Tales of an Urban Newbie: The Trials and Tribulations of Acclimating to a New City

(This series of articles about my getting to know Montreal is also featured on the website www.CollectivelyBeautiful.com, along with many other useful, interesting, and thought-provoking pieces - take a look!)

So, although I’ve visited Montreal several times before, and have visited countless other cities, I’m still incredibly directionally challenged.  And that’s just the icing on the cake.  Add in the fact that I’m most familiar with running on New York time (where just about everything begins at least 45 minutes after it’s supposed to) and it’s a recipe for disaster.

Firstly, I’m not sure if it’s just my apartment, or apartments all over Montreal, but I’m fairly certain that everything in my apartment, from the front door locks to the knobs on the stove, work backward.  I arrived to my apartment after a 20-hour train ride from Nova Scotia, I had 9 pieces of luggage with me, and was stranded in the hallway because I couldn’t unlock my door.  

After 45 minutes of turning one lock, then the other, then turning them back again, I finally managed to make my way inside.  I’m used to locks that unlock when you turn the key counter clockwise, and lock when you turn them clockwise; however, my new door does just the opposite.  I don’t know any other person who has broken a sweat unlocking their front door, but I somehow managed it. 

One can’t live in an apartment without food in it, so I decided it was grocery time.  I headed down the street to the local Metro to pick up the usual basics and everyday items.  What I didn’t realize upon exiting the store was that there are, in fact, two entrances/exits in two different sides of the building.  I, of course, exited out a different door than I had come in, without realizing it, which resulted in me walking four blocks in the wrong direction with five heavy bags of groceries.  When I realized how lost I was, I gave up and called a cab.  I had walked in the precise opposite direction of my apartment.  Five dollars, and less than three blocks, later my less was learned.

Now, I was starving.  I hadn’t eaten since the night before on the train when I had a miniscule egg sandwich with couscous, which was grossly overpriced.  I put a pot of water on the stove and waited for it to boil.  This attempt gave me a whole new appreciation for the saying, “a watched pot never boils.”  I waited, and waited… then waited some more.  Nearly an hour passed and the water was still just barely warmer than room temperature. 

What I didn’t realize, that my front door lock and stove knobs had conspired against me.  For every stovetop appliance that I’ve used in recent memory, you turn the knob counterclockwise, to turn it on, and as you continue to turn, the temperature will get hotter and hotter.  This was not the case in my apartment, but the complete opposite.  And, to make matters work, only half of the burners on the stove are functional.  I’m surprised I didn’t pass out from exhaustion by the time I finally managed to make my meal.  Needless to say, I expected the worst when I went to take a shower later that night.  Thankfully, showers are pretty fool-proof.

That weekend I had planned to see a band called the Radio Dept. that I’ve been waiting to check out for about a year now.  They were playing at a little venue that is inside a bigger venue, on Rue Prince-Arthur.  Tickets were only $15, and even though there was a blizzard outside, my roommate and I decided to brave the weather for some good live music.  We left our apartment at 10:45 pm, expecting the headlining band to go on around 11:30 pm or so. 

My assumption was based on the usual schedules of shows that take place in the greatest metropolis in North American – New York City – and this assumption couldn’t have been farther from actuality.  After trudging though the snow with the wind howling past us, we arrived at the venue.  It was around midnight and as I ran up the stairs the anticipation continued to build, but when I got to the top of the stairs and sprung through the door, the venue was empty, the stage was torn down, and the music was no where to be heard.  I asked the bartender what time the bands usually come on.  She helpfully responded, “Anytime”.  “Yeah, thanks,” I thought, “That was really helpful.”

I sulked my way to the other, larger venue there, since we’d already paid cover.  It wasn’t exactly the live rock I’d expected, but we made the most of it anyway.  After evading a creepy Swedish man who was clearly on mood-enhancing drugs, watching a young guy spontaneously projectile vomit next to us, and dancing and laughing more than I previously considered humanly possible, we headed home. 

It was a successfully unsuccessful first outing in Montreal and a solid way to end my first full week in my new home city.  Though, I was hoping that my skills and timing would get better as time went by.

Two and Three of the Thirds

So for the last weekend of Matt's Florida visit, we decided to go to the Fort Lauderdale area to check out a few of Matt's old stomping grounds.

Oddly enough, the first thing we did when we got to the area was go to a New York style, Jewish-owned diner called Flakowitz's.  As can be expected from such an establishment, breakfast is served all day, the portions are gigantic, and the service provided is done so in a fashion to turn over tables as quickly as possible.  

We enjoyed some breakfast and coffee and were back on our way in what seemed like mere moments.

Next on the agenda was trying to find the hostel we'd be staying at.  It turned out that when I entered the address into our GPS, I forgot to include the direction of the street we were headed to.  Not realizing this, we ended up in the Fort Lauderdale ghetto.

I'm not talking "North End Dartmouth" kind of ghetto, but the real deal, American popular representation "Compton" kind of ghetto.

The homes were ranged from run-down to decrepit, people were playing basketball in the middle of the street, and as two whiteys in a compact car, we definitely attracted some negative attention.  

Upon closer inspection of the address we realized we were in the wrong quadrant of the city, so we entered the correct address into the GPS and got out of there STAT.

We arrive at the Chocolate Hostel and Crew House, finally, and checked into our apartment style semi-private suite.  The hostel is a really cool concept that's different from others, because it's actually an apartment that was turned into a hostel.  

Our suite had a fully furnished living room, kitchen, bathroom and dining area, and two fully furnished bedrooms.  The bedrooms are private and are individually locked, but the common areas are shared.  In the area, this type of accommodation is important for the cruise ship workers who are sometimes docked here for a few weeks or more in between jobs.

Once we got settled we cruised around the Greater Fort Lauderdale area that includes Matt's old 'hoods, Coral Springs, as well as Florida Atlantic University.  Later in the evening we took a stroll down by the beach, caught a Pathers vs. Rangers game at the BankAtlantic Centre in Sunrise, and grabbed some thai food on the way back to the hostel for the night.

The next day was Saturday, we headed down Los Olas and onto the A1A to grab some beachside parking.  We didn't have much change, so we decided to come back in a few minutes and top up the meter then.  After refreshing our parking ticket and enjoying the Floridian sun for another couple of hours, we came back to the rental car and there was a scratch on the driver's side door.

At first we didn't think anything of it, then I realized my X-ring was missing.  I opened my wallet to see if it got stuck in the bi-fold, and noticed that my credit cards and cash were gone, and so was my almost brand new digital camera (with all my pictures from Disney World on it).  Matt checked his wallet and his cards were gone, too.

We were robbed.

Someone must have watched me take my purse from the trunk to top up the meter, then as soon as I went back to the beach, they went to work.  They didn't even bother looking anywhere else for anything (they could have scored two iPods if they looked in the glove box!).

Getting robbed while you're on vacation is pretty much worst case scenario.  We called the credit card companies and luckily we were able to cancel the cards before too much was taken, but those dirty rotten thieves still managed to get $90 in gas from Texaco and $130 in "pending" transactions elsewhere.

Once we got everything sorted out, filed a police report (unfortunately we didn't get on the show "Police Women of Broward County"), and finished grieving over our losses, we decided we weren't going to let those scumbags have our things and ruin our trip.  And we didn't!

