

It was 1294 days ago that I first set foot in Nunavik and now it's the last day. As I leave, there are no awards, no fanfares, no hour long special featuring your favourite moments from all the previous seasons, as well as some never-before-seen outtakes and behind the scenes footage. Instead, I'm now just the man in the suitcase, sitting eating a last bowl of cheerios whilst surrounded by all my boxes (20 of them), waiting for the van to come to take me to the airport.

It's an ordinary end to what's been an extraordinary journey.

If you'd told me five years ago, when we were still back in the UK, that I would spend four years - three of them on my own - in an isolated Inuit community teaching English to college hopefuls, I'd have taken you about as seriously as a very unserious thing that had just won the world unseriousness championships. However, life never pans out quite how you'd expect, and here I am and there I was.

To paraphrase Celine Dion the blog will go on - I think - so keep looking in, but this particular chapter has now reached its end. Thanks for sharing the journey with me; you've been great company.

Taima!

Packing up

It's now my last weekend in the North, and the end really is in sight. Packing has begun, and even though I have relatively few possessions here, I still have a whole bunch of stuff that I've hardly ever or in some cases, never, used. I came here with 18 boxes, and if I were to do it all again I could probably halve that number and still live relatively comfortably. When I get home next week I'm going to be going through the whole process again as we prepare for our major southern move - more on that in the days and weeks to come - and it's for that reason that I'm not quite as hyped about leaving as I might be otherwise.

I hate moving, or at least the packing side of things, and the fact that we've done it so often over the course of the past decade hasn't made me alter my opinion in any way. I make it that I've been involved in eleven moves over the course of the last ten years, including one inter-continental move and several excursions to, from and around Nunavik, but hopefully this will be it for the foreseeable future. Frank Sinatra used to sing that it was nice to go travelling but so much nicer to come home and I tend to agree, but I bet he never had to pack. Mafia connections most certainly have their perks; two men, a van and a horse's head...

In other news, it's James' birthday tomorrow, and as Sundays aren't the best days for parties he and Sophie are hosting a potluck tonight. I'm making spaghetti and sauce (how original), and in true Keith Floyd style there will be plenty of liquid stimulation on hand during the process as, in the initial stages of packing, I found a bottle and a half of rum plus some pina colada mixer that I forgot I had. My spaghetti's going to be awesome...

Sound judgment

We are most definitely into the realm of 'lasts' now. Today was my last ever Wednesday in Kangiqsujuaq, and this time next week I shall be, weather permitting, well and truly back in the south. Just how much of me will remain in the North? Only time will tell on that one; as I've said before, the North has very much become 'my Canada' over the past four years, and I guess we will have to wait until we get to the end of August and I haven't crammed myself into a Dash-8 or a Twin Otter before we can start to make a judgment.

For the moment I'm still here though, and today we marked International Noise Awareness Day with a number of highly interesting (honestly) in-class activities. Hearing loss is a big issue in these parts, with iPod-induced deafness exacerbated by the roar of skidoos and ATVs (or Hondas, as they're universally referred to here), and I suppose the occasional use of hunting rifles and carving tools doesn't help either.

I was somewhat shocked to witness my students' genuine amazement when they learned that listening to music through headphones at full volume will undoubtedly damage your hearing, but at least their eyes (and ears) have now been opened, and maybe they will now take steps to rectify the situation. Or maybe they'll pay no heed whatsoever; you can take a horse to water...

On a semi-related note, my research for Noise Awareness Day led me to the discovery of a rather fascinating series of recordings. They were made by a man named Édouard-Léon Scott de Martinville around 150 years ago, and are now regarded as the earliest known recordings of the human voice. Now, it would seem that Scott was only interested in studying the visual properties of sound waves and never intended for these recordings to be played back, which is a bit like studying ice cream by looking at it rather than eating it, but thanks to modern scientific advances we can now finally hear the results of Scott's experiments whilst at the same time enjoying over a thousand flavours of ice cream. You can hear the recordings here.

