Following Christmas week in New York City, 2019 quietly came to an end with a relaxed New Year’s Eve dinner and drinks between two good friends. I was deep in my experimental cooking phase and had Alexandre over for a homemade, slightly burned, Greek moussaka.
A new year awaited. After the kind of year I’d just had, it was clear 2020 would probably be calmer. A step back. A year to build, not explode forward. As everyone now knows in hindsight, it would be far more than that — for all of us.
The New Semester Brought a New Victim to UQAC
With January came a new semester at UQAC. Alexandre and I registered for the two required PhD courses. Geology was always a small circle with barely a handful of students, most of them foreign. Among them was Pedro, a Brazilian PhD candidate who had just moved to Chicoutimi.
Welcome to the North. This is what you’ll see for half a year.
Pedro was one of those people who collects stories simply by existing. A guy who had never seen snow in his life moved to northern Canada in January, during a -40°C cold snap, with meters of snow and winter storms rolling in like clockwork. The story practically wrote itself.
After surviving the thermal shock, he endured months living with a questionable Québécois family. Among the gems he would retell: the time he opened the basement fridge to find his sandwich placed beside a box containing a dead cat. The owners were “waiting for spring to bury it” and didn’t want to leave it outside.
Pedro processed this information the way any rational person would — by moving out as soon as possible. With the amount of crazy stories he told us about his first months in Canada, he should honestly write his own blog.
The Rivière du Moulin during winter
He fit perfectly into our little circle of mildly disgruntled foreign PhD students trying to decode Quebec one snowstorm at a time.
The Quest for a Drivers License
For me, that winter felt like a tense calm before a summer storm. It was the first year of my PhD. That summer I was scheduled to do three months of fieldwork across Quebec and Ontario. Which meant one thing: I needed to renew my driver’s license.
The path ahead — Park du Rivière-du-Moulin
At the time I possesses an expired Romanian relic I hadn’t used since one lonely drive in Iceland in 2016. Naturally, it couldn’t be simple. Because my foreign license had expired, Quebec couldn’t simply exchange it. I had to redo the tests. Easy enough. Except I had barely driven in ten years.
Confidence low. Stress high. Instead of responsibly studying the driving manual, I decided to go in blindly. In contrast to my first driving exam when I passed both theory and practice on the first try, this time around I failed. Then failed again. The upside? Exam fees were cheap. Unlimited attempts.
The downside? A mandatory one-month wait between attempts. And of course, the regional SAAQ office was in Jonquière, not Chicoutimi. Which meant an hour-long bus ride each way through Saguenay’s bleak winter landscape every time I wanted to fail another exam. It was not a joyous era.
But with each attempt, I improved. Eventually I passed the theoretical. Then came the practical — rinse, repeat, stress, repeat. By summer, I finally had my Quebec driver’s license. Considering what was unfolding globally, this minor bureaucratic victory now feels oddly monumental.
My routine 10 km park walks to and from the supermarket and gym
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s rewind to winter.
Francisation
Another goal I had set at the start of the year was learning French properly. The university offered nothing useful in that regard. It was Pedro who pointed me toward Quebec’s government-funded francisation classes for newcomers. The Centre de formation générale des adultes was a ten-minute walk from campus.
When I went to register, the woman at the desk spoke exclusively French and had to evaluate my level. I stitched together broken sentences from memory. It didn’t come across as much. Beginner level it was.
But within a few weeks, something interesting happened. Fragments of childhood French combined with fluency in Romanian, a Latin language like French, roots began clicking into place. Vocabulary accelerated. Patterns emerged.
So I was bumped up a level or two. It felt like I was on the right path. Well on my way to adapt and integrate into my new life in French-Canada.
Routine into the Storm
Between language classes, Jonquière license expeditions, PhD coursework, and research work, I barely had time to breathe. But it was structured. Productive. Forward-moving. A couple times a week, Alexandre and I would make our “shopping expedition” — a half-hour walk through snow-covered streets to Place du Royaume, with a mandatory stop at Archambault along the way. Life was cold, busy, and routine. Until mid-March.
Sometimes the waterfall just completely froze
Another winter storm was forecast — strong winds, heavy snowfall. The university closed for the day. Nothing unusual. The next day I returned to find the campus in complete blackout. The storm had damaged major power lines. Parts of the town were without electricity. I made my way to our office using my phone flashlight. Inside, a few colleagues were sitting in pitch darkness, casually talking. Our office had no windows. This never bothered me much, but Alexandre hated it. We chatted in the dark for a while, laughed at the absurdity, then left. No work accomplished.
The following day was another write-off. I can’t even remember if it was still the outage, another storm, or just institutional confusion. The week was dissolving. At some point I joked to my friends: Just watch, Friday’s excuse is going to be a University shutdown because of that coronavirus thing. The news had been escalating into fear mongering. China. Italy. Numbers rising. Dramatic headlines.
Then Friday came. And with it, a state of emergency. The university closed. The province shut down. The world closed itself off. And just like that, routine evaporated. Me and my big mouth.
The New World Order — Life during the COVID-19 lockdown
Early into the first lockdown, I have to admit I felt a selfish sense of vindication. A quiet, petty sort of justice. For months I had been navigating life in a place where I barely spoke the language and knew only a couple of people. Isolation had been my baseline. And now, suddenly, everyone else was getting a taste of it.
Welcome to my world.
Time stopped dripping here. The world held its breath, and winter simply kept sculpting what was already still
At the same time, I secretly welcomed the abrupt pause. My schedule had been escalating into overload — PhD work, language classes, driving exam shenanigans, constant self-imposed pressure. The world hitting pause felt… convenient. I expected it to last a week. Maybe two. And then it just kept going.
Mask mandates appeared. Supermarket floor arrows dictated which direction you could walk, as if we were items on a conveyor belt. Entire stores closed. Curfews were introduced. News cycles amplified panic daily. Then came the toilet paper crisis. One of the stranger collective breakdowns of modern civilization.
Meanwhile, my mom in Romania described increasingly rigid restrictions there. At one point, people had to fill out official declaration papers justifying why they were leaving their homes. It triggered flashbacks for her — memories of life under Ceaușescu’s communist regime, when movement and speech were tightly controlled.
The longer the restrictions lasted, the more frustration built. The virus itself wasn’t what weighed on me most. It was the scale of disruption. The sense that normal life had been switched off indefinitely.
Remote Everything
The lockdown halted my French learning completely. At first, the school closed. Weeks later they began discussing remote options. But by then something inside me had shifted. My motivation drained slowly, almost imperceptibly. What was the point?
The surface freezes while the current moves on. Stillness and Motion.
University research continued from home. At that stage, most of my work involved literature review, so technically it was manageable. Psychologically, it was another story. For some of us, the university environment was essential — a mental trigger that said: now we work. At home, especially in small studio apartments, the boundaries collapsed. The same room that was for sleeping and relaxing became the office, classroom, gym, cafeteria. It blurred everything.
The university experimented with remote courses. It was… rough. At first, everyone tried. Professors adapting to Zoom. Students attempting to focus. But attention spans eroded quickly. Small distractions became irresistible. Changing backgrounds. Flipping someone’s screen. Eventually most students logged in, turned off their cameras and microphones, and disappeared into parallel lives while the professor lectured into the void. I often used that time to cook or clean. Assignments replaced exams. Everyone passed. I retained very little.
The longer the lockdown dragged on, the more pointless everything began to feel. The one concrete achievement of that period was my driver’s license. After all the failures and bus rides through frozen Saguenay, finally passing felt disproportionately triumphant. A small win in a shrinking world.
A Dead Campus
Fighting persistently on our behalf, our supervisor managed to secure limited access to the university for our research group. Strict rules, of course. Masks at all times. Only certain rooms permitted. Not our windowless office, but Lucie’s windowless lab-office. It was something.
The branches held their shape. Everything else waited. Frost simply finished what pause had started
When I think of UQAC now, I mostly remember it as it was during that period: a silent, cold building where you had to ring a security guard to enter. Empty hallways. Fluorescent lighting humming over abandoned corridors. It felt like living a post-apocalypse survival video game.
Apart from each other and supermarket outings, Alexandre and I hadn’t seen people in months. The streets were dead. The first time we saw our supervisor in person again, we talked for hours. Complained. Reflected. Laughed. It felt strangely profound — as if we had all returned from separate planets. Human contact had become a novelty.
The Slow Summer Shift
Weeks passed. Then a month. Finally, our supervisor pulled off another small miracle: approval for one month of fieldwork in August up north for her entire research group of four. Alexandre was relieved. Energized. It felt like movement. Progress. Normalcy.
I felt… nothing. What had begun as quiet vindication had slowly dissolved into indifference. I remember preparing supplies at the university and running into an old colleague, Tague. He was genuinely excited for us. “You guys must be thrilled!” I shrugged. Meh.
The cold had pressed pause so long the world forgot warmth. Yet here, on sun-heated rock, life tests its wings once more, slow and deliberate
In hindsight, I think something subtle had been settling in. Not dramatic, nor cinematic. Just a quiet flattening of emotion. A kind of functional numbness. I went through the motions. I did what needed to be done. But the internal spark, the ambition and momentum I had carried into 2020, had dimmed.
It would take a long time to recognize it for what it probably was. A slow, quiet form of depression.
