Bienvenue a Montreal: Ok, nous l'avons trouvé

Que faire et que voir quand vous êtes à Montréal: Part 4 in a series.

My Uncle's job occasionally has him on the road. Nothing glamorous, just North America, but I think that everyplace has at least one cool thing about it. Even in the middle of butt-fuck-nowhere, there's always fun to be had.

But since he's there on business, he really only gets a day to himself. Or sometimes only a couple of hours. So he'll ask someone who's been to the city before..."Hey!! I only have (this much) time in City X. What do I HAVE to do?"

And I think that is a delightful approach to travel, one that I hope to utilize in the future. SO... what should you do in Montreal? My first instinct is to say strip club.

But I'll go with my second instinct, which is, ironically, church. Now I don't care what faith you were raised in, how religious you are, or what check-box you put your neat-little X in. Cause this ain't just any-old church. Basilique Notre-Dame de Montreal.

(I'm looking at photos online to show you, but there's just nothing that truly captures the grandeur and extravagance and erethral beauty of this structure. I think it's best to go in blind and let the beauty take your breath away.)

Words, cannot even describe it. When I am inside Notre Dame Basillica, I am undoubting and unwavering in my devotion.

Outside on the pavement 10 minutes later, or at the strip club 6 hours later might be a different story. But inside the Basillica, all the beautiful old-world Catholic tradition and masonic architecture meld into otherworldliness.

Ya, you're gonna pay $5 for admission. Take the tour, it's free. And feel free to wander and explore. Light a candle, say a prayer.

And, meh... it was good enough for the nuptials of the Diva herself (Celine Dion). Also, the Basillica hosted the funeral of Pierre Trudeau. But you'll learn all that on the tour. And if you're feeling adventurous, take in a mass. It would be worth it just to hear that massive organ.

We suspected that The Musee D'Art Contemporain might only be good on LSD, but alas, it was an hallucinogen-free weekend. Like any contemporary art gallery the pieces (some were more like, pieces of crap) fell into three categories:
1. Ohhhhh neeeaaaaatt!
2. Cool. Probably cooler on acid.
3. WTF? How does this qualify as art?

For instance, The Bourduas exhibit fell into the first two categories. While his contemporaries (or, bootleggers) often fell into the third category.

In the second category was videomusique. It told the story of a couple. They were... how you say... troubled. Some might say... volatile. And in the background was Chris Isaak's sexy serenade, Wicked Game. Only instead of the insatiable Isaak crooning, some crazed chick was sometimes screeching it sometimes sobbing it. It was fucked.

Also in category numero tres was Runa Islam: A silent film of a pretty young woman at a table. There is a cup and saucer about 3 inches from the edge, and the woman's hand is 2 inches away from the china. Her hand is moving a millimeter a minute. And, soon (but not quickly) the china begins to creep towards the edge of the table. And then, its hanging over the edge. And you're thinking... Noooo!! You can save it!! There's plenty of time. Then.... SMASH!!!

Then all sorts of things are breaking. It was excruciating.

We enjoyed The exhibit of Yesterday's Tomorrows, especially John Massey's Phantoms of the Modern/The Beginnings of the World. His prints were of a very clean very modern house. But it was like a Where's Waldo of strange and slightly provocative objects.

It was cheaper than seeing a movie. But come high or don't bother. It's always nice to take in a gallery or a museum wherever you roam. Lends culture to a journey.

Montreal was home to the Olympics in 1976. So we wanted to grace the hallowed grounds of the site of monumental debt. For a photo-shoot... __________________________________________________________

The park was nothing more than a concrete wasteland. __________________________________________________________

And the stadium looked like where they hold the Space Olympics. __________________________________________________________

And the biodome is where they train. __________________________________________________________

What the hell is this?
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GIANT stairs!
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Reach for the stars!
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Maybe Olympic Park and Stadium are not a must-see.

But upon returning home everyone will ask, did you see the cross? According to "legend" you can see the cross on Mount-Royal from everywhere in the city.

In the 16th Century, Jaques Cartier hiked up this mountain with the natives and christened it Mount-Royal, which is from where the city takes its name. In 1643 the founder of Montreal, Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve hiked on up with a giant wooden cross.

It was replaced with this in 1929. __________________________________________________________

It was... a little anti-climatic
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A breathtaking view. Oh, and there's the city. __________________________________________________________

Hitch-hiked back. 

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Dodged falling rocks.
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The park itself was very lovely. Its hopeful to see a major metropolis devote such great acreage to foliage and walking paths. Walkers, joggers, runners, hikers, cyclists, skiiers, bladers and the like dominate the trails. The young and old come to exercise, play, picnic and even date in nature. Wear sturdy shoes.

The waterfront at Les Quais Du Vieux-Port de Montreal had some beautiful assets as well.

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Prepare for boarding.

Typical day in the life...

Ahhhh ok so I'm (prob?) going out with Irish tonight so all I really have time to do is vomit on this keyboard and GO-GO-GO!!

fhuaghkdfjadhfjkdhfighnbwrv kjheioqfhijnfjKWRNFHJ (OK, there!)

