Charlotte Martin, 26

Hi, I’m Charlotte! Bilingual public servant, professional skater of the Rideau Canal (amateur level, extremely enthusiastic), and firm believer that Ottawa is criminally underrated. Yes, I will defend this city to anyone, at any time, with PowerPoint if necessary.

I grew up in Orléans, in the east end, in a perfectly bilingual household — my mom’s Franco-Ontarian, my dad’s from Kingston, and our dinner table switched languages mid-sentence without anyone noticing. I have a twin brother, Étienne, who works in tech in Montreal and thinks he’s funnier than me. He is not. (He is a little.) We both went to the University of Ottawa, and I now live in Centretown in a sunny apartment with a balcony garden I’m weirdly proud of and a roommate who steals my oat milk.

I work for the federal public service — I’ll keep the department vague because, well, public servant — and I genuinely like it. I know, I know, everyone jokes about bureaucrats, but I work on programs that actually help people, and there’s something deeply satisfying about seeing a policy you worked on make a real difference. My team is a classic Ottawa mix: anglophones, francophones, a few people who switch mid-meeting, and one colleague who brings Timbits every Friday like it’s a sacred duty. It kind of is. My proudest work moment: a briefing note I wrote got quoted — quoted! — in a ministerial speech. I printed it out. It’s on my fridge.

Winter is my season, and the Rideau Canal is my cathedral. Every February, when the canal freezes into the world’s longest skating rink, I’m out there in my skates at least twice a week. My ritual: skate from downtown to Dows Lake, stop for a Beavertail (killaloe sunrise, obviously — the cinnamon-sugar-lemon one), skate back, and feel like I’ve earned every pastry. Winterlude is my favourite festival on earth — the ice sculptures, the crowds, the whole city out on the ice together. Last year I taught my roommate to skate and she only fell four times, which I’m counting as a coaching triumph.

Summer Ottawa is a different kind of magic. The ByWard Market is my weekend headquarters: flowers, produce, the buskers on George Street, and brunch at one of the patios where you can watch the whole city walk by. I run along the canal in the mornings — it’s gorgeous and flat, perfect for a casual runner like me — and in the evenings my friends and I do the Elgin Street patios or catch a show at the NAC. Parliament Hill at sunset, with the Peace Tower glowing? I walk past it on my commute and I still stop to look. You never really get used to it.

Centretown life suits me: walkable, friendly, full of little cafés where the baristas know my order (oat milk latte, extra hot, don’t judge). My building has a rooftop where we do summer barbecues, and my neighbours are a mix of public servants, students, and one retired diplomat with the best stories.

One of my favourite Ottawa traditions is with my twin brother Étienne: every Canada Day, no matter where life takes us, we meet on Parliament Hill for the fireworks. Last year it poured rain and we stood there soaked, laughing, eating slightly soggy poutine from a food truck, and Étienne turned to me and said, “On est ben trop Canadiens.” He wasn’t wrong. Some rituals are worth the rain — and it’s the one day a year we’re guaranteed to be in the same place, no matter what.

What am I looking for? Someone kind and curious, with a sense of humour that can survive a long winter. Bonus points if you skate — or if you’re willing to learn, because I am an extremely patient teacher with extremely cold hands. I want someone who appreciates both languages and both cultures of this country; switching between French and English mid-conversation should feel like home to you, or at least like an adventure. I need a partner who’s genuine — no games, no drama — and who’s up for things: Winterlude, summer festivals, random road trips to Montreal for bagels. If you can make me laugh on a -30 day on the canal, honestly, that’s the whole test.