Ottawa, Canada

After months tearing around South America, arriving in Canada felt like switching from a rock concert to a library. The customs officer wasn’t thrilled with my vague travel plans and gave me a proper grilling about the legitimacy of my stay. I must have looked convincing enough (or he just got bored of me), because he eventually let me through. I’d been feeling a bit flat — probably just the hangover talking — but knowing I had 20 days until meeting up with JT gave me something to count down to.

Ottawa surprised me. I’d always thought of it as one of those capital cities that exists purely for administrative purposes, but it actually has a fair bit going on. Did the museum rounds, walked around getting a feel for the place. There was a gala event on, and I somehow ended up hiring a tux for it, which felt absurd given I’d been living out of a backpack for months. Scrub up alright when I have to, apparently.

The real bonus was discovering that Tristram, a mate from back home, lives in Ottawa. Small world. We caught up for beers at Hooleys and then the Standard, and he introduced me to some of his mates, which instantly made the city feel less foreign and more like somewhere I actually belonged.

The Ottawa Senators were in the NHL playoffs while I was there, and I managed to catch a few games. The first was a 1-0 loss, which is about as exciting as watching paint dry. But the next game they won 3-2 in overtime and the place went absolutely mental. I watched the final match at Maclaren’s pub. The Sens were knocked out, which was gutting, but somehow I got a mention in the Ottawa Citizen, so I’ll take that as a consolation prize. Between games I swung by ESD for poutine — that glorious Canadian mess of chips, gravy and cheese curds that has no business being as addictive as it is.

I sat in on Parliament for question time, which was fascinating in the way that watching politicians argue always is — equal parts impressive and infuriating. Then there was a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert, which needs no further explanation. It was class.

One night I went to Absolute Comedy and made the rookie mistake of sitting in the front row. The comedian spotted the Australian accent from a mile away and I became the punchline for a solid ten minutes. Fair enough, I suppose. I walked right into that one.

Tristram had won (or bought for a steal at $400) a package deal at the Marriott, so we spent a couple of nights living well above my usual backpacker budget. Day spa, ziplining, proper dinners — the lot. After months of hostel bunks and two-dollar meals, sleeping in a king-sized bed felt like some kind of cruel teaser for a life I wasn’t living.

I also caught the Man United v Man City match at a pub in Georgetown. As a football fan in a country largely indifferent to the sport, finding a decent pub showing the game felt like discovering an oasis. Ottawa was never on my bucket list, but it turned out to be one of those places where the people and the timing made all the difference.