Beaches and Bagels

I invented a new word a few mornings ago: "gawjus." It’s just like “gorgeous,” only it’s more. It was a cold but sunny morning, and I had walked down to the beach. I can still picture the blue, blue sea, a surprising contrast to the muddied water of a windy yesterday. I now know what lies behind the simile of a sea like glass. I have not seen waves higher than about 0,5m, but they lap at the shore consistently, bringing treasures such as shells and driftwood and seaweed. To the right I see the tall buildings of downtown, strutting their stuff in the sunlight, proud. On the water before me I count 13 ships, and I am reminded of Grandpa who would eagerly beckon us each morning to the window of his harbour view, to count. Imagining the stories of each vessel makes for a fascinating exercise of the imagination. And these 13 stories and mine somehow overlap on the blue, blue waters of West Canada.

I fear I am becoming Canadian. In this regard, I could probably lump Canadians and North Americans together (but don’t ever tell that to a North American!): I ate a bagel for lunch. In fact, I have two whole packets of bagels in my freezer, waiting to be devoured with cream cheese or something luscious. Before coming here, I didn’t really even know what a bagel was. I have since discovered that the breaded donut-shape-thing comes in multiple flavours. Ooh, even thinking about cinnamon raisin makes my mouth water. I suppose, if I were truly to become Canadian, I would have to eat a bagel for breakfast. Not long afterwards, I found myself putting in my South African flag earrings. Just to be sure.