Cairo’s Egyptian Museum is as chaotic, dusty and beautiful as the city it’s built in. With it’s dark, stuffy corridors (there’s no air conditioning) and cavernous rooms stuffed full of ancient coins, papyrus scrolls, antique scarab amulets, coffins, masks and votive statues, it’s an utterly unusual museum experience in that it feels so real and uncurated. It’s like someone’s given you the key to Egypt’s underbelly, opening doors to Pharaonic treasures like you’ve never seen. One day, I’d like to go back to Cairo, spend hours in the museum, and then sail the Nile dressed like Mia Farrow in Poirot.

I’ll always choose a kaiki over a canoe, but since Canada is my chosen home, I’ll admit to my fondness for the quintessentially Canadian boat. Few things spark up a patriotism in me like the image of a red canoe harnessed to the spine of an unpretentious, beaten-up, old station wagon. A few streets north of me, on the quiet, tree-lined streets of Seaton Village, one such car/canoe exists. I imagine a family piled in with a boot full of beers, bacon, potato chips and bug spray, ready for a weekend of swimming, canoeing and marshmallow roasting. If I ever see them, I may just jump into the backseat with the kids and retrievers. What an adventure that would be. Happy Birthday Canada, thank-you for having me.

Mrs. B was more than a Greek teacher –– she was a loyal, loving, biriba playing safe harbour to whom my brother and I clung to when times were tough. She taught us to read, write and speak Greek. Plus, anything we know about them gods on Olympus, we learned from her. Her role evolved from once-weekly Greek teacher to live-in nanny, and she worked and travelled with our family on-and-off for more than ten-years. My best memories of Mrs. B take place at Voula’s open air cinemas where we ate roasted pumpkin seeds and watched films under the stars. She also took us to Luna Parks for candy floss and wild rides that children probably shouldn’t be on. We’d pile into her little Renault –– my brother and I, and two or three of our cousins –– and she’d take us on outings to the movies, to the beach or for lunch and a swim at the Astir Palace. She loved us and chided us like we were own, and had no qualms about yanking me out of a room by my earlobe when I was being naughty. She covered our scrapes in Mercurochrome and kisses, pinched our bottoms and sang old Greek folk songs to us. There was a lot of silliness and laughter. She is well into her 80s now, and lives in a small apartment in Pefki. On her mantle she has a few icons and crocheted doilies, and a picture of Alex and I.