Following my rough landing in Quebec, I was settling into early PhD life in Canada, slowly building a routine in Chicoutimi. My daily commute traced a familiar path: starting from the shores of the Saguenay, climbing the steep hill toward the cathedral, passing the CEGEP and its long stone wall, then continuing up yet another incline all the way to the doors of UQAC. It wasn’t a long distance, but it was a relentless one — a daily reminder that nothing here would come easily.
Early PhD Student Life
One of the first major differences I noticed between Europe and North America was how PhD candidates are treated by their institutions. In most European countries, PhD students are considered employees. Whether through contracts with the university or the research group, the general attitude is that you’re part of the research staff — junior, yes, but staff nonetheless.
In North America, however, you are firmly a student. You don’t receive a salary; you receive a grant. You don’t automatically gain elevated access to labs or resources. In many ways, you’re treated no differently than an undergraduate who might still be figuring out where their next lecture is. For many of us Europeans, this distinction was immediately noticeable — and not particularly well liked.
Roadmap ahead
That said, I would have two mandatory courses to take in my second semester, while my first one focused on independent PhD research work. At this stage, my “research” consisted almost entirely of information gathering for what they called a research proposal. In practice, it was an exam — an extensive written report and a formal presentation at the end of the semester, used to determine whether you were deemed fit to continue as a PhD candidate.
At first, the idea of having to prove myself again after already landing the position felt mildly irritating. But in hindsight, it was actually a solid approach. The process forced us to define the scope of our projects early, while also thinking through logistics, feasibility, and costs — all things that would become painfully important later on.
Historical Park of Sainte-Anne’s Cross on the north side of Chicoutimi
My time at the University of Copenhagen had prepared me well for steep learning curves, so the research proposal itself didn’t worry me much. The courses, however… those were a different matter. They were supposed to be taught in French.
How, exactly, was I supposed to pass university-level courses in a language I could barely understand?
The Sergeant
During our first weeks there, Alexandre and I had already heard one of our course professors mentioned several times by our supervisor, Lucie. She spoke fluent English but retained a strong French accent — normally not an issue, except for one small problem.
Neither of us could quite understand the professor’s name. All we got was Sergeant Barnes.
Alexandre and I exchanged looks, silently wondering what kind of military drill instructor we were about to encounter. Was this man going to bark orders at us? Make us march? Fail us out of spite?
South side of the Parc de la Rivière-du-Moulin
After weeks of mystery, the Sergeant revealed herself to be Sarah Jane Barnes — a highly respected English geologist teaching at UQAC. Together with her husband, she would be responsible for the handful of courses we were required to take.
Bizarro World
In what felt like a linguistic reverse uno card, the two professors turned out to be fluent French speakers with the harshest English accents my ears had ever been subjected to. So strong, in fact, that even native French students sometimes struggled to understand them — and would occasionally mutter that they wished the courses were taught in English instead.
It was truly bizarro world.
As October rolled in, it brought with it the cool, pre-winter air
Fortunately, “the Sergeant” turned out to be both sharp and considerate. Early on, she asked the class whether we would prefer the course to be taught in French or English. On that particular course, non–French speakers were actually in the majority. With even the French speakers’ approval, we continued in English.
From what I gathered, this was not something UQAC was particularly thrilled about — which made the situation even more ironic.
An international university… right?
Priorities
Courses aside, I clearly had to start learning French sooner or later — if nothing else, simply to improve my quality of life. I asked at the university what options they had for language courses, but these were limited to specific semesters. Eventually, I realized my best option was the government-sponsored French courses for immigrants. Free of charge. I would start the following year.
For now, the priority was getting past the PhD candidature exam.
Just a little Saguenay duck scratching an itch
Another aspect discussed with my supervisor was the need for a valid driver’s license the following year. This was, after all, North America, and I couldn’t realistically get anywhere — let alone do fieldwork — without driving. My old Romanian driver’s license had expired a couple of years earlier, and since I hadn’t used a car in a long time, I never renewed it.
Another thing to deal with next year.
The tasks were slowly mounting for 2020. I was already foreseeing a heavy workload for at least the first half of the year…
Heh. I had no idea what was truly coming. But I guess none of us did…
Small Town, Limited Options
During my free time, I took the opportunity to familiarize myself with Chicoutimi and its places of interest. There weren’t that many. The town center was essentially a single street lined with stores, bars, and a handful of restaurants.
Alexandre and I tried them one by one, but — how can I put it — the quality was mediocre at best.
Even Turalyon (Alexandre’s cat) was unimpressed
I’m fairly sure neither of us will ever forget a certain pizza we ordered once. It was so overloaded with low-quality industrial sausage, cheese, and astonishing amounts of salt that it felt like they were aggressively compensating quantity for quality.
Other options included the typical North American fast food, especially Quebec’s beloved poutine. I kept hearing locals rave about it, so I finally gave it a try. For the uninitiated, in its most primal form, poutine consists of deep-fried fries topped with a strange, gummy-textured cheese curd and drowned in gravy.
It was… certainly something. I’m still not sure I would have categorized it as food.
With limited options for eating out or ordering in, we were left exploring the wondrous offerings of Walmart. Like… Pogos. Another deep-fried favorite — now also frozen. Essentially a wiener in a bun… on a stick.
Ah. The joys of Chicoutimi.
My daily commutes through endless residential neighborhoods
On the days Alexandre and I didn’t meet up, I used the opportunity to improve my cooking skills and prepare my own meals. It was cheaper and infinitely better. In the following months, I also discovered higher-quality supermarkets like IGA and Provigo. These at least offered a wider selection of meats and produce — and even some decent cheese, which my very critical French friend actually approved of.
Ah, Chicoutimi. You were definitely an experience.
A New Sanctuary
Despite the many eyebrow-raising experiences, Chicoutimi did manage to provide me with a sanctuary.
I mentioned in older posts how, whenever I move somewhere new, I inevitably end up finding a place that simply clicks with me — somewhere I return to when I need calm, clarity, or just space to think.
A large natural park following the Moulin River from the southern outskirts of the town all the way north to the Saguenay River. Coincidentally, the northern entrance to the park wasn’t far from my place, and one of its many exits led straight to the large shopping area with the supermarkets, shops, and the gym I had signed up for.
Waterfall and rapids along the Moulin river
In the turbulent years that followed, the park became more than just a refuge from troubling thoughts. It turned into my almost daily (or every-other-day) trekking route — roughly 8 kilometers — whether I was heading to the gym, the shops, or the university.
Rain or shine. Breeze or blizzard. Plus or minus thirty degrees.
Quebec City
In November, our research group prepared for a short trip. Quebec Mine — one of the annual mining and research conferences — was coming up, and all of us were attending. It would also be my first time in Quebec City.
Château Frontenac, one of the most iconic buildings in Quebec CIty
Having been there before, Alexandre was excited to show me around one of the more civilized and urbanized parts of Quebec. Our supervisor gave us a budget limit per night and allowed us to book our own accommodation.
We, uh… chose a pretty dang nice one. Barely within budget, of course. Hotel Manoir D’Auteuil.
Each room had its own name and theme, and somehow, they placed the two of us in the chapel. Name aside, it was easily the most opulent hotel room I had ever stayed in — elevated beds, rustic furniture, and a marble-clad bathroom with an absurdly inviting bathtub.
Welcome to the chapel at Hotel Manoir D’Auteuil
The one and only downside was the bathroom floor, which remained brutally cold at all times.
Otherwise? 10 out of 10 — would chapel again.
The Conference
The conference took place mid-semester and was modest in size, drawing mostly local Quebec professors, researchers, and mining industry experts, with a handful of attendees from elsewhere in Canada. Most participants were French speakers, but the lectures themselves were held in English so that non-French speakers like me could follow along.
I spent most of my time attending talks and meeting new people, including my second supervisor, Stéphane — a highly respected professor from UQAM (Université du Québec à Montréal).
In the evenings, Alexandre and I would stroll around the beautiful old city center of Quebec
Despite the increased socializing, my limited French once again came back to haunt me. Conversations would usually start with a bit of small talk in English, only to abruptly flip into French. I’d catch a few words here and there, maybe even the occasional sentence, but following along was exhausting. Eventually, my brain learned to quietly phase out whenever discussions went fully French — something I had experienced before in Denmark when surrounded by Danish friends.
The Challenge Bowl
The highlight of the conference for me was a contest I decided to take part in — the Challenge Bowl, as they called it. Entry was free, I needed some entertainment, and best of all, it was entirely in English.
We were paired up in teams of two and thrown into a series of multiple-choice trivia challenges focused on geophysics. Now, I am not a geophysicist. I had absolutely no business being there. Then again, neither did my randomly assigned partner. A dream team, really.
Taking part in the 2019 Challenge Bowl
Giving up was obviously not an option, so I told him we’d simply try to figure out the pattern of right and wrong answers as we went along and see if we could beat the system. As with many things that come out of my mouth, it was mostly a joke. Mostly.
Yet the more we succeeded, the more I began to believe in my apparently undisputed ability to click the correct button at exactly the right time. Toward the end, things became more tense — wrong answers now cost points, while speed still mattered. Speed, however, was always on our side… because we didn’t really need to stop and think. The magic finger decided.
Victory in Sight
My partner could barely contain his laughter as we somehow kept pulling ahead, trolling our way up the scoreboard. As the final rounds approached and the prospect of actually winning became real, we both grew increasingly uneasy — and slightly horrified — by the effectiveness of our strategy.
The grand prize was $2,000 toward a trip to the national finals in Alberta.