But, after crashing out on my bike and getting robbed, I couldn't help but think of the old says "trouble comes in threes".  And it did, on the following Monday.

Just like everything else that happens in life, there's really not a lot you can do about it.  So I did what was in my power to do and moved along.

All in all, during the 4 days we spent in Broward/Miami Dade County, we went to five different beaches, Butterfly World, the Miami Metro Zoo, South Beach, and Key Biscayne.  We got fresh fruits from the local fruit stands, including the ripest, most delicious star fruit I've ever had.  We tried as many different ethnicities of foods as we could think of, including Greek, Mexican, and Thai.  I can't forget to mention the unreasonably overpriced seafood we had in SoBe either, $65 for the meal, plus they so kindly included an 18% gratuity for themselves, even though the service was bush league at best - thanks for that CJ's Crab Shack.

On our way out of the Miami Dade/Broward Co. area, we decided to stop for an Everglades tour.  I've gotta say, for a relatively inexpensive price, you definitely get a bang for your buck.  Our tour guide had an authentic down South accent and took us through the 'glades on an air-boat with about 15 other tourists.  We started off slow, floating through the channels, catching glimpses of alligators, birds, turtles and fish.

Once we got into the open Everglade areas, though, he kicked it into high gear and whipped us in circles around the 'glades like a bat out of hell!  He even stopped the air boat to give us a little ecological history lesson and let those who wanted to step out of the boat to stand in the Everglades.  In case you were wondering, it's just about the slimiest thing I've ever felt.

I also learned that the portion of the Everglades that we were in was entirely man-made (previously man-destroyed).  When settlers started developing the southern part of the state, they decided to build a nice little causeway across the whole stretch of the 'glades - ceasing the flow of fresh and salt water from the inter-tidal areas.  The road is still there, but they've installed some technology to maintain the flow and keep the ecosystem alive.

After the air-boat tour we went for a free wildlife show including such celebrity animals as the skunk who starred along side Brendan Fraser in Furry Vengeance (2010).  That's right, my one-degree away from Brendan Fraser is a skunk.  Suck on that.

We learned about alligators, and turtles, and toads and the like, then were feeling a little famished, so obviously we went for the deep fried platter, that included frogs legs, catfish, and gator tail.

Needless to say, even though we encountered some major disappointment, we still managed to keep our eyes on the prize and enjoy the rest of our time in the Miami Dade/Broward Co. area.

Note:  I want to thank everyone who kindly and generously reached out to me with kind words and support when I was robbed.  Even though nothing could be done about it, it was amazing to know that so many people out there were concerned and wanted to let me know how much they care.  You guys ROCK! \m/

The Two "isms" of Florida

Colonialism and tourism: essentially, what makes up the vast majority of the towns in this state.

On Tuesday, we decided to take a trip to St. Augustine on the east coast of Florida.  It was about a 3 hour drive from where we were and we decided to take the scenic drive through a National Forest.  It was, as they say here in the south, “real perdy”.

St. Augustine is famous for their lighthouse, a 180’ white and navy spiraled building built back in the late 1800s.  That was our first stop.

We arrived and just as most historic lighthouses are these days, it was turned into a tourist trap filled with figurines and fudge.  The great thing about this lighthouse is that you can still go up to the top.  We climbed the innumerable steps of the spiral staircase and reached the top to see a spectacular 360˚ view of the St. Augustine area.  It was pretty fantastic.

After we soaked in the landscape, we climbed back down and took a little stroll around the property and went back to the gift shop.  I let my sweet-tooth get the best of me and bought some butter pecan fudge.  Matt bought a figurine for his mom (she collects sea-faring décor).

We left the lighthouse and headed toward town where we stumbled upon an old fortress which was pretty cool.  It even had a moat and an oven specifically to heat up cannonballs to shoot at enemy ships!  My imagination went wild with the possibilities – alligators swarming and snapping in the moat, fiery canon balls firing at invaders, dramatic love stories (hey, I might not be the girliest girl, but I still have a heart!).  It was a really neat place.  The archaeologist in me got a little hot-n-heavy, too.

It was getting dark, so we decided to head to the beach.  By the time we arrived it was full-on night time, but that was ok.  We parked the car on the beach (something I still am troubled by), and walked toward the water.  The sand was fine and soft like baby powder.  The stars were out, there was a boat out on the water, but the moon was no where to be found. 

As we were standing there, we noticed a crimson red light on the horizon.  We speculated what it might be: a boat with a disco light, a space ship, a Coast Guard with an emergency light?  Matt jokingly said, “If that starts coming out of the water, I’m gonna run.”  But then it did.  It got larger and larger.  We stared at it intently trying to figure out what could be bright red and growing.  Then, I noticed a slight discoloration on it and excitedly started jumping up and down screaming, “It’s the moon!! Oh my God, it’s the moon!”

It was one of the most amazing and stunning things I’ve ever seen.  We stood there, thinking this may be the only time in our lives that we’d witness such a thing.  As it rose, its color faded slowly to white, but for that moment when it was rising above the horizon, it was blood red and beautiful.

We were beginning to get hungry, so we decided to head back to town, but stopped at this amazing little restaurant near the beach called Playa Chac-Mool.  It was a small restaurant operated by a nice Mexican couple. 

The food was amazing, authentic, the portions were humongous and the price was right.  Twenty-one dollars for an appetizer, two entrees, and a dessert.  We shared a delicious appetizer of melted refried beans and cheese on bread with pico de gallo, Matt had the sampler which included four small burrito-style wraps each with a different filling, I had the chimichanga, and we finished it off with a traditional Mexican dessert called sopapilla – it was French vanilla ice cream with deep fried triangles of what seemed like tortilla, all sprinkled with cinnamon. 

I love being a foodie with a good metabolism, because I devoured every last bite.

The rest of the night was spent strolling the streets of downtown St. Augustine.  It’s a charming little university town with a ton of history.  Cobblestone streets, historic buildings, and lots of Spanish influence makes you feel like you’ve travelled a lot farther than a few hundred miles.  The streets were littered with shops, restaurants, bars, cafes, bakeries and chocolatiers.  The people were really friendly and there were limited numbers of people who looked either homeless, crazy, or both.

After accidentally missing our turn-off on the way home, we finally arrived home again and once we had enough shut eye, we decided to head a u-pick orange grove a few miles away.  They had a cute little outdoor farmer’s market area with lots of fruits, honey, gator meat, juice, salsas and other jarred and unjarred delights.  We strolled around, didn’t pick a single piece of citrus, stood inside a giant wigwam (I don’t really know why this was on the property as the farm was clearly run by white people), bought some blueberry banana bread, pineapple salsa, and gator jerky, tried a piece of pomello, and left.

On the way back to the house we decided to stop at the Lakeridge Winery for a free tour and tasting.  I’m so glad we did. We waited around for a while, then were lead upstairs by the most hilariously amazing tour guide: Doug.  Doug was from the south, he said the word “red” like it had two syllables, and talked about himself in the third person, all the time.

Doug showed us a nice video about the winery, filled us in on everything you could possibly want to know about the Florida native muscadine grape, and took us through the steps of harvesting grapes and making wines.  We tried 12 different wines in about 20 minutes, and considering I’ve hardly had a drink since I got to Arkansas on October 6^th, I was feeling it.  The wines were seriously delicious, even the red, which I don’t  like.  Maybe it was the fact that I was buzzed, but I ended up leaving the winery with four bottles of Lakeridge wine: Southern White, Southern Red, Chivas, and Sunblush.  I’m really glad alcohol is so cheap in the US.