Oh, and lest I forget, I must report that my students unanimously rejected the lone gunman theory after their investigation into the assassination of JFK. Instead, they believe that there was a conspiracy involving the FBI and Secret Service that possibly went up as high as Vice-President Lyndon Johnson; Oliver Stone and Kevin Costner would be proud. Maybe we'll discuss the Moon landings tomorrow...

The Persistence of Memory

It's now the time of year when everything is starting to melt. The landscape is still covered with a snowy white shroud, but rocks, roads and patches of soil are now starting to poke through, much like the way in which the hairs on the legs of an East German women's shot-putter from the 1980s would have poked through her stockings should (s)he have tried to wear any.

Time is also melting away, like the clocks in Dali's famous painting, and it's melting just as slowly, if not slower, than the snow and ice. For both myself and my students we are now at the stage where nobody wants to be here any more and, if truth be told, nobody really needs to be either. For the students, their exams are now long over, and consequently their academic fate is effectively already sealed. Quite why they have to sit their exam a full two months before the end of the course I never managed to fathom out but, just like the Light Brigade, mine is not to reason why.

From my point of view it's just a matter of keeping my class occupied for one more week and trying to maintain the mutual motivation of both students and teacher. To that end I always fill this time of year with projects which at the very least interest me and hopefully manage to pique the interest of my students as well. Last week I taught my class some German - they can now count to ten, ask for directions to the railway station and order two large beers, please - and tomorrow we're going to examine the conspiracy theories surrounding the assassination of President Kennedy. I'll let you know whether my students subscribe to the theory of the lone gunman in the next post.

In the meantime I shall continue to stare out of the window, wishing myself away as I watch the snow melt, and as I do it's rather opportune that the Dave Matthews Band's Dive In should come up on my iPod:

Wake up sleepy head,

I think the sun's a little brighter today.

Smile and watch the icicles melt away and see the water rising.

Summer's here to stay and all those summer games will last forever.

Go down to the shore, kick off your shoes, dive in the empty ocean.

Nine more days...

Eleven days

Eleven days to go now, and my thoughts are most certainly starting to turn to the summer and all the changes that are on what is an ever-nearing horizon. Now that my imminent departure is official I've been able to talk more openly about my plans with friends and colleagues here, and the more I talk the more excited I'm actually becoming about the future.

Those of you that know me well will know that I'm normally a very phlegmatic person, perhaps too phlegmatic, but for once I really am feeling genuinely excited and I don't think that the next eleven days are going to pass anywhere near quickly enough. My students are on a trip to the Pingualuit Crater this weekend and don't return until Monday afternoon, so consequently I will be starting my week with a personal ped day, which means that just six of those eleven days will be spent teaching before my flight on Wednesday week. Whether this will make the time pass more quickly or not remains to be seen.

The only blot on the landscape is the need to pack which, thankfully, is not too pressing at the moment. However, by this time next week I think I will be in full-on packing mode, and whilst this shouldn't prove to be an overly arduous task it's never one that I look forward to. I arrived in Kangiqsujuaq with only 18 boxes, and as I haven't really accumulated any extra possessions in my time here there shouldn't be any more than 18 boxes coming back down with me. Quite when they'll make it back is anyone's guess - as I've said before, things tend to happen very slowly in the North - but as long as they actually do, that's all that matters.

Eleven days...

Two weeks notice

It's official; I'm leaving the North.

I have my ticket, and in two weeks' time I will be back home in the south.

Permanently.

As I mentioned a few posts ago, this moment has been coming for a while now, but yesterday I finally confirmed my intentions with the powers that be and today I received my travel itinerary. Most things happen very slowly in the North, but in my life events are now moving on apace. The number of teaching days that remain are in single digits - so even I can count them on my fingers - and just two weekends sit between me and my final flight.