I told my partner to imagine the two of us — complete clowns with minimal knowledge of the subject — marching into the national finals of a geophysics competition. If my enchanted button-clicking finger had carried us this far, surely it could take us even further. Barely a few months in Canada, and the Romanian was already trolling his way toward the top.
Almost got’em. Congratulations to the well deserved winners!
Fortunately for everyone involved, we just lost first place to a team that actually knew what they were doing. We happily took second place instead — grinning like idiots.
What a blast that was.
Evenings in Quebec
When we had time in the evenings, Alexandre and I wandered through Quebec City’s old town. It was easily the most European-looking place I had seen in Canada — or at least the most European part of a city. Cobblestone streets, old stone buildings, narrow alleys… I loved it.
Famous wall mural in Quebec’s old town center
Step just a few blocks outside of it, though, and you were instantly back in familiar North American territory. Wide roads, modern sprawl, and parking lots. It felt like a city within a city.
Still, it was several leagues above Chicoutimi, and it didn’t take long before we both found ourselves wishing we lived there instead. Once the conference wrapped up, we boarded the bus and headed back north to Saguenay — where a fully entrenched winter was now waiting for us.
The Final Grind
The rest of the semester passed in a blur of focused isolation. We hunkered down, grinding away on our research proposals and preparing for the decisive exam. At one point, I even recruited my mother over Skype to act as a practice audience for my presentation. Awkward? Very. Useful? Surprisingly so.
In the days leading up to the exam, I felt the need to give myself something to look forward to — a reminder that this wasn’t a life-or-death situation. A reward on the other side of the stress.
Greeted by the eternal white and cold back in Saguenay
Looking back, it was almost absurd to realize this was still the same year. 2019 had already seen me move back to Copenhagen, nearly relocate to Switzerland, embark on an unforgettable journey across Greece, visit Lithuania, and finally uproot my life to Canada.
So I decided to end it properly. One last adventure to crown the year of all years.
If I passed the exam… I would go to New York for the Christmas holidays.
After four years of living in Denmark, I left Copenhagen behind. My permanent destination was Canada, where I would start a new life as a PhD student somewhere in Quebec. My first flight took me to a familiar temporary stop in Reykjavík. Considering my incredible two-week adventure in Iceland a few years earlier, it felt like a fitting place to say goodbye to the last westward edge of the European continent. Looking back, I didn’t know it yet, but this journey would mark a rough landing in Quebec — the true beginning of my life in Canada.
A short stop in Iceland on my way to Canada
The transatlantic flight followed — hours above the ocean, then even more hours above the blinding white ice sheet of Greenland, followed by a long pass over the countless lakes and flatlands of northern Canada. Inch by inch, closer to my destination, until I finally landed in Montreal sometime during the night.
My first brief time in Montreal
Exhausted from the long flight, I jumped into a taxi as soon as I could and headed to the nearby hotel I had booked — Beausejour Hotel Apartments, from the 22nd to the 23rd of August. I still have it saved in my Bookings account. A simple room, but with an enormous king-sized bed — larger than anything I’d ever slept in before. I ordered myself a pizza and promptly passed out in that royal bed.
From Europe to the Fjordlands of Quebec
The following day brought the final leg of the journey: a local flight from Montreal to Saguenay. Saguenay is a region in Quebec, north of Quebec City, encompassing three towns spread around the Saguenay Fjord. Tucked into a bay to the east lies the small town of La Baie, while to the west stands the larger, more industrial-looking Jonquière. Between them sits Chicoutimi — the most populous of the three, and home to the Université du Québec à Chicoutimi (UQAC), my new workplace for the next four years.
The Université du Québec à Chicoutimi in Chicoutimi, Québec
Before leaving for Canada, I had tried to contact my main supervisor regarding my arrival date and accommodation options. In a previous email, she had mentioned that she could temporarily house me until I found a place of my own. However, despite several attempts, I never received a reply. I even reached out to my second supervisor in Montreal to ask if he knew anything, but he didn’t — suggesting she might be away doing remote fieldwork during that period.
This shot was actually from my trans-Atlantic flight. I just loved the sharp limit between land and glacier and thought to include it here
With nowhere to go, I decided to book a “cheap” hotel for a week. Surprisingly, it wasn’t very cheap at all for what seemed like a small, remote town in the middle of nowhere in Quebec. Apparently, Chicoutimi is a bit of a summer holiday destination for locals. Regardless, my options were limited. After landing in Saguenay, I made my way to Hotel du Parc in Chicoutimi.
Culture Shock, Served at Lunch
It was late morning or early noon when I checked in. I dropped my things and went down to the hotel restaurant to have lunch. This is where my cultural shock began.
Hotel du Parc in Chicoutimi
Despite being a hotel, the staff spoke very limited English — the restaurant staff even less. My French at this point was extremely basic, despite having theoretically learned some during early school years. I knew enough to ask for lunch: déjeuner. The waitress then began explaining that they no longer served déjeuner, only dîner.
Dinner? At noon?
What followed was a clumsy, drawn-out back-and-forth until I finally understood that in Quebec French, déjeuner means breakfast, dîner means lunch, and souper means dinner. Whereas in “standard” French, breakfast is petit-déjeuner, lunch is déjeuner, and dinner is dîner. Oh gods… even ordering food at a hotel was complicated. What a start.
Setting out in Chicoutimi for the first time, along the large Talbot boulevard
Another amusing detail from that first meal was noticing bottles of homemade ketchup for sale. Up to that point, I had only ever seen the standard processed red goop everyone calls ketchup — never the jam-like, artisanal-looking stuff. I was tempted, but this was not the time for ketchup.
Lost in Translation (and Hallways)
With Google Maps in hand, I slowly made my way toward the university. It was time to find out whether my supervisor was still alive.
On the way, I passed a local budget telecom shop and quickly picked up a cheap prepaid Canadian phone number. There, at least, they spoke English — giving me a brief sense of relief. That relief was short-lived.
Oh and there were a lot of Marmots all over the place. They should’ve just renamed Chicoutimi to Marmotville
At the university reception, I began explaining to the lady behind the desk that I was an international PhD student starting there for the first time and that I was looking for my supervisor’s office — Lucie Mathieu. Her eyes widened. She struggled to form a few words in English.
Oh no. Even here? At an international university?
I knew Quebec was French-speaking, but I hadn’t expected people to speak no English at all — especially within a university, in an otherwise majority English-speaking country. I slowed my speech and reduced my vocabulary to survival mode:
That, at least, she understood. She wrote down a floor and office number and attempted to explain how to get there. I only half understood that part.
I wandered through the labyrinth that was the UQAC building and eventually found Lucie’s office. I knocked, smiled, and introduced myself. She greeted me warmly.
And here are some campus marmots
After a light-hearted conversation about my failed attempts to reach her, my concern that she might no longer be alive, and my first impressions of Quebec so far, she gave me a few practical tips and suggested I take the next few days to settle in and find accommodation. She also introduced me to part of her research group — among them Adrien, the Master’s student responsible for posting the PhD position in the EUGEN group where I had first found it.
A Week of Adjustment
What followed was a week filled with further culture shock and growing frustration, mostly due to ongoing communication barriers.
Throughout the days, place after place, I kept running into the same language barrier. Stores. Restaurants. Service counters. Even when I went to schedule an appointment to open a bank account with Desjardins, I could barely get by in English. In the end, I asked Adrien to come with me to the appointment — because not being able to properly communicate with the person opening your bank account is, frankly, a bit much.
Ironically, that particular employee turned out to speak fluent English.
The bridge across the Saguenay in Chicoutimi
After having traveled through several foreign countries in Europe and being completely confident that English would always get me by, this experience became increasingly disappointing. More and more, in the coming months, I found myself reluctant to go anywhere or do anything at all — simply because of the language barrier. I never, in a million years, expected to experience culture shock in Canada of all places.
Quebec Is (and Isn’t) Its Own Thing
I considered saying now that I slowly learned Quebec was truly its own thing, separate from Canada — but that would be a lie. It wasn’t. Apart from the language, it felt as North American as anywhere else.
The spread-out residential neighborhoods. The “paper houses” — non-brick constructions that felt fragile compared to European buildings. The extremely car-centric town layouts, with multi-lane highways cutting straight through urban areas. The lack of sidewalks in many places. The enormous, one-story commercial buildings surrounded by seas of parking lots. And of course, the omnipresent fast-food culture.
Chicoutimi extending out on both sides of the Saguenay river
Yes, the Québécois had their local quirks — their own customs, expressions, and French heritage — but to me, they were still as Canadian as the rest of the country.
I should also add that, in my experience, the lack of English wasn’t due to people refusing to speak it, as some Quebec-haters like to claim. Not at all. Most simply didn’t know English well enough. From conversations I had with locals, they learned some English in school, but then never used it and gradually lost it — much like my own French.
The key point was that they didn’t need to. Most rarely traveled to English-speaking regions. A kind of cultural and linguistic self-isolation.
Saint-François-Xavier Cathedral, a familiar sight in Chicoutimi
I also never sensed any widespread English-hating attitude. Surely, such people exist — they do everywhere — but it wasn’t the general sentiment. On the contrary, many people, despite their broken and limited English, were kind and genuinely curious about me as a foreigner. Perhaps because I wasn’t their English-Canadian “enemy,” but rather someone clearly trying to integrate. I don’t know.
The Hunt for an Apartment
After stocking up on food from a not-at-all-nearby supermarket — because everything was so damn far thanks to that car-centric town design — I began searching for rental apartments online.