Later that night we headed into Orlando where we were persistently accosted by people trying to scalp tickets to the Magic game.  By the 7^th scalper, we started responding, “What game?” to which they'd shockingly respond, “The MAGIC game, c’mon man!”  It was a slight triumph, but a triumph nonetheless.

We walked so many streets that my blood sugar was seriously tumbling and I was beginning to get agitated, so we settled on Church Street, which is a nice little historic district, at a Cajun restaurant that just opened a month before.  We got an appetizer of deepfried gator, shrimp and these little deepfried veggies that were a little bigger than capers, but I can’t remember what they’re called.  It was my first time trying gator and it was kinda weird: it had the taste of chicken, but the texture of seafood, and it was really greasy. For an entrée, I had half a rack of ribs, some sweet sweet corn cake (aka corn bread), coleslaw, and beans.  It was pretty delicious.

For any city I’ve ever been to, LA included, Orlando has the highest percentage of hoochie mama’s.  I’ve never been so confused about women’s occupations.  I couldn’t tell if they were out for a night on the town, or if they were looking to turn tricks.  There was more lingerie being worn as outerwear than I’d ever seen on Halloween.  It was almost troubling and in my denim, cardigan, t-shirt and scarf, I was most certainly out of place.

We had gone into Orlando to check out a musician, Aloe Blacc who was performing at the Back Booth.  We decided to check out the venue and knew we were in the right place by the time we got close enough to see the details of the crowd gathered outside.  Thick framed glasses, fedoras, suspenders, men’s skinny jeans, plaid and stripes: the wardrobe of those who attend indie rock concerts.  We were at home.

The opening band was Peter Baldwin, a local group with tons of soul and great energy.  We only caught the last of their gig, but were really impressed by the crowd they drew and their talent.  Next up was Maya Jupiter, who was recently picked up by Aloe Blacc’s label and whose debut album was produced in part by Aloe amongst others.  Maya was a super-empowered half-Mexican, half-Turkish, Australian-born woman with a really meaningful message.  Politically charged and clearly feminist, she dominated the stage for her too-short 20-minute set, tackling everything from reggae to dancehall to rap, she was a force to be reckoned with and though most of the audience clearly hadn’t heard much of her stuff before, she had everyone moving.

Aloe’s band backed up Maya which lead to a perfect transition between their sets.  Aloe, of course, played his hit “I need a dollar” and proceeded to infect the crowd with his upbeat, soulful, R&B styles and inspiring, political messages.  Maya even joined Aloe on stage for one song and added her own dancehall flare – she totally rocked it for being a newbie.  If you get the chance to check out any of these artists, I would strongly recommend it.

Next up?  My first American Thanksgiving, Downtown Disney, and the madness of Black Friday.

Big Wheel, Keep on Turnin'

View from Cindy and Jim's penthouse condo

My final leg of the massaging insole journey was the Volusia County Fair in Deland, Florida.  After having spent the past month in trailer parks, sleeping in a tent, on the fairgrounds usually far outside of the nearby towns along the highway, and close to the livestock, it was a very welcome change to be staying with my Dad and Lorraine's friends in a two bedroom condo, directly on the beach in New Smyrna Beach, Florida. 

NSB sunset

We arrived in Deland at the fair on November 3rd, after a hurried two days at home in Leesburg.  After we set up at the fair, we landed at the condo in New Smyrna Beach to the sound of waves crashing and the smell of ocean in the air.  That's basically all I needed to feel immediately relaxed after a long day of errands, travel, and set-up.  That evening we all relaxed, knowing it was the final stretch before we went home for the rest of the year.  I sat on the balcony, staring at the faint outline of the white tips of the breaking surf, sipping on a hot chocolate.

The next ten days were a far cry from the past 30.  New Smyrna is basically Daytona for seniors - you can drive on the beach, there are lots of little beach-side bars and attractions, and the people are happy and generally in great shape, only everyone (for the most part)  is 50-plus.  

Surfers

Honestly, as much as I was aching to have someone my age to hang out with, the age-gap between myself and the residents of New Smyrna didn't bother me at all.  Our first full-day in NSB was spent getting settled and grocery shopping.  To give you an idea of the personalities I consistently came across in NSB, I'll tell you a nice little anecdotal tale.

So, we're getting groceries.  As per usual, my hair is air-dried, I'm not wearing makeup, and I'm wearing shorts and a tank-top.  Now, as we're casually strolling down one of the aisles, I hear an elderly woman yelling (yes, yelling), "Excuse me, miss! Miss! Excuse me! Miss!!".  Knowing full-well that I know no one in town, having never been here before, and also knowing that all of my belongings were securely located in my purse, so they hadn't fallen or been dropped, I assumed that this "miss" who was being called after surely couldn't be me.  I was wrong.  Finally, at the end of the aisle, after running after me, this kind little 70-something old lady caught up with me and tapped me on the shoulder. "Excuse me, miss," she said once more, "but you've got my body from 40 years ago, and I'd like you to give it back!" I, of course, laughed hysterically, blushed approximately 10 shades of red, and agreed kindly with her that I did indeed miss out on poodle skirts and saddle shoes (although the latter is making a comeback!).

This interaction boded well for the rest of my time spend in NSB: cheeky, fun, relaxed and well-aged (or aged well perhaps).  

Most days in NSB began with a run down the beach where I was greeted happily by residents, walking, running, or biking past.  This was one of my favorite times of day to be on the beach.  The pre-nine-in-the-morning folks reminded me of the all-day-folks in Nova Scotia.  So happy.  So friendly.  So unafraid of seeming like they're enjoying life - because they are.  I would usually get a comment or two from older couples passing by, from "well, you sure do make that look easy!" or, "whatever you're doing, it's working!"  Starting the day with a run in NSB was definitely one of the highlights.

The condo where we stayed also had two pools, one heated and one unheated.  I went for the odd swim, but spent most of my time near the pools, laying on a lounger, soaking up the sun.  It's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it.

The remainder of my time, for the most part, was spent in one of my new-found favorite places: on the back of my Dad's Honda Goldwing motorcycle, the travel bike, of travel bikes.  We cruised to Daytona Beach, stopped at the Last Resort Bar (from the movie "Monster" where Aileen Wuornos seduces her victims), got harassed (half-jokingly) by Harley owners whom we parked next to near the beach,  walked the boardwalk, grabbed some pizza and Greek salad at Stavros (for which they're famous), chatted about this and that, then headed back to NSB for the night.  

On the Ormond Loop

Another day we drove the scenic Ormond Loop (or, as known by the biker community, just "the Loop") where we drove past lots of nature, drove through canopies of trees, palms, and Spanish moss, and stopped in Flagler beach for some beach-front snacks (I had the homemade crab dip, if you're wondering).  

On the last ride we took in the area we went to the Merrit Island Nature Reserve, got as close as we could to NASA's Kennedy Space Center, and went to Dixie Crossroads in Titusville where we proceeded to eat four dozen rock shrimp, french fries, and chicken flavored rice.  It's a good thing I went on those runs, let me tell you that much.

