delirium

My travels are still underway. After returning to Canada, I was promptly whisked away to a family reunion and other gatherings. After later spending several weeks in Regina, de-hillbillying myself and hanging out with my sophisticated and contemporary sisters, I continued my trek to explore and look for a place to live. Two days on a bus to Montreal was more pleasant than one would expect. There’s plenty of scenery, lots of changing leaves, it’s less stressful than a typical day of travel, etc. I’d never seen Ontario before–it looked just like I’d expected with roads full of orange and yellow leaves. To describe further impressions, I will use the longest run-on sentence I may have ever concocted:

If the countries of the world were having a party and Canada was sitting at the bar lonely and forlorn, drowning its sorrows over some margaritas and Malibu-type concoctions, and Europe (a single entity) stumbled over to strike up a conversation–each finding some sort of solace in the other’s company, eventually throwing in some small-talk about how much more wonderful things are when measured metrically–before slurring something unintelligible but seemingly charming, then giving way to some messy display of drunken passion, ending with the two of them waking on the coatroom floor, hungover and embarrassed, only to find, several weeks later, that Canada is pregnant and Europe said its name was Eureka and gave a bad phone number……Montreal would be that bastard child.

Montreal is a very cool city. It has a very unique blend of North American and European styles, new and old and French and English architecture. It really doesn’t feel at all like Canada. Furthermore, I suspect Quebec to be a province superior in transportation and yogurt technologies. There’s something strange about Quebec, though. Apparently, there is an accent so thick it almost sounds like they’re speaking another language. Half the time I couldn’t understand what anyone was saying. Someone approached me once and said what sounded like “Bonjour, comment appelle tu?” I assumed he was trying to say “Bozo! Come on, I’ll pelt you!” So having no other choice, I sprung into action, blinding him with my camera flash and tackling him to the ground before flailing down the street, nearly tripping over his jettisoned crutches in the process. I was lucky to escape unscathed. In my panic I came upon a nice woman with broad shoulders and a five o’clock shadow who took me to a safe place full of ladies in fancy, glittery dress with exotic hairdos and glamorous names. And let me tell you…karaoke like nobody’s business!

The city is nice for wandering. I toured the Concordia University campuses, rode a moped up to Mount Royal, ate gourmet poutine with complimentary angioplasty and so on. The “Underground City,” expanding over 32km seemed to transcend space and time (more so space), but is more impressive in theory than anything. The city also holds my favourite hostel, run by a wonderful cast of characters.

After about a week I headed back west, spending a night in Ottawa (courtesy of my kind cousinish fellow, Stephen). Most of the wandering was done in the dark hours of the evening, thankfully. Even the most mundane buildings become magical when lit up. It’s a strange place with its cold, government-town feel, but still nice.

Toronto is surprisingly comfortable. It has a big, busy, North American metropolitan look to it, but is friendlier than one might expect. Hanging out in the downtown entertainment district, it can be hard to see much more than scrambling consumerism and hollow glamour atop a foundation of corporations and big business, but the city is enticing all the same.

I must now prepare for a night bus to New York. I hope you’re enjoying your goings-on. This writing may be the product of delirium due to lack of sleep.