THE Year Abroad... but will I ever get there?

As I prepared to embark on another years adventure, thousands of miles from home, I thought about turning my hand to the clichéd yet enduring work of blogging. Now, I may not be the next Bill Bryson, but at the very least my family and friends will feign interest in my musings and insights into another culture, my adventures on another continent and undoubtedly my trials, tribulations and cultural faux-pas that are certain to occur as I immerse myself in that wonderful institution of language students, The Year Abroad.

The details of this mythical right of passage, you cry? Well, here you go.

Now, most (sane) people, when choosing where to go on their year abroad, would not pick a tiny little village, nestled at the foot of a mountain, in rural Quebec. A cultural hub in France perhaps, or one of the many beautiful island territoires d'outre mer, golden sunshine and unspoilt beaches guaranteed. Instead, I chose 6 months of winter, impassable roads, no public transport and a bizzare variety of French that is sure to have my tutors and fellow classmates puzzling over what exactly it is I have just said on my return to St Andrews.

Admittedly, when I first applied to the British Council for an assistantship in Quebec, I had only a vague idea of what it would actually be like. I just knew I wanted an adventure and to me the idea of such a vast distance (2863.8 miles to be precise) cried ADVENTURE. Images of mounties and maple syrup danced through my imagination as I filled out forms and attended interviews until one day, my email inbox made that tell-tale pinging sound, and I found out where I'm going.

My destination? Beaupré, Québec. Naturally, I had no idea where this is, so out came the big guns - Wikipedia and Googlemaps. For anyone still awake and reading at this point, it's about 20km north of Quebec City, on the coast of the St Laurent river. The wikipedia article on the town is less than helpful (seriously, read it for yourself) and most guide books are annoyingly vague about the area as well. I get the feeling if it wasn't for Mont Ste-Anne, eastern Canada's highest skiing station, it wouldn't be mentioned at all. But I'll reserve judgement until I am actually there. I have a sneaking suspicion it will be quite wonderful.

My task? To teach English at the École secondaire du Mont Ste-Anne, to help the kids improve their speaking skills, to teach them about British life and culture and hopefully have a lot of fun whilst doing it. To boldly go where thousands of other language students have gone before (Sorry, couldn't resist! For future reference - I am a geek).

For now, that's all I can really say about the place or the job. All I can do now is count down the days to my departure (5) and hope my visa arrives in time. Because naturally, I would have to have some calamity or other before I even get there. Actually obtaining a visa to get into Canada is a costly, yet fairly simple, process. However, I must have broken a hall of mirrors or something recently because mine is still to arrive. The Post Office (current target of my seething rage and cursing via Facebook) appear to have "misplaced" my medical results. No medical results, no visa. No visa, no Canada. How they can manage to lose tracked mail is beyond me - as one person put it "They only have one job - to deliver - and they can't even get that right!". I wholeheartedly concurred with this statement, and began ringing customer services, the Canadian High Commission and the GP in Manchester to see about getting another set of results. So hopefully, a visa should be faxing its way to me soon (I no longer trust the Royal Mail to get it to me at all, let alone on time) and I can, as intended, fly on Sunday.

I could at this point go into a massive long rant about the Customer Torture Department at the Post Office, (apparently losing post "is not their fault") but as I've gone on for long enough, I think I'll just leave it there, and say "See you in Canada!"