Ever since we landed in Canada, I’ve been banging on to Bree about how awesome Canadians are. Friendliest motherfuckers in the world, I’d tell her.

Even our immigration officer was friendly. I’ve seen Border Security, so I know how hardcore they can be. But ours was joking away and having heaps of fun with us while she issued our working holiday visas. Fairly sure I turned to Bree after we cleared and went, “See? AWESOME.”

We got to the hostel, and the staff were super friendly in an unremarkable way – or at least, they must’ve been unremarkable because I don’t remember anything they did specifically, just that it totally added to my Canadian love.

We were hunting for dinner on the night of our arrival, and popped into a UK-style pub called Elephant & Castle. The bartender was apologetic in a totally over-the-top American way, saying, “Sorry guys! We stopped serving dinner a couple of hours ago. Gabby’s is just up the road serves dinner until 2am though. I’m Shannon anyway!” she beamed. “How was your flight?”

This, coupled with the fact I was probably excitable because we just moved overseas, sent me right into overly-friendly mode. Like, to a ridiculous level. Bree and I were looking at something in a mall, the clerk came over and was talking to us. Hearing our accents, she asked where we were from. After a chat, we left, and the clerk called, “Enjoy your holiday!” So I turned and said, “Actually…” Bree groaned because she knew what was coming. I finished, “We just moved here.”

“They’re not all awesome!” Bree snapped at one point. “People are the same where ever you go: some people are cool, but some people are dickheads.”

The day after our arrival was my birthday, so went out for a drink. Because we’d only been in the city a day, we made an impromptu pub crawl out of it. It was a slog, so we took a break on our walk between drinking holes by sitting and chatting on small wall next to the pavement. Cameras in hand, we did what all generation Y people seem to do and started taking photos of ourselves to mark the occasion.

Trying to get the perfect pic of the two of us, Bree had her camera in hand, arm outstretched as far as it could it go. Smiling and posing, our faces would’ve made the perfect picture as a dude rode past on his bike and snatched the camera out of Bree’s hand.

He dropped the camera shortly afterwards so we got it back, but I’ve stopped calling Canadians awesome. They’re as flawed as any other people.