A journey to Canada

As we stepped out of the train station, the cool breeze of Alberta kissed our faces. Jimmy stretched his arms and looked around as if waking up from a long, exhausting dream. “Finally,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
Alberta was not just beautiful—it was majestic. The kind of beauty that doesn’t scream for attention, but humbly exists, waiting for you to notice. As our train rolled into the province, the landscape shifted like a living painting. Towering mountain ranges stood proud against the horizon, their peaks dusted with snow even in the warmth of late spring.
The air was different here—crisp, clean, almost healing. The vast blue skies stretched endlessly above us, occasionally brushed with soft cotton clouds that moved lazily across the sun. Pine forests stood tall like an ancient army, whispering stories to the wind as we passed by.
In the distance, the Rockies rose like ancient kings carved out of stone. Between the slopes, clear glacial rivers flowed with a gentle roar, wrapping around valleys like silver threads. Nature had crafted Alberta with a patient hand—rugged yet graceful.
When we arrived at the edges of Edmonton, the city greeted us with a mix of modern energy and natural calm. Parks melted into neighborhoods, and city life hummed quietly beside the North Saskatchewan River. At every turn, there was a view to admire—a walking trail, a meadow of wildflowers, a calm lake reflecting the clouds like a mirror.
Meanwhile, Calgary’s direction offered a more dramatic beauty. Nestled closer to the mountains, it danced between the pulse of city life and the serenity of nearby Banff and Lake Louise. The turquoise lakes, formed by glacial silt, looked too surreal to be real. You'd swear they were edited by the skies themselves.
“This place... it doesn’t just look peaceful,” I said to Jimmy as we stood on a hill overlooking a stretch of evergreen forest, “it feels peaceful.”
He didn’t say anything at first. He just breathed in deep, eyes closed. Then he smiled. “This is what we’ve been looking for.”
For the first time in years, I agreed without hesitation.
The assistants handed us a small welcome kit with maps, schedules, and contact details for the local coordinators. Everything was well-organized—Sir James and his team had truly taken care of every detail.
We boarded a van that took us along the scenic route toward Edmonton. The snow-capped Rockies stood like silent guardians in the distance, and the Bow River shimmered like melted glass under the morning sun. I couldn't help but say, “This is where peace begins, Jimmy. Not in words, but in landscapes like this.”
As we passed the town limits, our group began to split. Half went toward Calgary, smiling and waving goodbye with eyes full of gratitude and disbelief. The rest, including Jimmy and me, stayed in Edmonton.
We were assigned temporary housing, simple but warm and welcoming. For the first time in months, I lay down on a bed that didn’t feel like a burden. No phone calls, no Mervin with his sugar-coated lies, no more sleepless nights worrying about the next visa delay or broken promise. It felt surreal.
“I think we made it,” Jimmy said later that night as we stood on the balcony watching the snowfall.

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