Canada | #01 | Transition

05th of March 2026 to 29th of March 2026

Approximate reading time: 8 minutes

Lets get it started

Hey there — it’s been a long time. Actually, it’s been more than three weeks now. More than three weeks of me being in Canada. More than three weeks since I left New Zealand. And I miss it every single day.

The transition into a new country, new people, the same language, new places — a new version of myself — challenges me every day. My mind keeps drifting back to old memories, old adventures. Fishing. Hiking. Playing pool with my friends on a Sunday afternoon, with a delicious pint of beer.

Arriving in Canada hasn’t been easy. Am I surprised? Not at all. I knew it would be difficult to settle, to transition, and to “leave” New Zealand behind. But how can I? It has become such a huge part of me — and it always will be. It shaped me. And for some reason, I made the decision to leave this very place that means so much to me.

Every now and then, I catch myself asking the same question: why did I leave?

Canada has been on my list for a long, long time — since 2019. I was excited to see the world. Back then, I had already gotten a taste of traveling by myself, of not just being a tourist. In 2018, I worked on a husky farm in Iceland, surrounded by beautiful nature, more than 50 dogs, and a rough, honest, real environment.

Four weeks. A movie shoot on a frozen lake. Snacks in the dark. Long cuddles with the pack. Northern lights at 3 a.m. — all of us freezing, staring into the midnight sky.

And to this day, I still draw strength from that intense but short experience. Somehow, I wanted more of it. More adventure.

I never saw myself pursuing a conventional career — sitting in an office, making money, climbing the so-called ladder, managing more and more people, becoming more and more “important.” I was never chasing career, money, or corporate success. My heart was — and still is — drawn to adventure, to the unknown, to risk, and even to the possibility of failure.

And so Canada became part of that idea. Part of that story.

Back in 2020, it almost happened. My visa had been approved. I quit my job. I gave up my flat. I booked flights to Vancouver, with a job lined up in the Yukon, working at a husky kennel again — not the unknown, but a kind of “comfortable” familiarity.

I was ready to go. I never would have thought that anything could ruin that plan. And we all know what happened back then…

My plans collapsed. Everything changed. I had to reset, rethink, reconsider. And somewhere along the way, I started running — and reinvented myself.

But Canada stayed in my mind. As an idea. A thought. A dream. A ghost. Maybe even a narrative.

Back to now. Leaving, moving, transitioning, arriving — it’s never easy. Especially when you leave everything behind and the only thing you take with you is yourself. Your memories. Your dreams. Your backpack.

Everything else is new. New places. New people. New nature. New adventures. New challenges. Everything feels exciting, scary, unknown.

And I can feel that I’m right in the middle of this transition now. And I know this might be a very, very long journey to get to the other side — especially since this year is already full of travel, full of people, full of constant movement.

And that takes energy. It takes effort. It might look exciting, adventurous — like the dream of traveling — but it can also be exhausting and sometimes lonely.

But right now, there’s a brown chocolate lab standing in front of my glass door, wagging his tail and barking at me to let him in — so I’ll take a short break and get back to you in a minute.

Workaway – involved with them locals

Working for accommodation and food — not money. That’s the idea behind Workaway.

I first discovered this concept years ago when I worked at a husky kennel in Iceland. The agreement is simple: you support locals around their home with various tasks, usually around 4–5 hours a day, five days a week. In exchange, you receive food, accommodation — and the real deal: the local lifestyle.

You’re not just a visitor. You’re part of the pack, part of the family, part of everyday life.

Depending on the Workaway, you often live right in the middle of it all — sitting together for dinner, talking about the day, the tasks, the small wins, life and its challenges, and how your hosts ended up in this very place. And of course, you get to meet other locals who drop by to say hi, have a chat, and share a drink.

My current Workaway is at Headwater Marina on the Sunshine Coast. My hosts are Lee and Gayle — a very lovely, caring couple. He worked as a caretaker for years; she is a designer by trade. They are very different, yet both equally wonderful.

Gayle cooks incredible meals for dinner — sometimes it feels more like a feast than just a meal. I already have two concerns: my weight… and what I’ll eat once I leave, when I have to cook for myself again. I’ll never be able to match her dishes.

