My Berlin life in Ottawa

The cheese man in the Byward Market tells me it's tough running a cheese shop in the Market. McDonalds is gone, he goes on, soon Timmies will leave, too. I exult that he sells Tomme de Savoie and Kaltbach, two of my favourite cheeses, but I'm sorry there's no Rote Teufel, which means red devil in German.

When I moved to Germany in 2015, I didn't know cheese. I liked Havarti and cheddar. For my first five years in Germany, I made no progress beyond this. Then, my friend H started invited me to join her on her Saturday morning trips to the market at Winterfeldtplatz. That means, winter field square.

There's a Turkish cheese seller, beloved among market stalls, who plies young customers with lollipops and serves up cheese samples to their elders. He has a smile, gives my change to my son, is always ready with a recommendation. And the prices are good. Sometimes we wait twenty minutes for our turn, canvas bags weighing us down. I don't notice. I'm strong from getting everywhere on foot, my backpack a permanent fixture over my spine.

H teaches me French cheeses, a wealth of information gained from paying attention to her French husband's relatives. Slowly I learn what I like. It takes all of my remaining three years in Berlin. Savoury sheep's cheese with coriander seed, hard oily Manchego threaded with truffles, the softer, younger Swiss mountain cheeses - Kaltbach. I like Brie de Meaux, my husband goes for creamy Delices de Bourgognes, my son likes Red Devil. I learn that I like mostly everything when eaten off the back of the cheese mongers knife. And that I get pickier at home, and as the days elapse since I visited the market.

I have H in my ear today as I pore slowly, lovingly over the cheese in the Byward market cheese shop. In Germany still, she's spending her afternoon watching Germany beat Serbia in the FIBA. We compare first weeks at school for the kids.

I'm alone in the store. Tourists fill the breakfast joints nearby. But the crowd of marketers I remember from Before-Berlin is gone. No one else is loaded down with bags.

During my first month back in Ottawa, I visited the Lansdowne market The crowd is lovely, it's a good market. The sellers are happy, they're selling. The fruit seller with the ponytail practices his German on me.

But the cheese and deli meat selection is spare. So, I'm branching out.

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