Taste-test traveling in Montreal

Hello everyone! Welcome back to my travel blog. I wrote the following post before I went to Montreal for the weekend, and a surprising amount has changed in my perspective since I left. I considered re-writing the entire "first post" of my adventure since it hadn't been posted yet, but I think it contains valuable information pertaining to my lack-of-travel world view, making the post an interesting read and an awesome mental starting point for my upcoming journey to BC. Enjoy!

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So six months ago I went to India looking for adventure.

I wet my palate by flying, on my first trip out of Canada, all twenty-two hours of sky-time, solo. I met nice people who took me in and made sure I got to my destination in one piece. When I got to the airport in Cochin, I was hugged, introduced, and driven to a big beautiful house in a small village
south of Chalakudy in central Kerala. I stayed there for the majority
of three weeks (save a two-day trip to Fort Cochin) with a family of
loving, funny, open people. I felt safe in India, as "foreign" as it all was, because Nitya, Fanny, the American Idol-style TV shows, and the giant billboards staring white women advertising kitchen faucets made it feel just a little bit like home.

But home, what's home to a traveling girl? In India, my home was Canada. In Canada, my home was my mom's place in Toronto, and now it's my apartment down the street. If home is a familiar place in which we feel centered, why shouldn't I explore my vast back yard and the subsequent forests and mountains and oceans that surround it? It's time for me to snoop out the property, check out the scenery, scope the landscape - and the best way to do that is by going on a cross-Canada adventure.

So I'm taking the train out west this June, and in the spirit of finding my "home" in Canada, I ain't staying at any hotels. Nope, I'm couch surfing baby, sleeping on the love-seat of a couple in Vancouver, a guest room bed in Victoria, an air mattress in Courtenay, and who knows where else. Have I mentioned yet that I've never been further west than Winnipeg? Yup, this'll be good.

Despite my openness to meeting new people and having a good experience, I have some particularly strong stances that will colour this trip, methinks the colour BLOOD. For one thing, I love Toronto. I heard everyone outside of Toronto hates Toronto and if I hear one note of pretentious annoyance in anyone's voice, by golly there will be hell to pay. I know one of the goals of the India trip was to "de-Toronto-ize" me, but how do I do that in a place where Toronto may as well be Moncton, New Brunswick? To a Canadian, and especially to a proud Torontonian, we are a varied bunch, not simpletons who can be lumped into one nice pile of Plain Jane's and Millimeter Peter's.

But I fear the Vancouverite. Vancouver ranks decidedly higher on the cool scale than Toronto and is a close second to Montreal. I can understand why Montreal is cool. They speak French there and that's different. They are the dark haired artistes of our country, and they drink and smoke with their attractive four-o'clock-shadowed mouths. Damn good looking Montrealers. But the Vancouverite! Close to nature their entire lives, good bud and killer waves. Yes, they must be so smug about having the ocean and the mountains and the barely-there winter (though I was told that it's rainy and gray from October to April and can be very miserable. Suckers!). Do they speak another language? "Chahh dude totally puff puff pass my surf board man I gotta shred some waves at Tofino or whatever..."

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A lot has changed! I promise! I swear!

Heather and I joined Sound One in their spankin' new 12-seater tour van on their voyage to Montreal (on route to Ottawa), and boy was that sweet. Ho-downs, number games, drawing pictures, taking pictures, dancing our butts off at Cafe Campus, and so much poutine. It feels cliche to go to Quebec and eat nothing but poutine, but the truth is that we can't get poutine in Toronto -- actually, wait. No. We can get poutine in Toronto. We HAVE poutine. We're cosmopolitan like that. But poutine and Quebec are just interchangeable concepts.
"Hey, where you goin' this weekend?"
"Poutineland."
"Lucky! I've heard they've got great strippers."
"And I KNOW they've got great strippers. The cheese curds are phenomenal."
"And that gravy! Whatever you do though, don't go to La Belle Provance."
"Oh, yeah, I heard it's not so belle. They scoop lard into the deep-fryer grease, causing any nutrients that may have been stored in the potato-frites and gravy to separate."
"That was a stretch."
"I know, but a joke only goes so far."

And then it dies. So yesterday Michaela came by bus too, via Guelph by anarchist bus (don't ask me how they organized a bus trip amid all the chaos but they did it miraculously). We left the band, I said my good-byes to my super cute'n'hot boyfriend, and the three of us went a walkin', looking for "a bonfire on the mountain." We didn't find it, but we found a giant beautiful gazebo where some punks were drinking, as well as some very pleasant music makers by a statue further down the way. From there we tried to find le metro, the run-because-it-closes-at-1:00 AM metro. We didn't make it to Mont-Royal station in time but we found a nice fruit and vegetable stand right beside it, where we split on apple cider. I also bought some maple syrup butter because it sounds like what dreams are made of, like the clouds which make up the brick work of God's sweet pantry. Mmmm. Fluffy structurally-fundamental maple syrup butter.

We ended up taking a taxi here, to Jocelyn's, because it's far from the city and we were all getting pretty tired. If a taxi's backseat seat belts are ineffective, is it fair to pay the full fare, considering the driver drove on the highway and put HIS seat belt on? I ask you, sexy ladies and gentlemen of the jury.

We got in (which involved walking up those beautiful iron spiral staircases), hung out with our host who was in bed, then found a place to sleep. I chose to grab a couple yoga mats and sleep on the floor. With a sleeping bag and a pillow, it's just like camping! Except I'm inside and warm and there aren't as many bugs. I had a great sleep. I don't know what time I woke up this morning but I decided today was a good day to do some yoga. It was the first time in a long while since stretching wasn't a chore or something I HAD TO DO if I wanted to be healthy. After six hours in the van, the poutine, and three straight days of dancing my darndest, I needed to stretch, and it felt amazing.

Now I'm just chillin', still in my sleeping bag, semi-planning out the day with Michaela. When I say semi, I mean very minimally because I'm content to go along for the ride and do whatever. I'm also lamenting all the necessary stuff I didn't bring, the moisturizer, make-up remover, eye drops, allergy pills (there are a couple cats here), glasses, and pyjamas that I will remember for next time. This weekend trip is just the tip of the ice burg for traveling this summer, a sample of what's to come.

So won't you come along with me June 5th and join in the fun? *passes gas in great anticipation*