I quickly found the local classifieds website: Kijiji. From furniture to vehicles to apartments, everything was listed there. I started sending out inquiries.
At first, I wrote long, detailed messages in English explaining who I was and that I was looking to rent a studio apartment. None of them received replies. So I switched tactics and began sending much shorter messages in French, heavily assisted by Google Translate.
Days passed. Still no replies. My hotel stay was coming to an end, and desperation began creeping in. It was time to stop hiding behind messages and pick up the phone.
Phone Calls, Panic, and One Miracle
I started the calls the same way I always had — straight in English. That went nowhere. Then I adjusted again, opening in broken French and asking if the person spoke English. The answer was usually a simple: Non, désolé. Eventually, I wrote down a few French sentences for myself — just enough to explain my situation concisely over the phone.
Saguenay City Hall, one of the few nice stone buildings in Chicoutimi, together with the Cathedral
One of the listings was for a nice-looking, unfurnished studio apartment by the shores of the Saguenay. I called. The man on the other end immediately launched into several minutes of rapid-fire speech — in what must have been the thickest Saguenay French dialect imaginable. I didn’t understand a single word.
I had to cut him off.
Uh… oh… désolé… mon français n’est pas bon… euh… j’utilise Google Translate…
As hilarious and frustrating as the conversation was, I have to give the man credit — he didn’t hang up. Somehow, through repeated excuse-moi, requests to speak slower, and constant repetition, we reached a fragile half-understanding.
Walking along the Vieux-port de Chicoutimi, I encountered this chicken
Yes, the apartment was available. Yes, we could schedule a visit. The time… maybe 5 PM?
I wasn’t sure. Stress levels were high. But I decided: fuck it. I’d go there at 5 and hope for the best. And I got it right.
Carl, the Accent, and a Cheap Studio
Carl, the owner, greeted me with a warm smile — and an absolutely legendary Saguenay accent. One so thick that, as I later learned, not even French speakers understood it. In person, though, everything became easier. The hand gestures helped a lot.
The apartment was genuinely nice: one of four studio units on the second floor of a large house. Carl and his wife lived downstairs in a spacious, elegant first-floor apartment, while the studios above were all rented out.
The location was one of the best in Chicoutimi. The rent was dirt cheap — around 400 dollars. His only real request was simple: be tranquil. No parties. No noise. Perfect.
Walking out of the apartment, I’d be greeted with this view of the Saguenay and marina. Not too shabby!
Somehow, against all odds, I had navigated the language barrier and landed myself a solid place to live. Now all I needed was furniture.
A Furnished Beginning
I got a lucky break with one of my neighbors, who was preparing to leave the country and needed to get rid of everything he owned. For next to nothing, he sold me an entire kitchen setup — utensils, pots, plates, even a vacuum cleaner and an electric oven — all for a mere 100 dollars. It was a fantastic start.
For the rest, I went to one of the local furniture chains, MeubleRD. I could have gone the second-hand route again, but this time I knew I’d soon have a decent income and I wanted, for once, to build a place that felt intentionally mine rather than a random collection of leftovers from other people’s lives.
The last summer days at the end of August in Chicoutimi
There was also a practical constraint: I didn’t own a car, and I didn’t plan on getting one. Carrying furniture across Chicoutimi wasn’t an option. So after browsing the store, I bought a few small items and ordered the most important pieces online, including a bed frame and a mattress. According to the website, delivery would take about a week. Until then, I slept on a mat and a sleeping bag in my large, empty room. It felt like camping indoors.
That week stretched into three due to stock issues and delays. My back was not happy, but at least I had a roof over my head.
Brothers in a Rough Landing
Just before the semester began, the final member of our research group arrived from France: Alexandre, another PhD student under the same supervisor. Beyond our shared academic path, we quickly discovered we had strikingly similar tastes in music, humor, and outlook. He also arrived with a gigantic Maine Coon cat, which instantly impressed me. We became friends almost immediately.
My first time discovering Parc de la Rivière-du-Moulin in Chicoutimi
His own apartment turned out to be… interesting — a euphemism for a place that turned out to be riddled with problems and awful neighbors, the kind of situation that slowly wears you down. He also got screwed over by one of the telecom companies when first trying to get a Canadian number. Apparently even speaking the local language fluently was no guarantee of a smooth landing.
I helped where I could. We split the haul of kitchenware I’d acquired, and I gave him the electric oven since I had no use for it while he desperately needed one. My own apartment, meanwhile, lacked a washing machine. I tried doing laundry at the university for a while, but the constant security checks made it a chore. Eventually, I began doing my weekly laundry at Alexandre’s place, which turned into our regular ritual of shared meals, drinks, and evenings of laughter and entertainment.
Into the Archean
Not long after the start of the semester, our supervisor took us on an organized field trip north to Chibougamau. Beyond its academic purpose, I quietly looked forward to it for a far simpler reason — it would be my first time sleeping in a proper bed after nearly ten days on the floor of my empty apartment.
The vast wilderness of central Quebec, only interrupted by the occasional high powerlines
Lucie was in her element out there. As our minibus pushed deeper into the vast nothingness north of Saguenay — endless forests, swamps, and lakes stretching to every horizon — she excitedly pointed out that, according to the geological maps, we had just crossed from the Proterozoic into the Archean. Two entirely different chapters of Earth’s history, separated by hundreds of millions of years… yet outside the window, nothing seemed to change. The wilderness stretched unbroken in every direction, with not a hint of civilization. The realization that the rocks beneath our feet had quietly shifted by two billion years without any visible sign was fascinating.
We were based at a roadside motel at the entrance to Chibougamau. Alexandre and I shared a room and couldn’t stop laughing at how it looked like something out of a crime movie — the kind of place where a man on the run hides from the police, nervously peeking through the curtains every time a car passes. I even started doing it as a joke, scanning the parking lot for imaginary cops, which only made us laugh harder.
Strange new rocks of primordial times
This was our first real immersion into the geology of the Canadian Shield and the Archean world of the Abitibi Greenstone Belt. Having once gone through the same shock herself, Lucie knew what awaited us: rocks more than two billion years old, heavily deformed, weathered, and nothing like the fresh, black basalt I had seen in Iceland.
For example, the “basalt” she pointed out in the field barely resembled anything I thought I knew. We were about to spend a long time relearning how to think in geological terms.
Our field trip crew during that first visit to Chibougamau
It was also our first, very mild encounter with the local flying menaces known as black flies. Thankfully, this late in the season and with the cool temperatures, they were little more than a minor annoyance. At the time, I had no idea what kind of terror they would become once summer arrived.
The Work Ahead
My project would cover multiple Archean formations across vast regions — not only the Abitibi in Quebec, but also the equally enormous Wabigoon Greenstone Belt in Ontario. The scope was intimidating.
That first semester was about orientation: understanding the geology, defining the project, and keeping up with coursework. In December, I would have to give a formal presentation as part of an exam that would determine whether I would be officially accepted into the PhD program. Until I passed it, nothing was guaranteed.
A sulfide bearing felsic Archean rock. One of many more to come
So I buried myself in Archean geology, coursework, and the slow, awkward process of building a life in a new place. By then, I had finished running the gauntlet of my rough landing in Quebec — and was finally ready to dig in.
The summer of 2017 was passing by fast and I was nearing the September deadline for submitting my Masters thesis. There was always the option to request an extension like most other students were doing, but I wanted to make a point of finishing mine in time. Another one of those little prideful quirks of mine. So the pressure was on.
I had no more time for fun cycling trips, or friendly night outs. I had also quit my Danish language classes earlier in the year and my part-time job early summer. This was the moment to fully devote my attention to my research and future.
I was in full crunch mode. By that point in my work, I had processed all the data that I gathered from my Icelandic rocks and I had a fairly solid narrative in mind to present my interpretations. Without going into details, I can say that some of the data was aligning with the existing narrative well, but a few oddball data points were sticking out and I made it my mission to try and find a good hypothesis to address them.
Long nights in the lab with my “precious” electron microprobe. Unlocking the geochemical secrets of my primitive olivines
After weeks of brain storming, now well into my thesis writing period, I had a “Eureka” moment to explain the outliers in my dataset. It was of course a very rough around the edges idea, but with help from my supervisors, I managed to stitch together a cohesive and plausible explanation.
Why am I writing about all this? Well, just to point out that amidst the long and hard working days in the summer of 2017, I was highly excited and was thoroughly enjoying my research work. So much so, that I began seriously pondering continuing down the academic path after my Masters.
I had discovered the true face of primitive olivines! Perhaps it was time to get off the probe and go for a walk
The call back to Iceland
During the later months of the summer I kept thinking back to the years of career stagnation after graduating in Romania. I was not about to let that happen again. So while working on the final parts of my thesis, I tentatively began to search for a PhD project. Mainly in the Nordic countries. In a surprisingly short time, I found a perfect PhD opportunity for myself at the University of Iceland. Why perfect? Because it was literally the continuation of my current research. Same specialization, same area, and focus-wise it was the next logical step with regards to the work I had done. I immediately applied.
Soon enough I got a positive reply and they invited me to an online interview and opportunity to present my Masters work. After the smooth presentation, I got one of the best reactions you could get. They asked me if I was doing a Masters there, or a PhD, since the workload was so vast. Suffice to say, they were very impressed, and I was extremely excited. It felt like a beautiful next step of my story… From Romania to Denmark, to Iceland, and beyond!