So I went back to work Tuesday after a most blissful vacation. And I'm not ashamed to say... I was just not feelin' it. But everyone gets the back to work blahs, right? But then yesterday was even worse. But I'm happy to report that I've got my work-mojo back. We had things to do and people to talk to. (Plus, I don't think that it helped that both MW and I were in vacay mode, me coming back, and her about to go)

1. Today was a sharing day. I have a severe aversion to cargo-pants. Remember in the late-90's when they were in-style? Well, I was on BOARD with that fashion-trend. Jeans, casual pants, capris, shorts...and...even...dress pants. (acceptance is the first step.)

My name is Veronica, and in 1998 I wore black, slightly shiny, flares with cargo pockets. I've been clean and sober from cargo pockets since 2001.
SIDEBAR: Does anyone remember flares?!?

2. I brought the world's-most-depressing lunch. Leftovers from the other night: broccoli, green beans and baked potato. Which was delightful for dinner with the addition of butter, sour cream, green onions, pepper and cheese. But was downright depressing and plain sans accouterments. At least it was healthy. And satisfying. (And everything was just so delightfully fresh... (Good things grow in Ontario!)

3. My break got rained-out, so I abandoned my coffee and Eat Pray Love for celebrity gossip. Lindsay Lohan on suicide watch? (Of course, I'm reading gossip from July 26th, which in Hollywood, may as well be 10 years ago.)

4. I wouldn't mind going to jail. Especially for 90 days. Do you know how much reading you could catch-up on? Suck it up, buttercup. Jail would give me much-needed structure in my life. 3 square meals a day, time to work out, you can even get yourself edumacated. Plus all the fun activities? Movie night? Soft-ball leagues? Group rapes? Arts and crafts?

EDITOR'S NOTE: Jail is NOT fun for those wongfully convicted.

But if you do the crime, shoot, be prepared to do the time.

5. Why would I be sentenced to jail? I'll leave that open-ended.

6. If you come into the store, here's the sort of talking points I enjoy:

a) I get really stressed out at No-Frills trying to bag my own groceries.

b) I'm 25, but if you're a 50-something year-old woman, I will gladly sit and chat with you about how we're getting old. (Seriously, when all yall reach your seventieth birthdays and are having some sort of end-of-life crisis, I'll be chillin' in my rocker, watchin' my jeopardy, wearin' a cardigan.)

Hmmm, maybe I'll take a nap later.

c) Coming up on a significant wedding anniversary and looking for a fab way to renew your vows? Vegas, baby! Why not have Elvis officiate!?!

d) I covertly played hid-and-go seek with a small child. The game was even more thrilling, as I had to hide the entire game of hide-and-seek from the Boss.

7. It made my day!

8.
BOSS: Good news!!!
ME: Whaaaattt??!?!?
BOSS: I have permission to hire a male assistant manager.
ME: Oh... cool.............................. WAIT! Have you even found a male assistant to hire?
BOSS: No
ME: So you've secured permission in the unlikely scenario that you find a male assistant?
BOSS: It's nice to keep our options open.

(Well, I guess we've doubled our hiring-pool)

9. Don't even talk to me about Labour Day weekend.

10. Damn I forget the tenth point and my OCD dictates that things have to be even.

Oh, looking for Part 4 of the Bienvennue a Montreal series? I'm such a tease! Gotta keep ya comin' back for more.

Bievennue a Montreal: Où sommes-nous?

Ce que vous pouvez découvrir si vous êtes perdus à Montréal: Part Three in a Series.

Sometimes getting there is half the fun. I think I said it best in my (private) journal.

"With all the best intentions to leave at the ungodly hour of 8 am, we were finally on the road by quarter to 10. Tim Hortons was still serving breakfast, which is earlier that I'm motivated to get my ass out of the door on the best of days. Not being accustomed to actually making it on time for breakfast, of course we ordered bagels and BLTs. I drove the 6+ (+++) hours, as Irish was nursing one hulluva hangover from last afternoon's excursion to the Jay's game. I'm pretty proud of her for keeping that BLT down. At 11, only at Markham Rd, I tried to burn the car down with a cigarette butt. Back on the highway, we gabbed. Then she napped while I grooved to some oldies. Then we had a pretty hard-core heart-to-heart which turned in..."

I was writing this while illegally parked, waiting for Irish to check-in. Because we couldn't park until we checked in. What bullshit is that? Quality Hotel. Dad asked me if they spelled Quality with a K. But now, to continue on this train of thought...

...which turned into an epic rant-fest. Of course we missed our exit. Got off at another, and started driving to the hotel. Story of my life, we were going the wrong way. So we turned around. And alas, once the road ended, we realized we were going a wronger way.

Uh-oh! We're lost!! Take a picture!!

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EDITOR'S NOTE: Ok SER-I-OUS-LY how in the hell do we keep getting lost while all along we're in the right direction? What is wrong with us? Suicidal brain-cells?!? (in anticipation of the debauchery the weekend would hold in store?)