She has a very artistic mindset — making her own brooms out of straw, crafting earrings from pieces of glass she finds on the beach, and exploring pottery and music.

Lee, on the other hand, is the hands-on type. He’s always outside — working in the barn, fixing things on the boat, or taking Cyrus, the slightly chubby brown chocolate lab, for a walk.

And Cyrus… well, he’s a Labrador. Always on the lookout for food, always following Lee, never leaving his side. He would follow him anywhere. And whenever you leave the car and Cyrus thinks you’re not coming back, he gets genuinely upset — as if no one should ever be left behind.

This place — and this Workaway — is truly a gem.

It’s located in Madeira Park, right by the ocean. The couple owns a marina, with boats from locals and visitors alike. They also have two Airbnb cabins, which are absolutely gorgeous. And the sunsets here… they’re something else.

My tasks are varied: splitting firewood, cleaning the area, raking leaves. One of the bigger missions was tackling the barn — which was a complete mess. It was packed with stuff, the ceiling needed a proper clean, and the whole space required serious sorting. We’ve also built a new shelf for wood storage, and next up is a large rock wall around the fireplace in the house.

So yes — the work here is diverse and never boring.

And what’s so special about living and working with locals?

Well… if they have a boat, they might just take you out.

And Lee has taken us out — multiple times already. Sunset cruises with rolling waves, and even a full-day trip to Nelson Island, about 30 minutes from Madeira Park.

That day was something else.

There were five of us: Gayle, Lee, myself, and two Airbnb guests. A couple of drinks, a BBQ, a sky as blue as the ocean, and the sun shining in full force.

The island itself is stunning. There’s an old hut from 1938 — classic Canadian style, built from logs. Remote, simple, and beautiful. The shoreline is covered in driftwood, as the island sits perfectly exposed to the waves, which constantly wash things ashore — wood, tiny polished pieces of glass (Gayle has an impressive collection, and I’ve just started my own), and, of course, some rubbish.

Not a huge amount — but enough for Gayle to pick up every time she’s there.

At one point, while Lee and I were sitting on the boat enjoying a Bum Bum rum (and it tastes exactly how it sounds — like caramel and banana hitting your throat in the best possible way), Gayle was walking along the beach collecting rubbish.

As she came closer, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

What at first looked like… well, something completely different… turned out to be a small silicone sex toy.

And Gayle, completely unfazed, shouted:
“It even has a bum hole!”

I briefly thought about taking a photo — but she had already dropped it straight into the rubbish bag.

Moments later, I found myself jumping into the ice-cold ocean for a quick swim.

And as we slowly made our way back to the marina, Lee played his favourite song for the ride home — Follow the Sun.

And that’s exactly what we did.

What else to say?

Life on the Sunshine Coast — without my own car and without really being part of the local community — feels more challenging than it probably actually is.

The first two weeks of my Workaway here were tough. Really tough. It was hard to arrive. To let go. To accept. And to fully realise that this was my decision — to be here. That I chose to leave New Zealand. That I chose to step into something new. The unknown. The “unsafe.” The different.

And I’m still struggling with that decision — not because I’m not enjoying my time here. My hosts are amazing. I have my own space. We share lunch and dinner, stories and moments together. Next week, the whole family will come over to celebrate Easter, and being part of that feels both exciting and a little intimidating at the same time.

But slowly — very slowly — I’m starting to settle in. To accept. To enjoy.

To take things day by day. Task by task. Without rushing. Without constantly chasing something.

To use this time — this Workaway — to slow down. To slow down the pressure, the expectations, the narratives. To slow down myself. And to simply be present. To embrace the moment and the opportunity I’ve been given.

Because here’s the thing: I wasn’t even actively looking for this place.

I had posted a few messages in Facebook groups, and then Maxime — a complete stranger — reached out to me. She told me she had done a Workaway here and highly recommended it. She suggested I get in touch with Gayle and Lee.

And so I did.

And now, here I am. On the Sunshine Coast. With a slightly chubby chocolate lab… and some truly wonderful people around me.

Life is challenging. Life is tough. And the more I grow, the more I learn, the more I see — the more I realise that I don’t really understand how any of this works.

I don’t have a clue.

But I do know one thing:

Life is good.

Your DingyInternational
Felix