When the ship’s about to sail and you’re not on it, what can you do, but play along to the bittersweet tune of fate
Unfortunately, that was not to be my story. As eager as they were to hire me on the spot, there was a little problem. They needed me to have already graduated from my Masters and they couldn’t wait until after September. I even told them that I could try rushing my thesis out in the hopes of graduating sooner, but it was still not enough. They needed someone to start within the next few weeks.
It was such a blow to be so close, just to see the opportunity of a lifetime slip away… However, the experience had given me an unbelievable confidence boost. If I got this close to getting a PhD while I wasn’t even finished with my Masters, afterwards was going to be a cakewalk, surely, I thought.
Judgment day
On a beautiful sunny day at the end of summer 2017, in the dark depths of the students office at KU, a grand Master thesis was born. Forged in the fires of Iceland and molded in the underground labs of the Geocenter, this unholy manuscript of geological power was ready to be submitted for review, and unleashed upon the world at large.
Behold my GLORIOUS manuscript “New constraints of the source components for Icelandic magmas from primitive olivine and rocks“. Doesn’t that title just roll off the tongue?
I think I had about two weeks before my thesis defense. It was nice to relax and take a breath for a change. On some days I’d cycle around Copenhagen daydreaming about where fate would take me after this.
Iceland? Norway? Sweden? Switzerland? something more exotic like New Zealand perhaps? or would I just remain in Denmark and embrace the hygge for the rest of my life? If before I felt I could see my path laid out before me with relative certainty, now things were unclear… Hidden by a fog of uncertainty. But it was exciting!
Nothing is impossible, but how far are you willing to go?
In no time, the day of my thesis defense was upon me. I held my presentation in front of a small room of colleagues, friends and professors. When in previous years I had presentation anxiety, this time I was as solid as a rock. Pun intended. But seriously, after the months I had spent meticulously combing through my data, reading literature and writing my thesis, I could easily talk about my work in my sleep.
After the presentation, I remained in the examination room with just my supervisors and an external examiner. It was “grilling” time. The three of them fired a plethora of questions at me. We sat and discussed various interesting points of my work. Some critiques, but for the most part, a lot of positive feedback. After a sweat-inducing two and a half hours of grilling, I came out of the room… medium-rare!
The verdict
After a few minutes of deliberating, they called me back in to give me their final thoughts and verdict. There could have been a few improvements made here and there, but overall it was a very good manuscript and considering all the work I put into it over the past year, they gave me the top mark! I almost fell out of my seat! I was hoping for a high mark, but this?? Top grade on a Masters thesis from one of Europe’s most prestigious Universities? I did not see that coming.
As opposed to Anakin Skywalker, I was granted the rank of Master with flying colors!
My supervisor also presented me with the results of some fresh isotope analysis he had done on my outlier samples. This was not part of my thesis, but more of a curiosity side-study to check my hypothesis. The data confirmed my assumptions! Without saying a word, Paul Martin just gave me a proud look with a big grin on his face that just filled me with pride and joy. It was the cherry on top of the cake for me.
Post-exam mood surrounded by my KU friends and colleagues
What followed was an afternoon of celebration with friends and colleagues. For the Danes, it was customary for family members to attend the graduate celebration, but for me in that moment, they, my friends and colleagues were my family.
We had cake and drinks and blasted “We are the champions” by Queen on the speakers in the class room. That feeling of relief and elation was something else… Something magical. A feeling that lasted for days to come.
Aftermath
My supervisor and I had plans to submit my work to a scientific journal after some needed refinement. This, I thought, would also boost my chances to land a PhD. Two weeks we said. It will take us two weeks. Five years later… our hard work got published. It was no fault of either of us, but between his busy schedule and my job searching, it took painfully long… Even after so many years though, it felt good seeing my heavily frankensteined work finally get published.
Back in the fall of 2017 though, I was more actively looking for the next career opportunity. As the weeks and months passed by, I would slowly broaden my search. One of the main countries I was eyeing had become New Zealand. Mostly thanks to a Kiwi professor we had at KU and a Kiwi girl I met and got close to the year before – I can hear you groaning and rolling your eyes, reader! The point is that it was thanks to them that I began thoroughly researching New Zealand and discovered the spectacular beauty of that country. From afar, of course.
I got in contact with a few professors from Auckland and Otago and there was clear interests on both sides. However, the New Zealand PhD application process was not in my favor. As opposed to Europe, the professors there only had funding for the research itself and not for the candidate’s salary/grant. Doctorate wages in New Zealand are given out as scholarships by government institutions. This leads to a very rigid point-based system where candidates with the best overall grades from undergrad and post-grad get offered the grants.
You work and play so hard that you risk getting drunk on your euphoria and overconfidence, blinding you to the mountains of hurdles and hardships before you. And when your pick breaks… the music stops
My high level research and top-grade thesis didn’t even count in that bureaucratic systems eyes. Suffice to say, my overall average grades were not good enough, frustrating both me and the professors alike.
The grind begins anew
As 2017 rolled into 2018, my frustration was growing by the day. There I was once more in the same situation as before… Jobless, uncertain, with hopes and dreams slowly eroding away. Ever widening my search parameters. Not limiting myself anymore to certain countries, or academic paths.
In early 2018, I managed to get a four month internship at the Geological Survey of Denmark and Greenland through the help of my examiner, who happened to work at GEUS. Each time, something like this would happen, I’d start wondering if this was a sign. A sign that I was on the right path and this was the door opening towards my glorious future. Trying to find abstract justification for why certain things in the past hadn’t worked out. It was all in the plan! Right? Right?? All my past excitement about the unknown was slowly turning into dread.
The sad reality was that in Denmark and Europe in general there just weren’t many jobs in my career. With a dwindling oil and gas industry and an almost absent mining industry, all that was left for geologists to do was work in the civil sector, meaning you had to be fluent in the local language, or go down the academic path and risk getting caught in an endless loop of study and poorly payed research jobs. And as much time as I spent learning Danish, I was still far from a work-level fluency.
The year 2018 was shaping up to a very uncertain and turbulent year. But not one without its moments of crazy fun and adventure!
It was now June 2016 and summer was upon us in Denmark. My financial crisis was over and I had settled into my new routine, balancing study and work. We were nearing the end of the semester and the onset of summer break. I was happy to take a break from courses and begin focusing on my ambitious one-year thesis project on Iceland. However, this period also triggered a new crisis for me. A housing crisis…
The problem…
In one of my first posts about life in Denmark, I mentioned how difficult it could be to find an affordable place to stay in Copenhagen, especially as a foreign student. The Housing Foundation was a relatively easy, albeit pricey, solution for first-year students. But their contracts would only cover the first year of study, and mine was nearing its end.
I got my two legs to stand on, but now I lost my upper body – Uh oh! – Sculpture from The Glyptotek, Copenhagen
I began looking for other potential dorms, and housing portals a couple of months before the deadline, but this was already way too late. Waiting lists for some of the dorms in Copenhagen had people on them going back over a year. It was absurd!
I was getting tired of the never ending crisis, but it was time to “fight” once more, so head first right into the storm!
I searched through some of the major housing/rental websites too. There were seldom any studio apartments available. If I ever found one, the price would be too steep. Flat sharing was more common and affordable, but even that was hard to come by as demand exceeded supply.
Last, but not least I made sure to spread the word amongst my friends in hopes that they knew someone looking for a flat mate. Luckily I had no shortage of friends. I was also quickly making more friends in Danish language classes. However, it seemed like everyone was looking for a new place to stay…
At least I found the horse – south Amager, Denmark
Cycling and exploring
Potential homelessness aside, things were good. Whenever I had free time and decent weather, I’d get back on my bike and go explore new parts of Copenhagen and its surroundingas. In this regard, I had found a like-minded friend in Danish class: Marios from Greece. On one of our cycling trips we south of Copenhagen to explore the island of Amager.
Cycling along Sluseløbet in west Amager
Amager was a blend of the urban, ultra-modern south-side of the city of Copenhagen bordered by cow and horse filled pastures. A comically stark change back then. Not sure if it’s still the same today. Further south there were a few quiet towns, nice beaches and Copenhagen international airport (Kastrup). All of this within reasonable cycling distance.
Somewhere in Kalvebod Fælled, close to Kastrup airport in south Amager
Dyrehaven
On another occasion we cycled north-east of the capital, to Dyrehaven (Deer park). This was one of my favorite places to go outside of the city. The northeastern coastline leading to the park was gorgeous, especially on a sunny day. At the entrance of the 11 km2 park was Bakken, the worlds oldest working amusement park.
Horseback riding in Dyrehaven, very common across Denmark actually
Dyrehaven was crisscrossed by a web of trails all converging around the center of the park at the royal hunting lodge. On the wide trails we’d zig zag around trekkers, cyclers and the occasional horse carriage. The narrow forest trails were less crowded and way more fun for cycling.
Racing across the park
Across the wide park we’d often encounter groups of deer roaming around the ponds and forests. Every now and again we’d reach the fenced edge, reminding us that we were in a man-made park and not in the wild. For me, this was the one sad thing about Denmark. It’s so extensively developed that there’s barely any patches of wilderness left. At least on the eastern part of the country where I lived and traveled.