Outside Dixie Crossroads in Titusville

Part way through the week, Dad and Lorraine's friends, Cindy and Jim came and stayed at the condo, too.  They're a very hip couple of 50-somethings that are the perfect example of NSB: they're both fit, Cindy is a "sun bunny" and Jim is a surfer, they have a Harley and great spunky senses of humor.  They also brought with them their two malteses!  Simba is eight years old and is the larger of the two fluffy little white guys.  Rocky is the older boy, he is eleven, still a runt, and has a solid 3/4 inch fat roll around his mid-section and his tongue is always hanging out of his mouth.  Needless to say, I kind of liked Rocky the best.  They were great company and Rocky's little face brought me a great number of smiles and laughs.

Rocky <3

Although most of the "action" in NSB took place, for us, during the day, one night stands out in my mind.  I decided one evening to take advantage of the warm breeze, and heated pool.  I changed into my bathing suit, put on my gym clothes on top, grabbed my yoga mat and towel and headed for the pool deck.  

After completing 12 sun salutations and twisting every which way in the hopes of releasing any built-up toxins held in my spine, I peeled down to my swimsuit and hopped into the pool.  I splashed around for a while, breast-stroking and back-stroking my way around the pool. Then, I heard a noise.  I looked around, then up, to see a couple standing on their penthouse balcony, about 5 doors down from the condo where we were staying.  They were both waving frantically and yelling, though over the sound of the waves I couldn't make out a word that was said.  

Their franticness made me nervous.

Immediately I thought there was a viscous axe-murderer nearby, patiently waiting for the right moment to slash me up and turn the pool red with my blood.  

I believe I mentioned before that my imagination sometimes carries me away.

After surveying the area and confirming that there indeed was not a murderer nearby I considered the thought that they feared I had drowned, since just previous to acknowledging their cries I was floating on my back, relaxed as can be, entertaining myself with my change in buoyancy by breathing extra deeply and exhaling fully.

The woman eventually went scuttering inside, while the man continued to mind my business.  Eventually I was so troubled by the whole ordeal that I cut my swim short and headed upstairs for another hot chocolate on the balcony.  

I still can't figure out what they wanted my attention for.

On Remembrance Day (Veteran's Day), I got up, went for a run as usual, and headed up to the condo.  I was waiting until late afternoon to call my Grandmother to thank her for her service in WWII and for being a generally stand-up and awesome human being and passed the time by laying on a lounger next to the pool.  I had my phone with me, as I almost always do, and took it out from under my towel randomly to check for messages even though I had it on vibrate.  There was a message on Facebook from my mom.  My grandmother had a stroke and was on her way to the hospital by ambulance.  It's times like this that often remind us how fleeting life is and force us to possibly regret decisions we've made (usually about not having done something).  I thought, "I shouldn't have waited to call Nanny. I should have called before the ceremonies instead of after."  These situations, whether you're close by or far away, make you feel helpless.  Thankfully, after several hours of waiting for an update, I found out Nanny was doing well, eating when she could, and carrying on with family.  Phew!

That Sunday we put in our last Sunday at the booth in Deland, packed up (mostly), and headed back to the condo for our last sleep in NSB.  The next day, we got up bright and early, helped Jim and Cindy clean the condo, then headed to Deland to pick up the rest of the stuff.  I drove back to Leesburg on the bike with Dad, blaring the 70's and 80's station and singing along to my hearts' content, hoping I didn't catch a bug in my mouth on a long note.

So now we're back in Leesburg for possibly the rest of the year. The house has been brought up to speed, the laundry is done and the Suburban is unpacked.  We're still catching up, mostly Dad and Lorraine, with errands, mail, appointments, check-ups, and bookkeeping.  We should be into a normal routine by the weekend.

On Sunday I get to cash in on my foreign acquisition.  CHA-CHING!  (For those of you who know what I'm referring to).

Up next, more state-wide travels including, but not limited to: Disney World, Orlando Metro Area, Fort Lauderdale and the Keys!  Details to come.

This is the kinda wave that I'm on

So, my next pin on the map was to be Pensacola, Florida. Technically, the Pensacola Interstate Fair, in Belleville, Florida. Just a hop, skip and a jump away from the beautiful Gulf coast. The great thing about my Dad and Lorraine working this fair was that, during the week, it was only open from 4 pm to 10 pm and on weekends they split the 10 am to 10 pm shift, so there was lots of down-time to do running around and adventuring and beaching.

Hangin' ten, obviously.

Thursday and most of Friday were spent getting set up: the booth, the trailer, my tent, groceries, gas, propane, etc., but once the weekend rolled around, I started giving considerable attention to figuring out how to get to the beach sans vehicle (since Lorraine and Dad would be pre-occupied with the booth). 

I had two options. The first was looking for a folding bike on Craigslist (because without anywhere to put a bike rack, it's kinda hard to transport a full-sized bike). The second was public transit - a slightly more likely option that turned out to be just as impossible as finding a used folding bike.

Unfortunately, because it's "off-season" this time of year, the public transit from the Fairgrounds to the beach only ran twice a day. In the morning the bus came around 7:00 am and would get me to the beach by about 8:30 am. The next bus that came wasn't until 4:30 pm. I can honestly say, I love the beach, but not enough to be there for 8 hour straight with no company. Plus, the last bus of the day would get me back to the transit terminal, where I would need to catch my connection back to the trailer, a solid half an hour after the last bus of the day. And that put an end to that.

But I wasn't about to give up on enjoying the warm Florida sun, so instead I propped up a lawn chair and caught a few rays by the trailer, for all those who were riding "The Cat" to see! I have no shame.

I also have no shame in admitting that I have a new love: frozen, chocolate covered cheesecake. Fair food at its finest.

Luckily, the Pensacola Interstate Fair had a few more attractions for those who aren't into livestock, unlike the Arkansas State Fair. There were two art galleries, one for photos and one for paintings, drawings, sculptures and other pleasures. There was an antique car exhibit, a motorcycle exhibit, a model train exhibit and a rocks and minerals exhibit.

Art Exhibit

The next week was hot and humid. Inland at the fair it was almost unbearable. I couldn't even sleep in my tent at night because the cloud cover didn't allow the temperature to drop below 25 Celsius (about 80 Fahrenheit) and humidity was at 95% or above. So, I slept in the trailer. No biggie. 

I tried going for a run, since I was planning on, and almost succeeded in, going for a run every second day. I managed to only run off-and-on Tuesday, but for the last half a mile I couldn't help but walk. The humidity was suffocating. Although I hadn't over-exerted myself, and even though the sun was hidden behind clouds, when I arrived back at the trailer I was slick with humidity, my hair was dripping wet, and I'm pretty sure my earphones short-circuited. Luckily, I managed to fit in a run every other day, and I've gotta admit: I sure wouldn't have a difficult time staying in shape here. Running outside, past palm trees and plants, was motivation enough, despite the odd dead possum on the shoulder of the road.

Oddly enough though, as soon as you drove toward the coast, the humidity cleared up considerably, the cloud cover all but disappeared, and the sun was shining on down. So that's just what we did.

Giant Pensacola Beachball

It was about a half hour drive from our site to the beach. Down the freeway, across a bridge, and through a toll booth. One American dollar is a small price to pay to enjoy the beauty that is Pensacola Beach. White sand, turquoise water, sun, surfers and seashells!

