At the age of eleven I spent a year living in the middle of nowhere: Prince Edward Island, Canada, a red coloured, bow-tie shaped dot on the icy edge of the northern Atlantic Ocean. To the "Islanders", as they are known, far less the fervent supporters of the British monarchy than their Anglophile forefathers, my newly adopted home was simply "PEI"; to the rest of the world, Prince Edward Island is not quite famous as the setting for Lucy Maud Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables, the birthplace of the Canadian Confederation, and home to red soil, red potatoes and yes, red lobsters as well. Every summer, "The Island" is visited by busloads of Japanese tourists, who, having read the former, wish to feed on all of the latter.
Upon my return to New Zealand, not only had I, courtesy of the asynchronous northern and southern hemisphere calendars, missed the end of primary school and the beginning of 'intermediate'—a unique to New Zealand two year junior high-school before actual high-school begins—I had acquired a strong, not quite as sweet as maple syrup flavouring: a Canadian accent to my speech.
Read more: Cooking lessons