It was always a side quest to find the deer whenever I’d visit Dyrehaven
The crisis is over! for now…
Towards the end of June I found myself having a drink with some of my fellow student at the Geobar. I still hadn’t found a place to stay and I was supposed to move out of my dorm within a week. As I sat there complaining and being all mopey, my drunk friend Lasse says out of the blue: “Well why don’t you come live with me, buddy?”. He tells me the price he’s paying and considering the location and size of the place, it was crazy cheap! The explanation was that his uncle owned the place. It was too good to be true.
There’s my shocked expression when Lasse invited me to be his flat mate out of nowhere – The Glyptotek, Copenhagen
I thought he was surely joking; but no he wasn’t… Then I thought he was just saying that because he had one too many drinks at the time… yet, the next day when I brought it up again he was still onboard with the idea. Just like that, my crisis was solved. Well, at least for the time being. We agreed that I’d still be searching for another place while I’d be living with him. Something that would kind of slip my mind after a few months as I became more comfortable there.
Big DONG sticking out in Amager, Denmark
His setup wasn’t really meant for long-term squatters, but I made the best of it. We got ahold of mattress, threw it on the floor in his study room and voila! Home sweet home. Well, sort of. Hey, it worked for the time and by splitting his already low rent, I was saving some good money too!
Another crisis averted, could I actually relax for a change, or was the next one right around the corner?
A travel-packed summer
After settling all of my problems in the first half of 2016, I was ready for a fun, travel-packed summer.
During July, I took a few days to hop over to Germany and see my mom who was visiting our relatives in Wuppertal. All I recall from that trip was visiting this funny park with some quirky modern art and décor. Another thing I recall was that at that time I was already planning to bring my mom over to Denmark for Christmas, so I was building up the hype for that.
Being eaten by a puffy German house – Wuppertal, Germany
Other than Germany, I had two big trips coming up. A two-week field work in Iceland for my Masters thesis and a glorious return to Norway, to visit my good friend Daniel, who had recently moved to Trondheim. It was truly going to be an epic summer. One of my fondest to date!
By the end of April, 2016, my roommate Nao’s student exchange period was over. He was going back to Japan and I was soon to get a new roommate. After his departure, one of the days I come back from university to find a small crew of cleaners on the job, making sure our room was in top shape for the new arrival. Just before I entered my room, I overheard them talking in Hungarian, so I greeted them in Hungarian and we started chatting. After some small talk, I was quick to inquire if their company was hiring students for part-time work. One of the guys, Gyuri recommends I write to his former employer, Inger, who owns a cleaning company, as she’ll usually hire people for part-time work.
The light at the end of the tunnel
I wasted no time and sent an email to Inger that afternoon. I wrote that I was a friend of Gyuri and I was desperately in need of work and looking to prove myself. The next morning I received a reply. She states that they had issues with Gyuri in the past due to recreational drug use and had fired him. So based on this she was very reluctant on hiring any of his “friends”… My man Gyuri had almost gotten me hired and fired at the same time.
The moment you realize the light at the end of the tunnel is a train coming your way
I immediately wrote back to Inger explaining that I had actually only met Gyuri and that he was kind enough to offer me her contact. I threw in some apologies, regrets and a pinch of desperate groveling. Shortly after, she replied that she will give me a chance and called me in for the formal interview.
Finally! After half a year of job searching and job applications I scored something! All thanks to a chance encounter with a couple of Hungarian cleaners in my student dorm.
A quirky job
The interview was smooth and casual. At the start, they gave me a few temporary cleaning gigs as a replacement for some of their regular staff. My first job was a late-night cleaning adventure at a high-end executive employment office. The client was very picky about their spotless cleanliness so I was asked to take extra care. I took my time and spent an extra hour overtime without asking for extra pay, just to make sure everything was perfect.
The fancy executive office next to Amelieborg, where I started my part-time work
My supervisor, Irina was very pleased and tentatively asked me if I could possibly help her with another gig that night. By this time it was past midnight, but I didn’t care. I was up for a late night cleaning extravaganza. We then drove over to this famous Danish sexologist’s office. Irina was telling me how their regular cleaner there was a shy Muslim fellow who was covering his eyes while cleaning for months because of the lewd paintings and sculptures on display all over the place. It was certainly the oddest office I’ve tended to, but luckily we only had to do a basic floor cleaning and trash tiding. No touching the displays and… toys…
The big contract
After a couple of weeks doing these replacement jobs, the cleaning company gave me my big stable contract. I was going to be their main cleaning guy tending to VICE media‘s Copenhagen office.
The beautiful old downtown building housing VICE media’s office on the top floors
It was a huge office space. This was great for me as this one contract perfectly covered the amount of hours I needed per week to be eligible for the SU-grant. Two week-days of 3.5 hours in the evenings and one 8 hour day on the weekend. This was a good stable schedule that I could work with. I would also have Danish language classes on the same weekdays, Mondays and Wednesdays.
Thus began my busy student schedule for the rest of 2016, where during the week I’d have two full days of courses in the morning, Danish classes in the afternoon and work in the evening. In between I’d have my recovery days with just courses and studying and then my working weekend, with potentially one day off to relax and recharge.
A rainy May day at Amelieborg
It was a lot of work, but I felt like I had all the energy in the world. Then when the money from the job and SU-grant started coming in… I felt like a king! I could actually afford things now!
A long time desire
With my financial burden lifted, I rushed to fulfill one of my desires ever since I had moved to Copenhagen: getting a gym subscription.
For years, even before moving to Denmark, I had been trying to get into shape by exercising at home. But I looked forward to the day I could afford to go to a gym and have access to all the crazy machinery and contraptions. This desire only escalated when I moved and noticed there was a big FitnessDK gym (now SATS) next to my dorm in Østerbro.
Railway overpass to Østerbro
Flashback
Sometime during November of 2015, FitnessDK was offering a 1-day for free deal and I convinced my friend Eddy to join me for a few hours of physical exercise. He was mostly interested in improving his cycling stamina, while I wanted to test everything out and do a hardcore full body workout. I treated this like I would any other freebie deal: Need to take full advantage! So I spent almost 3 hours working out every muscle to the limit… this when I had never been to a gym before, nor had I ever been the sporty type.
My whole body was numb after the workout. That night I woke up with severe muscle soreness and my arms folded up like little T-rex hands. The muscles were so tensed up that I couldn’t stretch my arms out. Everything hurt so much that I didn’t leave my room for the next couple of days. I could barely even lift a cup of water without my arm shaking like crazy. Lesson learned…
One of my old gyms in central Copenhagen
When I finally got my gym subscription, I was going to do it the proper way. Slow and consistent. I cycled through a few YouTube fitness channels over the next months until I landed on AthleanX, who I follow to this day. After all these years of continuing this hobby, I can happily say that I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been in and won’t be stopping my gym routine anytime soon!
When I moved to Denmark in autumn 2015, one of my plans was to get a foothold in the oil and gas sector in the region and end up moving to Norway. Ever since my uplifting trip to Norway years before, Norway became the promised land for me. I tried to apply to jobs there ever so often and I tried to go study there. In Denmark I felt so close that I could smell the salt water of the Norwegian fjords. Yet as I spent more time adjusting to Danish life it grew on me more and more.
A forest path somewhere around Hillerød, Denmark
After coming back from our geological field trip to Gran Canaria I had gained a new level of respect and appreciation for the Danes and their country. I could now see myself calling Denmark a home for the foreseeable future. Thus, my plans shifted away from Norway and I decided to better integrate into Danish society. The first and main step would be to learn the Danish language. Luckily as long as you have a CPR (local ID card) Danish language classes are free and offered across the country by the local municipality. I didn’t waste any time in signing up and from May 2016 I would being my late afternoon classes at Studieskolen.
Spring cycling
Spring had settled in and the fields and trees began blooming with flowers across the Danish lands. However, April weather was as schizophrenic as it could get. The daily recipe was a couple of hours of warm, beautiful sunshine, followed by half an hour of hail/rain and chilling winds.
On one of the better days I had planned a long cycling trip to the town of Hillerød, 36km north of Copenhagen.
Spring of 2016, Denmark
I was going to visit one of my Danish friends and colleagues, Jesper who lived in Hillerød. This was also my first time venturing well out of the Danish capital to explore new terrain. New places, adventures and things like that always got me excited.
The cycling lane pretty much followed the main vehicle road going north out of Copenhagen, all the way to Hillerød. On the way I got to bike around and explore new neighborhoods of the busy capital, followed by long stretches of calming countryside.
On the road to Hillerød
Patches of green, sprouting forests were often interrupted by small towns and villages. The road also presented three major hills to conquer. Despite what one would expect from a map, the Danish landscape isn’t as flat as you may think.
Hillerød
After a few hours of cycling and sweating, the final stretch of forest revealed the entrance sign to Hillerød. This final bit of the road to Hillerød with its many nature paths and tranquil forest was always my favorite.
The all too familiar gas station at the entrance to Hillerød
I soon met up with Jesper and we walked to the iconic landmark in the town center: Frederiksborg Castle. Built in the early 17th century, this elegant castle served as a summer residence for the Danish royal family for decades before being turned into a museum. With its numerous bedrooms, dining rooms and various chambers, the multistory castle is the largest Renaissance complex in the Nordic region.
Frederiksborg Castle entrance, Hillerød
As impressive as Frederiksborg may have been on the inside, this wasn’t the time for me to explore it. Unfortunately my financial issues turned me into the ultimate penny-pincher. For the time I would only enjoy such places from the outside where they were free of charge. Besides, the castle grounds and outside decorations were probably just as impressive as anything on the inside.
The victory pose returns!
