Preface.

It’s 3:15am when my bus finally reaches his destination: Whitehorse, Yukon.

Among those three days spent in the bus, the last ten hours were the most interesting: caribous, mountain goats, black bears, bisons… West Canadian welcomed me by presenting a glimpse of its wildlife. I’m already charmed.

I get out of the bus with an awckard pace and starts looking around for my new foster mum while waiting for my huge backpack to make an appearance. As if they were working ants, my few traveling buddies collect their belongings and wander around in the dark starry night. The bus leaves the platform. There is only two people left, obediently waiting for someone to pick them up, and I’m one of them. Anxiety takes possession of me. What if she didn’t wake up? Worse, what if she changed her mind ? I somehow get rid of those negative thinkings, shaking my head, and start to lie in wait again, paying attention to every single motion.

Suddenly, a car parks in the platform and a smiley woman gets out of it. I immediatly recognise this woman; it’s her, Mirjam, my foster mum. I walk towards her, half in earnest, half in jest. After some formal exchanges, we are driving towards «home».

A smile on my face, I scan what’s going to be my city for the next few months. Mirjam, such as a tour guide,  gives me a few informations: main street, Yukon River, housing project area…  At first, nothing appealing. The city looks dull, gloomy, almost lifeless. I charge up late hour and decide not to judge too easily. Few minutes later, we’re in front of what’s going ot be « my » home for a bit. Made of wood, the house immediatly pleases me. Without longing, Mirjam shows me my bedroom on the basement floor and leaves me to my sleep. With all that excitement, I nearly forgot that four days ago, I was flying off Paris to Montreal. The time difference added to my long trip calls me to order.


I am finally there, my new life in the Yukon can officially start.

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