torstar file photo
Pearson airport: the only place Julia’s luggage was lost in a year of travel.
After a long flight, I arrived safely at Pearson International Airport. Unfortunately, my luggage did not. Ironic — after flying all over the world, the only place I lose my luggage is here in Canada.
Despite the delay, Dad was there waiting to pick me up. I smiled when I saw him. For the first time in a year, we hugged. “Welcome home,” he said. “Hi Dad,” I muffled into his neck, choking back tears. Our joyful reunion was exhilarating; we had so much catching up to do.
Those first few days at home were strange and wonderful. Though I’ve lived in Canada all my life, it was as if I was seeing my country for the first time. Everything was so convenient, so instantaneous, so easy. I found locals were excessively polite and law abiding. Streets were clean, the standard of living was high and people believed in a wonderful principle called customer service (non-existent in too many places I visited).
There were no more rickshaws or food vendors. No stray donkeys, cows or elephants by the side of the road. No bargaining or bribing government officials. No more backpacks or bunk beds or chicken buses. I was starting to miss them. It’s funny how quickly I’d adapted to my foreign environment; how displaced I now felt outside of it. I was suffering from reverse culture shock.
There were bonuses to this condition, though. Everything old seemed new again. I got to re-discover the familiar; enjoy the mundane with renewed curiosity and interest. Even a simple trip to the supermarket was a thrill. Strolling like a zombie through the aisles, I discovered that there was so much to choose from. Low-fat yogurts, organic yogurts, flavoured yogurts, yogurt beverages, yogurt smoothies and frozen yogurt popsicles. I was amazed by the variety. In many of the destinations I visited, you’d be lucky to find yogurt at all, let alone so many different kinds.
Compared to most countries, Canadian consumers have so many more choices; everything is at our fingertips.
But these things aren’t cheap. From pineapples to pants, the mark-up is unbelievable. In Beijing, I bought an authentic pair of Billabong shorts for only $10. Here, those same ones retail for close to $100. I’m learning the hard way— once you’ve shopped in Asia, and you know how much things should cost, it’s hard to go back to inflated North American prices.
For now, instead of shopping, I indulge in life’s simple pleasures. I sit on my couch, watch tv and eat Kraft Dinner straight from the pot. Culture shock or not, it sure feels great to be home.