I know I'm going to be feeling some mixed emotions over the coming days - in fact I'm already feeling them - but I'm glad to have finally made an irrevocable decision and I know in my heart that it's the right one. I've said before in these pages that my time in the North has changed my outlook on life, and whilst I really do believe that my experience has been largely positive, I also feel that the misanthrope inside me is edging ever nearer the surface, especially this year, and that can't be a good thing.

Consequently, my repatriation to the south, and to Melanie in particular, is coming just at the right time I think, and as much as I'm going to be looking back over the next few weeks, now is really a time to be looking forward. There will be many changes ahead and all the routines I've established will need to be broken, but it's all for the greater good.

The countdown has begun...

The final furlong

Horse racing has little or no profile in Canada, but back in the UK it was Grand National day yesterday, and whilst I have never been the greatest of gamblers I always enjoyed a bet on the National. Some years I would study the form and make the whole thing a very scientific process, some years I would just go by the horses' names; I even dreamt the winner one year and yes, it won! As you may have guessed though, I didn't put much money on that year - I always went by the adage of 'never gamble more than you can afford to lose', which kind of defeats the whole purpose of gambling really, but there you go - and consequently here I am, still eking out an honest living.

The way I make that living, and where I make it, is all about to change though. Although nothing is signed, sealed and delivered just yet, it would seem that a new career at King's Town School beckons, and consequently, after four years in the North, I've now entered what looks like being my final four weeks here. There are going to be many instances of 'doing something for the last time syndrome' over the coming month and, who knows, I may well have done some things for the last time already.

Whilst working in the North has brought with it many frustrations, I have by and large enjoyed my experience. I have seen and done things that I would not have seen and done otherwise, and I have met people the like of who I would never have had the chance to meet in my normal walk of life. Since leaving the UK some five years ago the North has very much become 'my Canada', and I know that my outlook on many things in this life of ours has been changed as a result. Without wishing to sound pretentious I think I am a better person for it all or, at the very least, a different person; perhaps it's best left up to others to decide on whether different is actually better.

For everything there is a season though - it's normally winter up here - and, for a number of reasons, I think the time is now right for change. A full five years after moving to Canada it would seem that enough dues have now been paid to have earned Melanie and I the opportunity to be living and, hopefully, working together again, and whilst I have always been very much aware of my 'geographical impotence' up here, a series of recent, unfortunate events in the lives of my friends and family has done much to bring that awareness into even sharper focus. As I said at the start of this post, I have never been much of a gambler. Any move, be it career or physical, is always going to be something of a gamble, and I am about to do both. On this occasion I'm happy to roll the dice though, and I'm prepared to deal with the outcome, whatever it may be.

And now the end is near...

This could be my last week in the North.

It is almost certainly my last week in Inukjuak.

As I have mentioned before, our school year ends this Friday, and I am still none the wiser as to my future employment prospects. I've worked for three years in Inukjuak now, and since moving out to Canada in 2005 this small town is where I've spent most of my time. Consequently, I've become somewhat attached to the place - its people, its routines, even its weather - and I have very mixed feelings about the possibility of having to say goodbye.

I think that most of us are, deep down, creatures of habit, and the prospect of having to break the habits I have spent three years developing is not one that I'm looking forward to, if I'm honest. After such a period of time in a small community one is able to find a place, a niche if you like, both in a professional and a personal sense, and although there are many problems and inconveniences that have to to be surmounted, you can't put a price on that sense of 'worth.'

In the meantime, I continue to (put off) packing my boxes and to tie up what loose ends I can. There are many goodbyes that have to be made this week, an onerous task at the best of times, and one that is made all the more problematic by the fact that I might be saying 'hello' again in September. It's a bit like when you bump into someone you haven't seen for ages whilst you're out shopping; after you've spent time catching up you then bid your fond farewells, only to run into them again two minutes later in the next aisle, causing you to go through the whole awkward process all over again.

So, whether Friday will indeed prove to be the final curtain, or whether there will be a Sinatra-esque comeback to be made, only time will tell. What is for sure though is that I now have only four days left to pack, so I really ought to make a start...