The water was some of the best I've been in - even compared to Cancun! The surf was just high enough (about 6 to 10 foot waves) with almost no undertow. Both days we spent at the beach I maxed out my enjoyment playing in the waves and body surfing, strolling up and down the beach, watching the surfers, and rotating front to back, soaking up the glorious Gulf Coast rays. 

On both of my walks, I even saw a couple different jellyfish, including a Portuguese Man-of-War. I saw this other quasi-jelly looking thing. It was as if a jellyfish and a piece of coral had a love child. If anyone has any idea what it might be, I'd really appreciate the insight!

WHAT IS THIS THING?!

So, anyway as I was saying. We spent Tuesday and Wednesday at the beach until around 2:30 or 3 pm everyday, then we headed back to the Fair for the night shift. Dad and I ran some errands while Lorraine went into the booth for the first parts of the night. Then, Thursday it rained and Friday it got "cold" (read: 20 degrees Celsius or below, plus "windchill".. ha!).

Saturday Dad and I decided to go do a little sight seeing. There is an area in Pensacola called the Historic Seville District. It was designated a historic area in 1970 under the U.S. historic district legislation, but restoration and preservation began in the early 1960's by a group of local preservationists. The area is quaint (Pensacola is only a city of 50,000) and speckled with lots of patriotism, churches and local cafe's and restaurants. Although I wasn't there at night, it seems that the area is chock-full of music venues, theaters, art galleries and studios, and even boasts the areas only opera house. It's a great little stroll with lots of beautiful architecture, landscaping, and some shops as well - though, sadly, there were a lot of empty storefronts which were no doubt an indication of the current economic state of Florida overall.

By Sunday, since the fair wasn't that great business-wise, we were all ready to hit the road. I spent the afternoon in my new-found sanctuary: cuddled up on a blanket with my iPod on top of the trailer, feeling the sun and the breeze. Dad and Lorraine split up the shift throughout the day and at 9 pm we all met up at the booth to tear down and hit the road. Unfortunately, after having torn down and taken the Suburban over to pack up, someone backed into our spot by the trailer so we couldn't hitch up to leave. By the time they moved their vehicle, it was too late, my tent hadn't been taken down, and we were all too tired and frustrated to bother with it. We'd just have to wait until the morning. 

View from atop the trailer

After packing up, we realized we were a little behind schedule, so we nixed the coastal drive and hit the I-10. And we drove for the next 8 hours. Past Tallahassee. Past Gainesville. Finally into Leesburg.

A shower, a queen-sized bed, central air, and some blogging later and I was ready for dreamland. 

But wait. What was that noise? 

You'd think that after having slept in a tent for the past month, sleeping in a house would make me feel safe and secure, and maybe it does, from the things outside. But that's when my imagination and too many episodes of the Outer Limits comes into play.

Little Rockin'

So, after a long and arduous journey from Newark to Charlotte to Dallas to Little Rock, I arrived at the Arkansas State Fair Complex. I would be calling the RV site my home for the next 11 days.

You can take the girl out of Nova Scotia...

The set up of the area was like this: at the front were the entry gates, the fair grounds, an arena and the hall of industry; in the middle were stables, equestrian arenas, and some other barns and stuff for smaller animals like goats and bunnies and sheep; at the back was where the RV park and overflow parking was located.

Now that you've got the area visualized, consider this: I'm sleeping in a tent about 500 feet away from the stables. This means every night, without fail,  I'm lulled to sleep by the poor, desperate cries of one or more belligerent cows.

See my tent squished in between the two trailers? Go me!

But between being the sounding board for said bovine(s), there was a lot to be done, learned, seen and experienced. As I mentioned before, I came down to the south to meet up with my dear ol' Dad and step-mom, Lorraine, and to help them around the trailer and at the trade shows, in return for my room and board.

So, I arrive at the RV park and everything is already set up because they arrived a day earlier. Win! The next day is training day, though, so that means learning all that I can about liquid glycerin filled insoles, and learning the ropes when it comes to sales and fittings of the insoles, since I've never had a retail job in my life. I think I caught on pretty quickly, and by the third day or so I was wranglin' them in and slingin' insoles like it was high-noon in Orthopediville!

When I wasn't at the booth, which was more often than not, I managed to pass the time talking with Lorraine and Dad, running errands, cooking and tidying around the trailer, strolling around the fairgrounds, taking pictures, and trying to plan the next couple of weeks on the road. I got to check out the William J. Clinton Presidential Library, which was a lot cooler than it sounds and definitely made me realize, despite the misstep in his private life, that Billy boy was actually a pretty stellar President and a totally good human being - the latter of which is harder to come by in world leaders these days. After checkin' out all of Billy's relics, my Dad and I headed down to River Market (similar to Halifax's Spring Garden/waterfront, or Edmonton's Whyte Ave). We grabbed a coffee and some Louisiana Gumbo (which I recommend independently, but not as part of a team), and strolled across this really amazing pedestrian bridge that was made from an old elevating train bridge (to let boats underneath). When the bridge rusted in its up position, they just decided to add an elevator, paint it, and turn it into a cool pedestrian bridge instead!

Pedestrian bridge in Little Rock

Slingin' insoles isn't exactly my passion, but the hours I clocked at the booth and on the road let me see just how hard my Dad and step-mom work to make ends meet. The average two-week period goes something like this:

Day 1: drive to next location

Day 2: set up booth

Day 3 to 13: work 6 to 12 hour days taking off peoples' shoes and fitting them for massaging insoles.

Day 14: take down booth.

Repeat.

This might not seem that exhausting to most people my age, and not to nix my Dad and Lorraine's age, but it's a lot harder once you've entered, your... well, more mature years... and the long days, far drives, and little rest can begin to take their toll. I also never thought I would want to work alongside my partner/spouse, so I've got mad respect for them both for taking on the challenge of a bad situation (the real estate market crash in Florida) and making the most of it, when ever possible, even if the current situation only exists out of necessity.

Whether by choice or necessity, spending the time at the booth with my Dad and Lorraine has taught me a lot, and not just about liquid glycerin filled insoles. I don't think I've reflected enough on it to even be able to tell you how, or what lessons I've learned; at least not in any succinct, understandable terms, so I'll have to get back to you on that, but I think I'm becoming more of a whole person. If that makes any sense to anyone but me.

But, I can definitely conclude that I've come to have a greater understanding of the southern folk whom we so seldom see north of the border. The people of Arkansas did feed into a lot of the stereotypes we see on television: the drawl, the lack of dental hygiene, the love of the Lord and of guns. Fortunately though, just like I was hoping, I also was reminded that there is a common thread among us all and that's our common humanity (so graciously pointed out to me during my visit to the Presidential Library, in the State of the Union address made by former President Bill Clinton). The rest that we see is just poppycock, superficial, unimportant. What really matters is having respect for each other, regardless of dialect, dentistry, or religious disposition (or any variety of other things). Everyone out there is just trying to find their happy, myself included, and how each of them are getting there is of no place for my judgement or prejudice. In the wise words of the Grateful Dead, "That path is for your steps alone."

Sunset at the RV Park near the Mississippi

All in all, despite the belligerent cows, toothless wonders, and coming to the realization that the real epidemic in America is poor foot-hygiene, Little Rock State Fair and the Arkansas area in general were charming little spots, with super friendly folk, lush foliage, and a sweet southern drawl.

