Chapters

Today is a Tuesday, a splendid Canadian autumn day. At this time of year, Ottawa’s fall colours simply overwhelm you. For as long as I can remember, autumn has been a special season for me, probably because I was born in autumn. It always brings with it a nostalgia I cannot fully describe, a nostalgia dressed in an old coat with a philosophical scent. I call it “the nostalgia for a life lived.” But today, this nostalgia feels heavier, deeper.

Forty years ago, on September 24, 1984, at this very hour, I was in the Danube River, swimming toward the Serbian shore.

Ioan Trif

Ottawa, Canada

September 24, 2024

This chapter brings together vivid memories from the Transylvania of my childhood, adolescence, and student years, leading to a profound inner conflict — the battle within myself to decide whether to uproot my life and run away.

I believe that emigration is a profoundly personal choice — a decision that belongs solely to you, whether made individually or together with your family. It is your life, your family’s life, and no one else has the right to decide — except you, your family, and, as Romanians say, “God”.

[…]

To conclude this chapter, I must mention that even today, after so many years, Elena and I still tease each other with the words that the party secretary in Sibiu addressed to me: “You have not understood some issues” and “You should have a different attitude.”

Preparing for escape begins with people, with the body, with the mind, and with the silent map of the Danube. This chapter gathers these threads into a single plan.

With the decision to leave Romania made, the struggle and hard work now began: how could I escape? I needed a partner who was as determined as I was to flee — someone I could trust and rely on. I was convinced that many Romanians longed to escape. My problem was that I didn’t know who they were or how to reach them. The risks were enormous; anyone you spoke to could turn out to be a Securitate informer. In short, you had to be extremely careful about whom you talked to and what you said.

[…]

I was aware that I might share the same fate as those souls swallowed by the Danube, but I reassured myself that we had done everything possible to prepare. And I held on to the belief — the hope — that “Someone up there loves us.”

Traveler, there is no path; the path is made by walking.

The path through the Almăj Mountains opens with nothing but a compass and the strength to endure: the dogs, the soldiers, the hunger. This chapter follows that passage—toward the Danube and then across it. The journey is the destination.

I left the house with an undefined inner feeling — neither sadness, nor fear, nor the certainty of success. I hugged my family — Silvana was asleep — and set out for the train station. As I walked alone, I thought this might be the last time, for many years, that I would see my city, Sibiu. Yet the thought did not move me. At the station, the three of us met; Viorel and Dolf were waiting for me.

[…]

We realized how fortunate we were that the barge hadn’t caught us in the middle of the river. Since we were tied together with rope, an encounter with it could have had disastrous consequences for all of us. We thanked Heaven that we had come this far safely, avoiding the border guards, the dogs, and the barge. After about two hours of swimming, we reached the Serbian shore. We could hardly believe it — we had made it!

A new beginning. A new life in a free world. A new language, a new culture, a society I must learn to live in. And, in parallel, the struggle to free my family left in Ceaușescu’s Romania. 

We arrived over Toronto on the evening of Thursday, February 7, 1985, at around 8:00 p.m. Before landing, the plane circled this Canadian metropolis two or three times. I remember seeing a vast sea of lights below. Everything looked like an endless forest ablaze. Coming from the darkness of Romania, where the energy crisis had extinguished nearly all the streetlights, it felt unreal to us. We stared out the small airplane window, mesmerized by the lights stretching as far as the eye could see — we were witnessing something we had never seen before.

[…]

I took the letter expressing interest and went to our counselor, Bob. When he saw it, Bob checked whether the position was listed in Canada’s central job bank. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. If it had been, the government would have covered my plane ticket to attend the interview. Bob told me that if I wanted to go, I’d have to cover the cost myself. A few days after my last meeting with Bob, I left Edmonton, Alberta, and took the bus to Ottawa, Ontario.

A letter written in motion, between cities and between lives. The Canadian autumn passes beside me like a wave of light, and the immensity of this country reshapes the way I feel space. This chapter captures that passage—from Edmonton to Ottawa, the city I had dreamed of since my days in Sibiu.

The following pages were written during my bus trip from Edmonton, Alberta to Ottawa, Ontario — a 3,500‑kilometer journey (roughly 2,200 miles). They reflect my impressions as a European immigrant, inspired by the landscapes of Canada that captivated me on my first journey through part of this immense country, a land about forty times the size of Romania. I sent these lines from Ottawa to my family in Romania.

[…]

I’ve run out of paper. Although I still have six hours left to travel, my account ends here for you, while my Greyhound runs tirelessly through Canada’s beautiful autumn forests. This is a country I feel deeply attached to, even though I have known it for only a few months. I feel connected to it and proud of its beauty — without, of course, forgetting Romania or all of you. I send my love to all of you along the Trans‑Canada Highway near North Bay, only a few hours from Ottawa, on this day of October 14, 1985.

Ioan

Ottawa, Ontario, the city where I put down new roots. The story of my escape continued in the struggle to build a new life—reuniting my family on Canadian soil, completing a master’s program in electrical engineering at the University of Ottawa, all culminating in years of dedicated work in software engineering at Canadian companies of global reputation.  

I arrived in Ottawa as the sun was setting. From the bus station, I took a taxi to Petru’s place. After many hours of traveling on the Greyhound, I was tired, but I hardly felt it; I was happy to finally be in Ottawa, a city I had dreamed of since my days in Sibiu.

[…]

Back in Canada, after coming to terms with my feelings and memories of my mother and my high school classmates, I reluctantly decided to begin writing this book.

The beauty of the human spirit is the will to follow our dreams.

— Joan Baez, The Ballad of Sacco and Vanzetti

I began writing this book in autumn, when the maple leaves turned scarlet — the same color as the emblem on Canada’s flag. I continued writing through the quiet of Ottawa’s long winter. The words fell onto my pages like snowflakes, stirring deep emotions within me. Now, day by day, the sap of the maples begins to move, rising through the veins of the trees, and my story draws near its end. Soon, the sap will be gathered and transformed into golden syrup, sweet as the long‑awaited spring.

[…]

As we know, for every person, adaptation is a process rather than an event. An immigrant may be seen as a soul suspended between two countries, two cultures, two lives, two loves, two longings. This process of adaptation depends on countless factors: age, personality, expectations, past experiences, and the individual’s ability to accept and endure change — and, of course, the fortune life grants each of us.

Ioan Trif

Ottawa, Canada

March 8, 2025

Thank you for reading to the end.

If this book has touched you in any way and you feel like thanking me, please do so by helping someone in need — a relative, a neighbor, a friend, or even a stranger. Offer them a kind word, a piece of advice, or whatever help you can. Do what you can, however small, to make the world a better place.

Ioan Trif

Ottawa-Gatineau, Canada

March 31, 2026