We def spent a lot of our trip lost and wandering. Boy did we put our grade 7 geography lessons to use. Map reading? An invaluable skill. Although, we lamented not having a compass.

By the end of the 4 days, our map was in tatters. But we never got lost on day 4. That was a successful day (until we tried to get home. And I wasn't 100% sure where we were. Then we missed an exit and had to take a delightful detour.)

Lost, yet again. Familiar territory. We'll be in Toronto in 6+++ hours __________________________________________________________

How many maps does it take to navigate our way out of this city? Three. __________________________________________________________

We spent much of our days on the quest for M:Brgr (which I must say, was worth it). The problem (for once) wasn't our poor sense of direction, rather, just not knowing what the place was called. And, alas, google failed us. On our first unsuccessful attempt, we ended up at a lovely little place called Dundees, where we shared quesadillas and poutine, and I got tipsy off of three $12 raspberry mohitos.

Unapologetic.
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We also spent a good part of our trip in search of a club. Some place happenin'. Everyone always says that Montreal is a party city. So where the party-at? Ah, sketchy nights, wandering the streets, slightly intoxicated. That's how I shall always remember the fair city.

Just lookin' for a good time.
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Got lost in search of La Croix at Mount-Royal. Got lost trying to make our way back to civilization. We even *gasp* stopped and asked for directions. Damn, that park was large. Even almost got off at the wrong bus stop on our way to the park.

Irish and I enjoy the thrill of finding your own way, and exploring parts of the city you would never stumble upon otherwise. Let's face it, that's pretty much what I do in Toronto anyway.

Map reading: an invaluable skill!
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The problem was that Montreal is so small! What seems like miles and miles on the map may only take you a few minutes. We were constantly over-shooting everything. 

Including our sojourn to suburbia. Well, you can't really blame two Scarborough girls for being lured into the gentle caress of the suburbs. We took the metro a little too far north. We were off the map. We were so unbearably, confusingly lost. 

So we took a breather on a bench, tried to gather our bearings, and were delighted to see such randomness, all from the vantage point of our bench.

This light-hearted graphic on a sari-shop sign turned our frowns upside-down. __________________________________________________________

Mannequins with serious 'dos.
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Gold. Jewelery. Computers. Video Games. Tools. Bicycles.
Musical Instruments. TV. DVD. Cameras. Film XXX. Etc...?
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*Shrugs shoulders* It was an interesting door. Lots of texture. I'm not just silly all the time.
I'm at least a 2-dimensional character.
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Passive-aggressive? Or ironic? You be the judge. __________________________________________________________

The lost-pose.
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Happy travels and happy wanders!

You know the drill, stay tuned tomorrow for part 4 of our series: Ok, nous l'avons trouvé: que faire et que voir quand vous êtes à Montréal

Interrupted service..

A break from our regularly scheduled programming. This post today has been brought to you today by the good folks at Ziplock, this over-thinking brain of mine, and the letter K. So the summer of YES!! is drawing to a close. I'm going to do a recap sometime in September before I get back to school. So we're not going to talk about YES!! right now. But although I haven't been screaming it, if you're following my blog, (or if you know me IRL, or if you're simply stalking me (I'm flattered, *blush*)), you know I've been living it. So look for it in September: Procrastinate NOW!! in the summer of YES!! (the coming-of-age tale of a girl just trying to find her way in the big-bad city. A story, of a struggling journalist, lost-in-love and afraid... of living. But when she lets her hair down, and follows her dreams *cue music* anything is possible) And... as a special treat, I shall reveal the summer bingo card, that I have been threatening you with all summer. And that's not all!! The photo-a-day project shall be unveiled! An awards show shall follow. And of course, we gotta go back to the summer goals. And we'll round it all out with a clip-show. But if the summer of YES!! is coming to a close, what shall the semester, the next chapter of my life, hold in store? And more importantly, what will the semester be the semester of? OK, howsabout "The Semester of Organization and Productivity?" No? "The Semester of Decisiveness?" No? No? That's all I got! "The Semester of Love and other bad decisions?" Or, "The Semester of learning and following your dreams!" Ok, I guess I still gotta work on that. I really should work on my decision-making. I over-think everything... often before events even transpire. I'll look at something from every angle, try to determine any and all possible cause-and-effect scenarios, make pro & con lists.. then throw them out, and make a quick, rash decision. Then fret over my decision. And at the last second, change my mind. So, about this dating thing. 1. Giving my brand-spankin'-new moleskine daytimer a workout. 2. How do dudes juggle multiple chicks at once? 3. I feel terrible even talking to more than one guy at a time. 4. My new dating mantra is... meh... free dinner? 5. Feel like I shouldn't be blogging about this. 6. Don't hate the playah, hate the game. 7. Am I a hypocrite, or a revolutionary? Peut-etre, je peux ecrire en francais des mes rendez-vous? Bien sur.