And the rest of the south that I got to experience wasn't any different really. Arkansas, Mississippi and Alabama. The scenery was picturesque: from run-down shanties and barns crawling with vines, to fields of raw cotton, to the mighty Mississippi River, to the Mobile, Alabama skyline.

The most beautiful, and most depressing things of my trip so far were both witnessed in the exact same place near Wilmer, Alabama, in the exact same RV park, on the exact same river bank.

Beautiful, white sand beach.

Dirty, iridescent oil slick.

With the Gulf of Mexico oil spill out of the news it's easy to forget what a catastrophe it was (is). Now, in the US, election news is more important than the Gulf disaster (so last spring, duh!), and since the majority of the oil in visible places (read: tourist areas) have been cleaned up, the majority of people probably believe, or would like to believe, that everything is in its right place, all is well in the world (okay - that's the taking it a bit far, but you get the idea).

Well, on this beautiful little white-sand river in Alabama, which was not even a few feet deep in the middle, there were oil smears in the sand. The depth of the river, or lack thereof, makes it irrational and illogical for the oil to be from boating or any other recreational activity involving gas-powered water-anything.

There's only one answer.

And there you have it folks. Months later. Miles upstream. Away from prying eyes and the media and the electoral campaign. Oil. It was a sad realization for me. My heart hurts for all of the unseen rivers and streams and animals that were too far away from capitalist ventures to receive any attention or sympathy. Another one bites the dust.

Yet, as much as my heart hurt I was reminded of the strength of nature and the beauty still that can exist, even after such a catastrophe. And I'm reminded that the same can come of people, too. I hope for the best for the future of the human race, perhaps out of naivety, or because that little voice deep down that knows that there are still good people out there, and if we could just get together and remind everyone else why it's good to be good, maybe, just maybe, we'd see a change for the better.

Then I see what's on TV and I immediately lose hope again. It's a constant battle and all I can do is my best in this life. The only thing I can count on is me, doing my part, to promote equality and respect and kindness. So I'll go out into the world and acknowledge it, whether or not I agree with it, and try to see the beauty and potential in everyone and everything. It might not be much, but it's all there really is. The world is an amazing place and strange things can happen, if we let them.

Columbsgiving Day

Happy belated Thanksgiving to all my Canucks and a happy Columbus Day to all my Yankee doodles! (I should note I started writing this before October 11^th, but it took me so long that I only just finished today.)

Firstly, since my nationality is Canadian, I'd like to address my turkey gobblers to the north. I'd also like to address the holiday of Thanksgiving first because the art of appreciation has become such a major influence in my life over the past several months, and I'm just thankful to be able to recognize the things I can be grateful for.

Warning: due to the lack of time/Internet I'm catching up on all my blogging. This is a long-ass entry! Proceed with caution.

Over the past month (to the day), between flying and driving, I've travelled an odd 14,000 kilometers (yes, that's not a typo, fourteen thousand). From west to east to central to east again and then finally south. To say it's been an adventure is an understatement. The impact the travels have had on me I'm sure aren't even fully realized. In the spirit of discovery, I reflect and cherish the memories I've made. In the spirit of Thanksgiving and gratitude, I appreciate each moment, and each person who so generously gave to me their time, their company, their conversation and their hospitality. Nevermore have I become aware of the goodness of people than I have since I've become transient.

I've successfully managed to couch-surf in 4 provinces, and 4 states in the past 4 months. Huh. That's gotta mean something. Anyway, the point I was trying to reach was that people, some complete strangers, are still open-hearted, still there to help, still are generous enough to share their time and their home with me, sometimes a complete stranger. I hope they feel as enriched through their generosity as I do. Special thanks to all those who hosted my sometimes not-so-familiar self and sometimes my not-so-familiar accompanist. Without the futons and beds and meals and assistance in transportation and suggestions for eating and drinking and listening to music the trip couldn't have been everything that it was.

My time in Nova Scotia was filled with the familiar - something I needed badly. It had been 15 months since I had last been home to see my family, friends and acquaintances, and seeing everyone, both intentionally and not, felt good for that squishy intangible thing we like to refer to as a soul. Seeing friends whom I haven't seen in years was refreshing and comforting, knowing that we can still carry on like we just saw each other yesterday, even when it's been years since our last encounter. Seeing my bestie was just as it always is: as comforting as whatever-simile-you-find-most-comforting. And seeing my family was, as usual, a calamity of emotions, all positive of course, and usually involving some variations of insanity (I'm looking at you, Mom, brother and Uncle!). I'm so thankful for my friends and family in Nova Scotia. I'm thankful for those who made an effort to get together (even if in the end it was a failed attempt), and for those who hosted me by either meal or shelter, and for those who I shared a story (or several), a laugh (or many), or a hug (or two) with.

What amazes me most, is that this trend of good-doing, of sharing, and of overall pleasantry didn't stop in Nova Scotia; it continued to New York where my mostly online friend (since graduation anyway) Lisa, came to meet me and a bunch of strangers at a folk show at an art museum in Manhattan. Thank goodness for those good-bye champagnes during work hours because she was already revved up for a night of socializing with complete strangers. God bless! And what a night it was. In the nick of time, the show was a success, the post-show Irish pub and pub food were delicious, Lisa was a hit, and the crown goes wild! And we never spoke of poutine the same.

After a brief stint to the Big Apple and an overnight in New Jersey I was on the road again to the Great White North. Five-thirty am (EST) came too soon - especially since my phone was set to Atlantic time so my alarm woke me up an hour too soon. But sixty more minutes of sleep wasn't nearly enough. Regardless, we hit the pavement on time and woke up somewhere in New Hampshire. After a quick stop for some caffeinated beverages, we were back on the road, with the pedal to the metal (but, not speeding if any cops or parents are reading this). A few roadside stops later and we were in northern Maine, with nothing but the trees and mountains to either side. The views were spectacular. But, we had a deadline: we needed to get to Halifax by the evening so we could go out on the town (without doing this, surely, something horrible would be of consequence). Going through border security, the customs agent asks of my pilot, "This is your first time to Canada? And you're how old?". We've got no time for this nonsense so we both laugh and carry on our merry way (what we didn't know was that this was the beginning of a trend that would follow us all the way back to the US). After a double-double and a gas-up we were ready for the home-stretch. We reached Halifax at 9:45 pm (AST) - fourteen hours after we first hit the pavement out of New Jersey and two hours earlier than Google maps had predicted. Game: blouses.

Halifax started off with a bang, as I expected, after getting ourselves together at my aunts place, on 3 hours of sleep, and after 14 hours of driving, we headed straight to Spring Garden and then Barrington for a little 86 reunion with my tiniest of 86ers: Miss Berringer and Miss Kelly. We all, of course, cordially met up and the night transpired to many a watering hole, and I ran into folks, and I missed out on folks, but the everyone was where they were supposed to be and the night ended with a walk on the waterfront and a trip to pizza corner, which will be the bumpin'-est spot in Halifax until the Earth gives up on us and all there is left are cockroaches, and even then it'll be the hippest spot for the 'roaches because who doesn't love 6 month old donair meat and sauces when you're a grubby little bug like that. The weekend continued to be filled with brews of all kinds and friends of all shapes and sizes and foods that clog the arteries and make you feel like absolute garbage and make you afraid to break wind, including an “East Coast Thanksgiving” that included donairs, a Hero pizza, poutine, donair poutine, and mozza sticks, and I wouldn't want it any other way. Thanks, Halifax (especially Hero Pizza, John's Lunch and Cora's).

