***this post had failed to upload. It was to have been posted June 2018. I just realized it***
I’m going to let you in on a dark secret I have. I’m truly and utterly ashamed by it but I think this is a skeleton that needs to come out of the closet.
I’ve never been to a cottage for a weekend getaway.
I know. My face burns with humiliation. Like, how? Just fucken how? Living almost my entire life here and never done a weekend or week out of the city. But there it is really. There’s the answer. The city. I love the options urban life provide and I associated myself with those who also preferred that type of vacation.
Mind you a cottage isn’t by any stretch of the imagination “roughing it out” but I fear being so cut off from the world. That’s my first mistake. For someone who enjoyed poetry from the Romantic era and the grand themes focused on nature and connecting with nature and through that connection getting in tune with the sublime was truly, in the words of those writers and poets, a transcendental feeling.
I’m writing this with zero internet connection. I guess it’ll be posted once I’m back in the city. I just had to take this moment, as I sit on the dock, listening to the birds, breathing in that beautiful clean air coming over the lake and seeing some of the most glorious teeecovered hills in front of me, all I can say is, damn, what a lucky person I am.
This country has some of the most stunning examples of nature’s beauty. This country offers you the option of getting away from the 9-5 grind and connecting with a feeling so much better than what you think you feel. It provides you endless options of getting every square inch of your body bit by an array of insects but with a damn view like no other.
Barbecuing on the cottage patio with the lake right behind me and a hummingbird, a damn hummingbird, feeding off of the flowers to my left, just stunned me. I was like a kid bewildered and excited at what my senses were absorbing.
I get it. I get why white people say they’re going to the cottage. Because it is crucial you get out of the everyday grind and unwind away from the city. And as a child of Arabs, we didn’t do the cottage thing. First of all we didn’t know where to start looking for one. This was before the days of Kijiji and AirBnB. More so, the emphasis was on trying to carve out a living when I was growing up. Yes, we did the occasional Marine Land trips to Niagara but that was mostly it. We didn’t take advantage of just chilling out somewhere doing diddly squat because we didn’t think that was a feasible option.
Funny thing, I discovered that my parents and extended family back in the day, aka the early 1980s, did do nature outings. Getting in tune with their nomadic history, which I assume camping and cottaging is like but pilgrim style, they’d leave the city, go out to the desert, pitch tents, start the lamb and kebab roasts, and build a bonfire while enjoying family and company.
Shit, so pretty similar I guess. Circumstances made it tougher for our parents to do. Circumstances like the fact they felt lost in a country with no extended family to relish these moments with. Circumstances like mentally unaware of what they had at their disposal. But don’t worry, we’ll be showing them what their crazy-ass white washed adult kids are doing. And we’re more than happy to bring them for the ride.