Indeed, the gardens which are open to the public are a must visit to anyone around Hillerød. Some of the best spots include the cascading fountain – a series of terraced pools and waterfalls, the emblematic rose garden and the scenic Lake Slotsø with its family of white swans. Side-note: for some areas like the rose garden, it’s best to visit during the summer when all the flowers are in bloom.
Frederiksborg Castle gardens
My little one day trip to Hillerød was a much needed respite from my daily thoughts regarding increasingly troubling financial times.
The financial front
There was still no improvement on the money front. I believe it was around April when I had to pay the final installment of my rent and I was pretty much out of funds by that point. Despite my newfound ambition and zeal coming back from Gran Canaria, I was still unable to find a job. As much as I didn’t want to, I had to resort to the only person in my family that could help me stay afloat during the time… my geologist cousin living in Canada, Lucian.
Growing up, I had always looked up to my cousin and his successes. Heck, I even chose to follow the same career path as him. I knew that if I ever got into a really tight financial spot, all I had to do was ask and he’d help me out. Still… I really hated asking for help. Call it stubbornness, call it pride, call it whatever you want. This whole thing I was doing by moving to a completely new country and forging my path, I wanted to do it completely on my own. In my view, any outside assistance would just invalidate my one-man mission. However, by the spring of 2016, I was out of options.
As much as I loved my trusty, rusty ‘Shame”, I looked forward to the day I could afford to buy a new bike
I strictly asked my cousin for just the amount I needed to cover my final rent. I was going to take care of the rest myself, I told him. Of course he helped me out immediately.
It would take quite a long time for me to grow out of this prideful mindset. Well… to be honest, I can’t really say if I ever truly have. But at least these days I’ve come to accept that it’s ok to ask for help from others every now and again.
The first month of 2016 passed by quickly with reports and exams. As bad as my financial situation was, I had to brush that to the side for now. My focus was fully on university work. It payed off too. I received good results on my exams. In fact, to my shock, I had even scored close to the top grade in my geochemistry class.
Changing of the royal guard at Amalienborg
Meanwhile we had to sign up for our optional courses in the upcoming semester. One of the options was a field course with my future thesis supervisor Paul Martin. Participants would travel a week to Gran Canaria in the Canary Islands and work on volcanic flows. Most of the trip would be covered by the University. Even with my money issues, this was a no-brainer for me.
On the other hand, there was another fascinating field course that would entail a trip to the USA. However, this would be more costly to the students. As much as I would have loved to sign up, I had to pass. One field course was good enough.
Sanctuary
February started off with a post-exam break. I was back on my job-search duties. I kept on asking around for opportunities and sending out swarms of emails. At one point my strategy became that with every rejection I got, I’d send out another three job applications. It was a number’s game, I thought. Something had to give at some point.
Copenhagen’s winters were generally rainy and grey, but occasionally we’d get a thin blanked of snow
Otherwise I regularly went out on my cycling trips, exploring the city and its outskirts. This was my way of recharging mentally. Just me, my thoughts and my music. I ended up finding this lovely strip of coastline around Charlottenlund, just north of Copenhagen. It had a wide-open beach park and a motte with rusty old cannons pointing towards Sweeden. This place became my sanctuary. My favorite daytime, or nighttime retreat to relax and clear my mind.
My sanctuary: Charlottenlund beach park during fall
Other times I would venture in other new directions within and out of the city. Every time seeking to explore a new place. Mostly parks, or nice neighborhoods. I would have loved to visit some of the castles, or museums, but most of these cost money. So with my tight budget, I had to settle for just the outside views for now.
The winds of change
Sometime around February, Paul Martin called me in for a meeting regarding the Argentina project. He had some bad news. He couldn’t go through with the project that year due to a mix-up at the financial department. As it turned out, he wouldn’t have the necessary funds. He was incredibly regretful and apologetic. Then almost immediately, he offered me another project if I were interested.
Specifically, a fully funded research project for one Master’s thesis, with two-weeks field work together with him in Iceland. I was blown away. I actually had to make an effort to hide my excitement in light of the unfortunate news about the Argentina project. But this? Iceland? Fully funded? One huge financial burden gone and I get to go to freaking Iceland!? Holy shit this was amazing! I immediately accepted and with a huge grin on my face we shook hands.
My financial problems weren’t gone yet, but this was at least one less burden to deal with. A step in the right direction. I could feel the winds of misfortune slowly shifting away.
A rare snowy day in Copenhagen, Denmark
Apart from my routine, the rest of February involved preparations and an increasing anticipation for the upcoming field trip to Gran Canaria in early March.
A taste of the good life
We departed Copenhagen late in the afternoon and by the time we reached Gran Canaria it was already night time. This was my first time going to a subtropical destination, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. I mean we all see places like this in pictures and movies, but it’s always quite a bit different experiencing them first hand.
I didn’t get to see much during landing, as it was mostly just a lot of darkness suddenly followed by the glimmering lights of the airport below. Then we entered the terminal, got our luggage and made our way to the basement parking to pick up our rented cars.
Night time view from our hotel room balcony in Gran Canaria
The realization of where I was only started sinking in once we drove out the airport. Warmly lit highways with palm trees stretching along the roads. Luxurious resorts with inviting swimming pools all around. Then our own resort hotel, with elegant rooms and balconies overlooking the gorgeous valley below and the Atlantic Ocean in the distance. Later still, the food… Oh that magnificent food! Each day a different themed buffet diner…
On the surface I was acting all calm and collected. However, on the inside I was so giddy at everything around me! Up until that point, I was never one to really yearn for tropical paradises, but… now I was experiencing one and it was AMAZING!
Day time view from our hotel room balcony in Gran Canaria
I was getting a small taste of the good life. A hypothetical life where financial worries are a part of the past. A life where I could actually afford to enjoy places like Gran Canaria on my own dime. A seed had been planet in my mind. A desire that would later turn into a grand ambition and would once more reshape the course of my life in the years to come.
For now though, I was there. Enjoying the moment and looking forward to the rest of our days in Gran Canaria.
A few years before my decision to move to Denmark, during what I would call my years of stagnation, I had a strange dream. This was perhaps a year, or so after I had graduated from University in Romania. The plans I had fell apart and I was caught in a loop of waiting on other people’s promises. Waiting for some miracle opportunity to fall into my lap.
It was at this point that I had a dream where I seemingly met up with a divine figure. It had no visible face in the dream, just a human-like outline radiating light. In the dream I acted as if this was some great old buddy of mine from past times. I told the figure that things had been quite dull and bleak for a while, and then asked when will things pick up again? The figure then replied “2015”. Then the dream just faded away. I had had all sorts of fascinating, insightful and strange dreams before. But never did I get a response like that to a legitimate question. I didn’t dwell on it too much, but it did leave me with a renewed sense of hope that things will work themselves out.
Waking up to a winter morning in the Danish countryside
I certainly didn’t plan on things going the way they did, but 2015 did indeed end up being the year that changed everything for me. It was toward the end of 2015 that I recalled that old dream. Mostly because a few months before I had another interesting one. In this one I was climbing a steep hill at night in a dark forest. It wasn’t just me alone, there were a bunch of people around me all trying to climb up this hill. It was hard and I kept sliding back constantly. Finally, a tall, smiling, short gray-haired blue eyed man extended his hand and helped me reach the top. It felt like a nice wholesome dream and I didn’t think much more of it at the time.
Knowledge shock
Before I started my studies at KU, I had to choose my specialization. The University offered four options for Geoscientists. I was debating between two of these. One was a sedimentary rock specialization, which was focused towards the oil and gas branch of geology. The other one was is igneous rocks and geochemical processes. This would somewhat touch upon economic geology and the mining industry, but was mostly a purely research oriented path. I thought back to how much I enjoyed the igneous classes from my Bachelors days. Sedimentary I always found a bit dull, but I wanted to keep my options open for practical reasons. I ended up choosing the igneous specialization, but also signed up for the sedimentary classes for my optional courses.
Nordhavn (North port), Copenhagen, seen from somewhere up the north coast
It was the most practical decision. I would give both specs a chance in my first semester and then decide which one I will focus on later. Regarding the igneous specialization, the one thing that I somehow glossed over was the “Geochemistry” part of the title. I was terrible at geochemistry. Not only that, but I severely lacked any good basic chemistry foundation. The result of too many different teachers replacing each other in middle school and high school.
At the start of my first geochem-heavy course called “Core to crust”, my huge knowledge-gap was immediately obvious. I recall our first professor, Robert Frei, stared off the course by quickly scribbling down an equation on the board and just causally stating “Well, everyone knows the decay equation, so…” and he keeps on going. I took a look at this never seen before scribble and my immediate reaction was , “Woah woah woah! What’s “e”? Euler’s number. The mathematical constant “e” obviously. Everyone knows that, right? Yeah… “Right”.
A steep learning curve
The first three weeks of courses at KU were brutal. I was trying to understand. I was listening and focusing during classes more than ever before. But some of the stuff just seemed so advanced to me that it was impossible to understand. My head felt two sizes too big after each geochemistry class. The sedimentary classes on the other hand were way easier to grasp and follow. Yet as frustrating as the geochem class was, it kept challenging and intriguing me. The topics were fascinating and kept me engaged.
