Chronicles of one girl's journey to London - from conception to eventual migration.

Friday, June 17, 2011


For Qas' 27th birthday in March, I bought him a flying lesson! I know, I know, what a wonderful girlfriend, what a gift, what a thoughtful idea as he's always wanted to try it.

I managed to get him a package at the North London Flying School where he could also have 2 passengers with him. I would be one and Rich the other. Rich, unforunately, was unable to make the lesson due to a wedding (not his own) and so it was just me, Qas and our instructor Jitesh - who was 25 minutes late due to another lesson!

We had tea and a muffin while we waited, an idea I would later regret.
We flew in a Piper something or other - not sure of the model but you will know the kind. Propellor nose, little wings, sways side to side in a light breeze. In other words, nauseating!

At the controls, Captain Qas Pilot Man!
As a pilot, Qas was excellent. He was given the task of taking off, controlling in air and landing. I was initially really nervous about him making the landing. Take-off seems easy, you know. Point the plane up and accelerate. Landing brings thoughts of pointing the nose too low and crashing, or landing too late and not stopping in time once on the ground. Useless worry . . . as it always is with us mere mortals. Qas did great. Except for a couple of too-fast drops in the air, he was fantastic and could probably continue to get his licence with few problems!

The view was fantastic as well. The airfield was in Cole Green, Hertfordshire, very close to St. Alban's and we could see nothing but big, gorgeous houses and large acres of land for miles around. We headed north towards Stevenage and then back around again for an awesome 30 minutes of air time.

However, once we were back on solid ground, my stomach let me know it was NOT happy with the bumpy ride I had just experienced! I was so nauseous. A combination of a very sensitive plane and an inexperienced pilot took its toll.

Yay for flying!

Thursday, June 2, 2011


People ask me all the time where I'm from. Whether it's based on the colour of my skin (brown) or my accent (pseudo-Canadian) or other small details that give away my foreignness (clothes, culinary tastes, strange sense of humour). I, of course, always reply, "Canada" because that is where I consider my home. If they probe further, they will hear, "Toronto".

But this is not true! I'm not from Toronto. I'm from a little suburb outside Toronto called Mississauga. It's a town made up of rows of family homes, gardens, wide avenues and parkways, big schools with hockey teams and shopping malls.
This is my high school: John Fraser Secondary School

I miss it because there is space! There are lots of fields and big parks. There are wide roads and far fewer road signs than London.

Over the weekend, Qas and I visited St. Alban's for the day (he used to live there) and I was astounded by how teeny tiny everything was. It feels so cramped, like they tried to fit in as many houses and cars and people as possible into a tiny little space. However, when you go into town and into the park it's fine - the park is massive and beautiful. But those roads, where the house are, are unbearable. It's claustrophobic!

It made me miss the wide open spaces of my hometown so much, where houses are big and roads are wide and SUVs rule the roads!