Our first full day in Montreal consisted of Old Montreal where we browsed through creaky old art galleries, stopped to take photos and eventually got caught in the middle of the wildest storm that broke the heat wave we'd waded through since our arrival.
We sloshed our way to a cab and our driver got us back to the hotel - soaked. I mean clear through our clothes, matted hair, steaming up the car windows soaked. As he was dropping us off at our destination our car was rear-ended by (to put it mildly) a really pissed off driver.
I heard words exchanged in French that I still don't think I'm old enough to know. Nobody was hurt.
A quick dry-off at the hotel and it looked like the rain was over. I was ready to venture out again right away towards Rue Ste Catherine and Crescent Street. Rob wanted to stop for an afternoon pint in our neighborhood instead. Good thing too because an even more powerful storm blew through.
We hid out with a nice group of Canadian boys from New Brunswick (George, Jason, Marc) at a local pub.
Hours passed and we enjoyed the conversation about American politics (everyone feels bad for us for the past eight years), music, film and thanks to George - the history behind all the street names in Montreal that are named for saints. You really have to go through hell to earn that title.
Finally the sun came out again and by this time I was starving for one thing in particular - smoked meat sandwiches. A half hour walk uphill on St-Laurent in search of Schwartz's, the best place to get smoked meat in the city. I think after the first bite Rob forgave me for dragging him up there.
Hunger satisfied, we found Prince Arthur street by accident. I love this street that is closed off to traffic. Big patios that spill out amongst the foot traffic, cafes, Gelato and a fountain where we took a rest to listen to a guitar player.
We took the Metro to Ste Catherine (city center) and walked through the drizzle for hours all the way back to the Latin Quarter. The city has been cleaned up on this street especially. It was great to see it all again.
Rob left for Atlanta the next day.
When I left Montreal I was at the height of my selfish young life and simply left town without a peep.
In the weeks prior to the trip to Montreal I managed to track down three old friends that still lived in the area.
This is Steve. I knew Steve when I was a dorky teenager but he saw something in me and was always a good friend to me. He lives downtown now and we work in the same industry. He is the first person I've ever met who knows what a Product Manager is.
"You're the sponge" he said. Exactly.
We met at St-Sulpice. He looked exactly the same after 15 years and I find that incredibly unfair.
I had been planning on getting my Canadian passport while in Montreal and he advised me to get to the passport office by 7am to avoid a potentially harrowing wait. He said this of course, as we ordered a second pitcher of beer.
6:30am Wednesday - I considered skipping the passport office. Pulled myself out of bed and onto the Metro and sometime in July I should be getting my passport with fresh pages waiting to be filled up.
After a very short nap I met up with Heather.
Heather was my closest friend in school. She's the most adorable thing and she still has all the happy and surprising characteristics that drew me to her in the first place.
I paced in front of the Eaton Center wondering if we would recognize each other at our set meeting place. I sent her a text telling her what I was wearing. She laughed at that when she finally came running up to me on the street. "You thought I wouldn't know you?!" she asked.
As girlfriends do, within 10 minutes of meeting up we were in a shoe shop and she was slipping on a new pair of soft white leather open toed pumps.
Lunch on Crescent street on warm and sunny Thursday afternoon.
Heather has kept in touch with lots of people from school and she filled me in on everyone.
She has an impressive long term memory and recounted some of the stuff we used to do that was so much fun. Something or other about indoor tabbogining...
Another small nap then dinner with Olivier that night.
Olivier was the one Francophone in our group of friends. A fact I hadn't really thought about until he mentioned he had to speak English for years while hanging out with our group of friends. He is a talented musician and was encouraging in my writing even when I was writing really terrible stuff.
Besides the cutting of his long hair he too looked exactly the same. We went to a Tibetan restaurant and bless our server's heart for being so patient with us. I think it was over an hour before we ordered any food. With so much time having passed there was a lot to catch up on. He is still a broad thinker who ponders what confuses the rest of us. Checked out some live jazz further up on St-Denis and stayed up late talking about many years passed.
Seeing the three of them was a real treat. It's like no time had passed at all but somehow we found each other as grown ups. To find them happy was all I had hoped for.
Friday was my day to switch hotels over to the Hotel St-Paul in Old Montreal.
This was a considerably more trendy boutique hotel than Le Relais Lyonnais. The rooms were designed to reflect the different aspects in Canadian landscapes (wood, stone, fur, ice, fire). Only a short walk to the waterfront as well as a very good greasy spoon that served poutine.
My last night in the city, Olivier came out after work to keep me company. We ate at a restaurant in Old Montreal then walked through cobblestone streets looking for a nightcap.
The drinking age in Montreal is 18. Everyone looked like babies. They were so young, so drunk and so funny. I liked being 33 and watching all this.
We stopped at a place near the old parliament building and watched kids stumble down the hill as the bars and brasseries started to stack their chairs up for the night.
A restless night. I was sad to be leaving this city.
My last breakfast there on an appropriately cloudy day. Almond croissant, mmm, my favorite.
A two hour flight later, I was in what can only be described as severe culture shock.
Rob and Adi picked me up at Atlanta airport and we didn't go back to our loft in the city, we went south to Newnan for a fund raiser taking place in an airport hangar.
Hotter than hell, humid, southern accents all around me, no French, a pig carcass that had been cooked in the ground on a long buffet table, a live auction for football jerseys and country music star albums. Where am I?
I don't know what happened but I bought a vintage cross stitch pillow with a rooster on it in the silent auction for $50.
It goes to a good cause but what the hell...?
Happy early birthday Adi. It's yours now. Forever.
That's Canada. I loved it. I miss it again. I can't wait to go back.
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