A rainy Østerbrogade in Coepnhagen, Denmark
It wasn’t until we had to work in groups and make a presentation based on a scientific article that I finally started getting it. After all my Danish colleagues formed their groups and picked their topics, the two foreigners, Nigel and myself teamed up to take the scraps. I don’t recall the exact topic of the article we got, but I know it took us two solid afternoons to chew through the material. Re-reading paragraphs dozens of times to try to understand what the heck the author is saying. Deciphering scientific sentences word for word at times. Then there were all these “alien” elements that I never heard of. Like Yb… Huh, Yb? Ybbibidium? What? How about Tb? Teletubium? Ugh…
We did our best to present what we learned. A big part of it just felt like the author arguing for some things while acknowledging that it could be this way, or that way, or another way. It turned out to be a great presentation. This was what our professor was trying to show us. How so many of these processes are still not well understood. Yet how researchers keep pushing to find different ingenious, indirect ways to make sense of what we can’t see, or directly measure. It was fine to not understand everything. You just had to continue persevering, asking questions and researching. There were never any wrong questions. Maybe just wrong answers.
Enter the smiling, gray-haired, blue-eyed man
One month in, I was feeling a lot more comfortable in classes. The geochemistry class had won me over. I was now keen on sticking with the igneous rock specialization. The next step was to find an Master’s thesis project and I didn’t want to waste any time. I asked my friend Jasper about any ideas of whom I could talk to. I told him I’d love to work on volcanoes and magmatic processes. He then told me a professor Paul-Martin Holm, who had a project in the Cape Verde islands. Incidentally he was going to present the second part of our geochem class, so I’d have the chance to meet him soon.
Somewhere on a farm in Ballerup, Denmark during winter 2015
There were a few rumors’ coming from some of my Danish colleagues that Paul Martin was this mean professor. That he was very demanding and harsh during exams. The class starts and in enters this smiling, kind looking, tall, gray-haired, blue-eyed Danish man. I didn’t think of it at the time, but in hindsight, he looked eerily similar to the man extending his helping hand in my hill-climbing dream.
The moment we took a break, I walked up to him and introduced myself. I mentioned that I had heard of a potential Cape Verde project he has and that I would be interested. He replied that sadly he already has another student for that project. However, he had this other geochemistry project in Argentina that would require a Master’s student if I’m interested.
Wow… Argentina?! Heck yeah I was interested! But the geochemistry part again… I told Paul Martin I had a severely week geochemistry background and wasn’t sure if it was wise to sign up for a geochem focused project. His reply was “But you can learn!”. Nobody could have given me a better answer in that moment. I felt challenged in the best way possible. I was given a golden opportunity here and it was time to show what I could do!
Just one little problem…
The Argentina project sounded incredible, but there was one little problem for me. It wasn’t entirely covered by Paul’s research funds, so the students would have to pay a portion of the expenses. This was highly problematic given my dubious financial standing at the time. Well, I still had time to find a better paying job, I thought. So, I accepted. This was around mid-October.
Fast-forward to December and how “well” my job-search was going. Add to that the SU-grant rejection and you can now imagine that I wasn’t in the most cheerful of holiday spirits.
A gloomy winter holiday
I had no plans for the school break. I was just sulking in temporary defeat.
At the same time an old high school friend from Romania, Vlad, was living and working on a farm in Ballerup, Denmark. He invited me over for Christmas dinner with him and the farm-owners. So I went over to pay him a visit. We ate and drank, talked and laughed. His employers were very nice people. They even gave me a gift. The topic of a job came up too. They weren’t really hiring, but I also couldn’t exactly take on a full-time farm-job half an hour away from Copenhagen either.
A Danish Christmas dinner prepared by my high school friend, master chef Vlad
Vlad was a good friend. A great friend. He did what he could in his old way to cheer me up. I felt bad for bringing down the mood, but I told him too that it was just a really shitty period for me. As always, I had to dredge through this on my own.
Despite the struggles, it was a wholesome end to a life-changing year
By the time December 31’st had rolled up, I felt I had enough time to recharge mentally. I spontaneously went out with a group of dorm-mates to have a few drinks in the chaotic streets of Copenhagen on New Years Eve. I hyped myself up and prepared for the next year. Determined to fix my financial issues, prove that I could stand on my own two feet and then succeed in my challenging academic pursuits!
On January 1’st 2016, I received the following email from David, the website owner I was writing for:
My last line of income was cut. I burst out into hysteric laughter.
About a month after my arrival in Copenhagen, Denmark, I was comfortably settling into my new life. I now had a solid group of friends, I had a good means of transportation and had become familiar with most of the city. I was also adapting to the steep learning curve at KU. However, time was ticking on my limited finances and the pressure was on to find a local job.
My accommodation was covered for half a year and I was earning a small wage through my online content writing job. This was enough to cover my monthly costs for now. Nevertheless, I had to find a better income to be able to survive long-term.
Statue of famous Danish writer Hans Christian Andersen in Rosenborg park, Copenhagen
I had begun asking around about jobs and grant opportunities within my new circle of friends and colleagues. I soon learned about the SU-system that all my fellow Danish students were on.
The SU-system
The Danish SU-system is a state educational grant and loan scheme for people over 18 following a youth educational system and students enrolled in a full-degree program of higher education.
It’s basically a significant government financial support system for all Danes enrolled in Universities across the country. Foreign students are technically not eligible for SU, unless they apply for equal status with Danish citizens. As always, this is easier if you come from an EU member country. You can read more details about applying for SU as a foreign student here.
My road to SU
I began looking into the SU eligibility as soon as I had heard of it. From my research, I found I had to have no other foreign educational support grants and show that my income was meager enough to merit financial aid. Then the SU-grant would be significant enough for me to cover all expenses. It seemed like the perfect solution to my financial problems.
Amazing mural in the courtyard of Sølvgades Elementary school, Copenhagen
The problem was that I had a foreign job with no tax contribution to the Danish state. The only way this could potentially work was for me to open a company in Denmark and register as self-employed. My English colleague and good friend, Nigel who had experience in registering businesses in Denmark helped me set up “Odyssian Translations”. A one-man translation and content-writing firm registered in Copenhagen, Denmark. I was now the official boss! The boss of me, myself and I.
Now I just had to ask the website owner I was writing for to kindly reword some things in our contract agreement so it would all fit with my new company name. He was kind enough to oblige. Of course now my minimal income diminished further because I had to start paying tax on it. Still, with everything in order, I could finally take my shot at applying for SU in November.
Ongoing job-search
Even though I was banking on the SU-grant coming through, I was still adamant on finding a local part-time job. Mostly because any job in Denmark would pay way more than the content-writing income I had. If I had enough time, I could even do both, I thought. So off I went to ask around for jobs.
My frequent bike trips through north-east Copenhagen helped clear my mind
Ideally I would have loved to get a student-job on campus, or maybe an internship at a company relevant to my field. These were ambitious “big balloon” dreams that were unlikely to materialize. The reasons being that these jobs would be limited and require some level of nepotism and, usually, Danish fluency.
The nepotism part really irked me, because I had just left a country where nepotism was the norm everywhere and I was completely fed up with it. I always dreamed of an ideal meritocratic system where one proves themselves objectively based on skill, action and experience. However, when one has little past work experience and there are dozens, or hundreds of similar applicants for one position, the hirer will most often take a subjective approach and choose the one that had been recommended by a friend/colleague.
The problem for me was that this simple reality was colliding with my “do it on my own” mentality. My whole job application process in those months was as much of an internal struggle as it was an external one.
Expanding, adapting
As time passed on and no sweet and easy jobs were coming along, I had to adapt and expand my approach. I had exhausted my options on campus and it was time to broaden the search. Since my main weakness was lack of Danish fluency, I thought to seek out jobs that shouldn’t require it. I began looking up lists of hostels, hotels and other such businesses that would mostly have foreign clients. To most of these I just sent out swarms of applications through online portals, or email. Some of them I went off to visit in person, hoping that the extra personal step could land me a brief talk with a hiring manager.
When all this didn’t seem to work, I stepped it up a notch. I began going from door to door to stores, gas stations, bicycle repair shops and other businesses around me. Whatever I could think of that may offer a part-time job.
Svanemøllen bike-shop where I got my flat-tires fixed up and also tried to get a part-time job later
This, together with my studies became my daily focus in the final months of 2015. As you can imagine, it wasn’t easy. Every rejection was a let down and just made me want to crawl back into bed and forget about all of it. I didn’t though. I simply couldn’t afford to.
In that regard, this multi-month period was quite similar to early 2015 when I had went through the same thing, but with university applications. I kept telling myself that if I had done it before, I can do it again! I was once more conditioning myself to become immune to rejections. The more you reject me the more aggressive I will become in my job search! That was the mentality I had adapted by the end.
The SU decision
Around late November/early December, I received a reply from the state regarding my SU application. It was rejected… The reasoning was absolutely ridiculous: my income was too low to be eligible for SU.
Gloomy, rainy walks in Nyhavn
So a grant meant to provide financial help for struggling students with low income actually had a cap on how low that income can be. Any lower and NOPE! No grant for you! You’re income is now so low that you don’t even register on our radars!
It was sad and frustrating… Everyone I talked to about it was equally dismayed. Yet there was nothing I could do. Even if I contested their decision, the result would be the same because of their rigid “box-mentality” rules. It was now very clear. I HAD to get a Danish job. That was the only way I would get the grant and survive my coming years. However, after a whole year of fighting and struggling, I was mentally exhausted by that point.
There was also another potential financial burden waiting for me the next year. This was related to my newly proposed Master’s thesis project. However, I will elaborate on this more in my next post.
