"Were you ever in Canada?" I asked him.—from Memoirs of a Polar Bear, by Yoko Tawada.
"Do you know what sort of country it is?"
"A very cold one."
When I heard that, I wanted to move to Canada right away.
The adjective "cold" had such an appealing sound. I'd give up anything to experience such cold, for Ice Queen beauty, for shivering jouissance. The ice cold truth. Acrobatic marvels that give you cold feet. A talent that makes all your competitors blanch and tremble as if frozen. Rationality honed sharp as an icicle. Cold has a broad spectrum.
"Is it really that cold in Canada?"
"Yes, it's incredibly cold there."
I dreamed of a frozen city in which the walls of all the buildings were made of transparent ice. Instead of cars, salmon swam through the streets.
No, Canada's not really like that. But one can dream.