Photo by Tim Sakaluk, Flickr

I was born and raised in Vancouver. Anyone growing up in this multicultural town knows that it’s par for the course to rub shoulders with people from around the world. I have friends from Brazil to Japan, and I can buy the best international meals for less than the price of a movie ticket.

Yet, after all these years, what makes me cringe most is visitors from far-flung, exotic lands with strong cultural identities and unique customs like Japan, Mexico, Brazil, India, Fiji, Afghanistan – even Seattle – asking “What does it mean to be Canadian?” Followed closely by, “What is Canadian food?” I’m pretty sure they’re looking for a mainstream answer.

“Well, every night it’s a toss-up between hamburgers and macaroni and cheese followed by a helping of bannock. Afterwards we all bundle up and go outside for a quick game of hockey on the year-round frozen pond in the backyard.”

I know I’m being facetious. Truth is, I don’t have a good answer. Don’t get me wrong. I absolutely love my country, but I hardly know how to sum up living in the amazingly diverse city of Vancouver into one ‘Canadian’ experience.

What always intrigues me is how visitors to Canada view us. Over the years I’ve pieced together what people think about Canadians. I’m fascinated by their observations. I’m like a dry sponge – please, tell me what I am! Through the years, I’ve picked out many pieces of info.

First, there’s the American perception that came from my cousins who visited Vancouver from New York once when I was a child. They raved about our drinking water.

“Canadians have the best water,” they said.

Dumbfounded, I’d stare at them, certain that it didn’t taste like anything. As a teen, I was shocked to find out their peers truly thought we lived in igloos and it snowed year-round.

“But Vancouver shares a border with Seattle,” I exclaimed.

Didn’t matter – all Canadians live in a perpetual blizzard.

In my 20s I showed Vancouver off to a family friend from the United Kingdom. He loved the West Coast. At least I thought he did, until one night at 2 a.m. when I was tired of the Vancouver night scene. He noted how conservative and reserved Canadians seemed: we never wanted to party past two in the morning. Oh, and everyone took the use of recreational drugs way too seriously.

Wait. What?! Vancouver – the heroin capital of the world, the city that nearly invented marijuana use – didn’t do enough drugs?

He said most Brits felt this way about Canadians. We don’t take risks, we only party on the weekends. We don’t know how to ‘tie one off’ on a Tuesday night.

Then there’s the German perspective that came from a student I briefly dated in my late 20s who was living in Vancouver. His view came out one day on Granville Street when a woman apologized for stepping in front of us.

“That’s what I hate about Canadians,” he sputtered.

I gave him a quizzical look.

“You always say sorry for the silliest things like walking past someone, and you’re all nice and warm on the surface, but you never want to be there for people like a true friend. In Canada, no one wants to get involved,” he said.

I tried to explain that we’re just a polite bunch, but he wouldn’t have any of it. He felt politeness was just a cover to keep people at arm’s length in our culture. I thought it was an interesting observation…and apologized for being that way.

And finally, there’s the perception from my Irish colleague a few years back who took away my Italian heritage. Having a beer on a weeknight – but before 11 p.m., because I’m Canadian – I told him my boyfriend was also Irish and that I was half Italian.

“Really?” he asked, giving me a deadpan look. “And where were you both born?”

“Well, Ontario and Vancouver Island,” I admitted to him.

This sent my new Irish friend on a rant – he was so tired of Canadians telling everyone they’re from a different country when they were born in Canada.

“If you went to Ireland and told everyone you were Irish, they’d laugh at you. You’re Canadian,” he said.

What I heard from him was that I am not half Italian. Truly, up until that point, it was the most exotic thing about me.

So what have I pieced together from all of this? I’ve learned that Canadians have stellar drinking water, live in snow huts, are completely conservative and reserved, are unfailingly apologetic and should have no ties to their heritage.

Then, I moved to Toronto for two years and went to journalism school with students from around the country and the world. The biggest question on everyone’s lips was: Where are you from?

I always answered with enthusiasm – Vancouver! I was proud of my hometown, and my fellow students wanted to know what Vancouver was like.

I gleefully told them Vancouver is sea and mountains. It’s hiking and biking. It’s appreciation of First Nations art and access to the best international food and spices you can think of.

It’s gluten-free bakeries that turn a profit. It’s David Suzuki as our local superhero. It’s knowing that 50 Shades of Grey refers to the weather. It’s having the privilege to know people from around the world who teach you the most beautiful cultural customs to integrate into your own life.

I realized I could rattle off an answer about being a Vancouverite with ease and pride. I might be a bit shaky when it comes to wrapping up the whole Canadian experience into a few sentences, but I know with every bone in my body what it’s like to be a Vancouverite.

I. am. Vancouver.