Tuesday, 31 January 2012

SIM & SIN (just a matter of numbers)












SIM and SIN. 3 letters, almost the same word. Two words that don’t sum up a concept, and idea, a feeling, but a number, those figures making the difference between I can work in Canada and I can’t work in Canada.
Numbers, that’s all about them. We take a number for the queue, we get a credit card with numbers printed on it, and with no credit card you do not exist, because you have no credit history (but that’s another story).

As I said, those three-letters words make a simple difference: can, can’t.
You cannot work in Canada without a SIM. You’re a kind of shooting yourself in the foot if you are not reachable at a mobile phone number when you send out CVs, (well sorry, résumés).
That’s your second passport to show an employer you’re already here, and you made the effort to take a flight and leave home to try your chances here.
You cannot work in Canada without a SIN either. The social insurance number shows your employer the government is somehow aware you’re here and working (or searching for a job).
So, unless you want to join the world of illegal workers and find out one day what exactly means a deportation order, you’d better get a SIN too (but don’t write it in you résumé).

Two words and three letters that make also another point: difference between bloody complicated and easy as it should be.
You have your mobile phone, almost brand new quad-band touch-screen Android 2.3 (and so on and so forth), and you think: "Cool, it rocks, it must work in Canada, right?".
Wrong. It should, but it doesn’t.
The first day I arrived I challenged my tiredness and Vancouver freezing air, and got to a shop to but a SIM, as impatient as I was to have a Canadian phone number and update my résumé.
I chose Wind. I had found in internet it was supposed to work with my mobile phone.
Plus it looked interesting their offer including data connection.
Bad surprise: no connection to their network. Frequency, communication standard or protocol, I don’t know what the heck, but it didn’t work out.
So I had to choose another carrier. To figure out what the best option is can be pretty challenging and, not willing to spend hours on internet to check out the different plans, I simply followed my host family’s advice to go with Chatr.
In terms of mobile phones North America is just so backward compared to Europe: no sober European without any tendency to masochism could ever accept the crazy idea you’re supposed to pay for incoming calls. Somebody would say it’s bizarre, I say it’s a robbery. Do you pay the postman to get a letter???
Chatr choice was a consequence of my determination to avoid the big three (the most important Canadian mobile carriers) as my principles are not subject to any negotiation: I REFUSE TO PAY FOR INCOMING CALLS. I’d go rather with smoke signals or carrier pigeon.
Chatr seems to be not too bad, but I still miss a proper prepay SIM card European style.

Pretty much the opposite as concerns the SIN. Ok, I got lost to find the Canada Service office (a government office) near my area, and I must have walked one hour and half instead of the forecast half an hour, but that was my fault (next time a pedestrian tells me it’s a long walk and I’d better get a bus I’ll do it!!!).
Leaving that aside, everything was easy and smooth.
I waited for maybe half an hour at the office, had a short interview with a clerk, filled in a form, showed passport and work permit, and my provisional paper with a SIN was ready.
Today I’ve gotten the card with the SIN, just 8 days after my application.
That means to make the things easy.

As regards the rest, I have not much to say. Being a blog about travels I should be posting a lot of photos, comments on places I visit and people I meet.
Actually my life is more repetitive and boring: I live like a monk in a monastery who has changed the rosary with a laptop and the prayers to get salvation with the résumés to get a job, waiting for a miracle.


Monday, 23 January 2012

The arrival: first white-and-red post

 Rupert Street, 19th January 2012, close to my place


Here I am, in a guilty delay, with so many things to write an so little time.
As promised this is my first post from Canada.
I would is its keyword. I would have liked writing it the day arrived, I would have liked to place a proper photo, featuring  Vancouver airport or downtown skyscrapers, but I didn’t manage to do it: too busy and a sense of urgency that will never leave me until I get a job.

I left London Gatwick some days ago, carrying with my baggage the wishes of the owner of a B&B I slept a night in: “I hope you’ll get a wonderful job”. Well… I hope so.
I left in the early morning and arrived after a 10 hours flight in the early morning: it’s so cool to live in a round world, provided you don’t travel too much.
The Vancouver welcome couldn’t be more cold: -7 C. A sort of cold spring, compared to the -14 C in Edmonton.

I quickly archive the idea to take a photo in the airport: what would happen if the Canucks were infected by their southern neighbours with terroristic attacks paranoia? As I have no time to explain a policeman I’m not using camera to plan an attack, I just give up.

The queue at the immigration service reminds me at the first sight why Vancouver is nicknamed Hongcouver: entire families of Chinese people waiting for their work permission.
Canadians know how to put in a queue hopes as well.

It’s my turn. A couple of jokes with the officer, and my work permit is ready.
As every Italian, I am over critic towards bureaucracy, so I’m happy my first impact with the Canadian one is not too hard. The officer must deal with hundreds of people every day, some of them speaking a poor English, yet manages to have a short chat with me: it’s only a way to understand what I’m really willing to do in Canada, I know, but still it’s a human approach. Unfortunately arrogance is quite common in Italian offices.

No time to celebrate anyway: I have to pick up my baggage and reach for my host family. I set for myself a 3 months deadline to get a job, and there’ll be no visa to stop it if I fail.

The Canadian adventure has officially started.


Tuesday, 17 January 2012

Crossing the oceans

It’s time my friend: I’m leaving tomorrow. My next post will be from Canada.

I have been asked how I feel like. Surprisingly, until some days ago I was a kind of indifferent, neither excited nor worried, basically emotionless.
There was just some bother due to the necessity to leave again. I would have liked to stay in Italy, but you only deal with dreams once you close your eyes to sleep and now, frankly to get a decent job in Italy is nothing more or less than a dream.

I thought the departures and being quite used to the airports and their human fauna had forged somehow my soul.
No matter how you can be a brave and experienced sailor, when it comes the storm, you can’t pretend nothing happens.

I’m scared, it’s stupid do deny it. I have emotional heavy seas now: an ocean (for real, not only metaphorically) to cross, hundreds of CVs (or as Canucks say, résumés) to send, a limited amount of time to get a job in a competitive market where I know nobody and I’m not a native speaker.
Some years ago, when I was in Ireland, I used to think about Canada as a possible alternative to Ireland (and yes, one day I’ll write a post on why I chose Canada rather than Malaysia, New Zealand, or whatever other country). It was an idea already on my mind, but more as something to do maybe on a whim rather than a real plan. When I went to Vancouver in 2009 as a tourist I thought that and experience there could be feasible, but still inside me I wanted to get back to Italy and find a job there.
Now, inside me I just feel the awareness Italy is a losing bet at the moment. Canada is no more an idea, a dream or a whim: it’s a necessity, a bet, and it’s up to me to win it.