Next on the agenda was sweet home Pictou County, where my bedroom was turned into a scrap booking room (it's OK, Mom - I'm not home often enough to complain, but just often enough to joke!). Thankfully, out of the kindness and dedication of my Ma's sweet, endlessly loving heart, she cleared out enough of her paper and stamps and glue sticks and doo-daddies to fit a double bed mattress and some floor space was still available too! Praise Ja! New Glasgow was, again filled with massive amounts of eats, some embarrassing stories, and some adventures, too.

My soon-to-be-Canadianized American came with me to where my Dad's childhood home once stood in Boat Harbour before they were expropriated by the government due to the pollution (and that's an understatement) that was dumped recklessly there by a corporation once called Scott Paper (Kimberley Clark, Neenah Paper.. who cares?). There's nothing wrong with the land. It's got apple trees and oak trees and grape vines and all sorts of other foliage that decorate the landscape, and a path that leads right to the harbour, where you'll find a nice cobble stone beach and waters that wash up like coffee and smell something like rotting sausage McMuffins mixed with manure. Sounds nice, doesn't it? That was over 30 years ago that Scott Paper decided to use the Earth as their waste can (like we all do I guess, but  dumping toxic waste from a pulp mill into the waters where people are swimming and growing up and eating and playing is a little different than neatly tying your clear garbage bag for pick-up by your weekly waste management employee). Anyway, I digress. The area is still beautiful and one day, once the big-wigs in this world decide to give a damn, the water will get cleaned up and people will be able to swim and grow and eat and play there again. Hopefully. After being accosted by some police who were concerned that we were from New Jersey (we said we both were just for fun) we decided to head back, take one more look for the foundation of the home where my Dad spent his early adolescence among the grasses as tall as me (I know I'm not that tall, but give me a break here), and head back into town for what I view as proof of the existence of a higher power: Acropole Pizza. Sweet, delicious, spicy, triangular, calorie-filled heaven. If that isn't nice, then I don't know what is. A delicious meal was then carefully crafted by one of my favourite chefs (and newly favourite apprentice) Emma and Dan. And it was muchly enjoyed by all parties involved. We then finished off the night with a hearty gathering of meaningful folks at a pub across town which followed me home. I wouldn't want it any other way.

The next morning, after considerably more sleep than our first departure, but considerably less than we probably should have gotten, we hit the road once again for Montréal - my second-favourite city in Canada. We decided to take the scenic Sunrise Trail as far as Oxford, because we wanted to go see the giant blueberry, and then continued to Moncton where we stopped for Cora's once more before leaving the Maritime provinces, and enjoyed Matt being embarrassed by the waitress for one reason or another. Taking the logging trails through northern New Brunswick may not have been the most logical choice, considering our recent sleeping habits and the presence of only one driver, but the drive was beautiful and solitudous (I don't think that's a word, but that's how it feel and it's 1:26 am).

(Written The Next Day)

We arrived in St-Lambert, across the river from Montréal, around 10 pm (EST),which was considerably good timing considering our stop at Cora’s in Moncton and our travels through the logging roads. After catching up with a sick Nikki and meeting her wonderful and hospitable other-half, Mark, we headed out for some grub. Unfortunately, we were both disappointed with our meals, but we were so ready for bed we didn’t really care. This is sad for me because food is one of my passions, along with music. Thankfully, our musical expeditions later in the weekend would compensate.

Friday, we spent the day at the Museum of Fine Arts in downtown Montréal, which was beautiful, and in the spirit of le Français, we stopped for a café and chocolate croissant on a terrace on de Maisonneuve. We went to an Irish pub on Crescent for some ribs and a beer, then headed off to the Bell Centre for a great pre-season game of the Habs v. the Sens! It’s the first period and already there have been two fights, which deems the game a success in my opinion. Two periods later and the score is 4-2 for the Habs. Habs win! We then moseyed on over the Brewsters (one of my favourite spots on Crescent for it’s variety of micro-brews) where we met up with fellow NGer, Julien, and listened to a cute little band whose name escapes me and whose lead guitarist annoyed the hell out of me with his stupid little stage antics. The music was good enough, but I don’t expect them to be making an appearance at the Grammy’s any time soon. The presence of the Beatles began this night with the bar seemingly playing their albums for 90 minutes between the bands 30 minute sets, then finally with the band actually covering a song in their final set. The Beatles would stalk us for the rest of the road trip, almost to the point of frustration. We waited and waited for the band to come on for one last 30 minute set, but got fed up and left.

Saturday was spent cruising around Old Port, waiting too long for lunch, hitting up a museum for an Easter Island exhibit (the museum clearly did not pay attention to their maximum capacity, as the space was shoulder-to-shoulder the whole time), the piece de resistance of the evening was the Tallest Man on Earth show at Le Nationale. Prior to the show, we went with Julien to the best smoked meat shop in Montréal: Schwartz’s, where the line runs out the door, and you’re seated with strangers because the restaurant is at capacity constantly. After mentioning that I wanted the “regular” cut of meat to my health-conscious companion, the waiter leans close to me, looks right into my eyes, and almost threateningly says, “Don’t order the lean cut”. Pardon me, but I am a lover of food, as I mentioned before, and would never consider skimping on the full-flavor of smoked meat by asking for the “lean” cut. Food profiling – whodathunkit. We then went to see his sister, Gabrielle Papillon, perform at Burritoville’s 2-year anniversary. The spot was cozy and perfect for the folksy stylings of the performers.

We met back up with Nikki in the “gaybourhood” for a pre-show double-double and then headed into Le Nationale for the gig. Needless to say, the show was incredible and even more than I expected. The not-so-tall, Tallest Man entered stage right, surrounded by smoke and dim-backlighting that was reminiscent of some sort of extraterrestrial abduction, then slowly grabbed his guitar and stepped into the spotlight to reveal himself as a charming, handsome, young gentleman, with such accurate throw-backs to James Dean that most straight guys probably got a little hot and heavy. He played all every song I wanted to hear, except The Drying of the Lawns, and finished off with a four-song encore. That’s what I call a performer. Not surprisingly, I left the venue feeling happy, fulfilled, and with way more respect for this one-man-band than I entered with. We made an attempt at going to a bar in Old Port after the show, but the top-40s mash-ups and ratio of dudes and chicks with too much cologne and too many spray tans was about 10:1, so we left Nikki with her friends whom she was meeting up with and headed back to the car to enjoy some peanutbutter on banana bread and head home.

Sunday was slow to get going, but was all-in-all a large success on both the Montréal and Ottawa fronts. We began the day by grabbing our last café and chocolate croissant from our favorite spot, then walked downtown and grabbed some Thai food, before swinging by Papineau to pick up Julien and heading to Ottawa. We made it in near record time, but of course, didn’t speed. My complete lack of directional sense made itself apparent at various times throughout the trip, but was nevermore clear than it was when I attempted to direct us to my friend Ashley’s place where everyone was waiting for me. I walked us in the wrong direction, not once, but twice, causing us to take twice as long to get there as it should have. Thank goodness for people with patience and understanding for my apparent disability. Everyone figured I had gotten lost. Some things never change. Once we finally arrived at Ashley’s I was psyched to see all of my favorite flavors there to spend some time together. It was so amazing that everyone was able to get together at the same time since my time in Ottawa was so brief. I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in a long time, than I did on Sunday and Monday nights with the NG crew. And not just because of the “performers” at karaoke night.

Monday began with a trip to Tim’s, of course, where I realized a great divide: those who like mayonnaise, and those who don’t. I’m not going to go into detail, but this preference makes sharing a sandwich utterly impossible. Then we picked up Ashley and headed to the Museum of Civilization to get the American all educated on his Canadian history. After a few hours seeing everything from the history of horse domestication, to a really cool recreation of Canadian settler towns and industries, to the postal museum, to the pre-history of Canada, we were spent. We settled for a café and biscotti at a nice little fair trade café where we attempted to recreate the terrace in Montréal with little success. I’m not going to go into detail, but I saw a bums’ bum. You’d never see that in Montréal because even the homeless in Montréal still know style (one complimented me on my tights!). The night came to a close with most of the crew re-uniting for some Mexican food, then Julien, Natalie, Thaddeus and us hitting up a pub for some live “music” in the Market. When we saw the singer come out I immediately said, “He looks like he’s going to sound like Meatloaf.” And he did. A couple of pitchers later and it didn’t matter anymore. Prior to leaving for Toronto, we stopped at a diner for some breakfast, where Matt was again criticized by the serving staff, then carried on to our second-to-last Canadian destination: Toronto.

We arrived in Toronto to the always wonderful, Emma (not the same Emma as in New Glasgow), who greeted us at the door and immediately offered us wine (gotta love French households). After we caught up for a while, the rest of the family got home and we got to enjoy a delicious meal of homemade vegetarian lasagna. Despite filling up on lasagna and garlic bread and salad, we still decided to order the most epic nachos I’ve ever seen when we went out in downtown Toronto later in the evening. We saw it go by our table and had to have it. It was like a fortress of tortilla and nacho-ey goodness. I would consider wearing it as a crown. And all the food-lovers would bow down to me. Okay, maybe not, but if everyone was as passionate about food as I am, that wouldn’t be such a stretch.

On the agenda for Wednesday was a trip to the Hockey Hall of Fame (for the boys), Kensington Market, our first encounter with Ethiopian food (amazing!), 6 out of 9 innings of a Jays game, and a show at Lee’s Palace (made famous by the Scott Pilgrim graphic novels). The HHoF was a lot more fun than I anticipated, including goalie, slap-shot, and announcer simulators. Kensington Market was just as I remembered it: the chillest place in Toronto with op-shops and smokeshops galore. Although we waited longer than we would have liked for get the Ethiopian food, the wait was definitely worth it and it has now become one of my favorite foods! We got a variety vegetarian and variety meats plate for four and essentially devoured as much as we could. The ambience was spot-on and the owner and chef (an adorable husband and wife team) were unbelievably hospitable, finishing off our meal with traditional Ethiopian coffee and a free, specially made desert, free of charge. Next time I’m in Toronto, there’s no way I’m missing out on some more of that. The night was concluded with a pretty decent game of America’s favorite pastime, despite the most annoying fans on the face of the planet, and a Liars show at Lee’s Palace. Liars were a band I hadn’t really listened to, but was interested in checking out live, and I was glad I did, because their sound really only comes across fully and completely at a live venue and just doesn’t have the same sound and feel through a set of computer, car, or stereo speakers. All-in-all, we were satisfied with our time in Toronto and were ready to depart the next morning for our border-stop, Niagara Falls.

I’ll begin by saying Niagara Falls is a beautiful place with a lot of attractions for tourists, like tours, shopping, gambling, and restaurants like the Hard Rock Café. I’ll finish by saying I would not want to spend more than an afternoon in Niagara Falls. We did a Maid of the Mist tour of the falls, tossed our complimentary souvenir garbage bag ponchos, and headed for the Canada-USA border, and eventually Syracuse, NY, where we got some great Mediterranean food, and caught another great one-man-band whose last name escapes me, but whose first name was Joe and he did a ton of looping and it was pretty stellar. He did a lot of hip hop and that kind of thing, which was kind of funny, because he performed in an Irish pub. Anyway, Syracuse was another success, despite not knowing anyone there, and the next day we left for Burlington after going to a sketchy little diner that was absolutely delicious, and where Matt was again accosted by the serving staff. Like I said, it was a theme that followed us from the border and back again.

Along the way to Burlinton, we stopped in Lake George in Upstate New York, which was beautiful and scenic and is the epitome of why rich people like Upstate New York. The leaves were mid-color-change and the entire drive was stunning and breath-taking and made me feel alive inside where my little voice lives.

We arrived in Burlington, Vermont in just enough time to drop our stuff, find a parking spot (an almost impossible task because it was “parents’ weekend”), and walk downtown for some of the best “fast food” burrito’s on the face of the planet from a little place called Boloco. And let me tell you, I’m loco for Boloco. Anyway, after we filled our bellies having realized we hadn’t eaten since our brunch in Syracuse, we hit up Nectar’s for a little live music. Turned out the band that was playing, Cats Under the Stars, covered all Grateful Dead and Jerry Garcia songs, so we were pleased to say the least. We headed back to Matt’s friend Alex’s for a solid nights’ sleep, due to an impending hike the next day. And what a hike it was. Originally, way back in the 17- or 1800s, the hiking trail was a horse-and-carriage path, leading to a hotel on top of the mountain. How amazing would that have been? Since then, the hotel has bee torn down, but the trail, and the foundation of the hotel still remain. I would consider it a beginner trail, but the payoff is like you should have hiked an advanced trail. The look-off, where the hotel used to be, was one of the most majestic and awe-inspiring views I’ve ever seen. The mountains in Vermont and those in Upstate New York, the Adirondacks (from which the chair takes its name), have an aura that is different from those of their younger siblings to the West, the Rockies. It’s as if they have some hidden wisdom, secrets, mystery. Even though the Rockies are considerably larger, the mountains on Vermont have a way of making you feel small and insignificant, yet wonderful. I’ve gotta go back.

That day, since two of the eight room mates at the place we were staying were having birthdays, we joined for a celebratory potluck, even though we had already filled up on the most phenomenal sandwich ever created: the Red Onion sandwich by the sandwich shop by the same name. Roasted red pepper mayonnaise, apple slices, smoked turkey, bacon, lettuce, and I can’t even remember what else because I think I blacked out due to the heavenly enjoyment I experienced. Anyway. After a few glasses of wine, we headed back to Nectars for this funk band, whose name I of course forget right now. The night started off decent enough, but after enough drunk university students piled in, the quality ratio took a nosedive. The night ended with me getting a glass dropped on my foot from about 9 feet above the ground, and with some weird dude talking to us about how these Mexicans were going to jump him. Sure. We decided to cut our losses and head back to the house and just go to sleep. Sunday was sure to be better since we had some big plans!

And it was! We started of the day with a breakfast at Magnolia, which was delicious, then drove about 45 minutes out of town to the Ben and Jerry’s Factory!! I wasn’t at all excited. The tour was cute, we got to sample some of their mint chocolate chip ice cream, then we went out into the courtyard where you can order your own ice cream (I chose Bonnaroo Buzz, obviously, but I really wanted Americone Dream – Stephen Colbert’s flavour). There was lots of cute cow stuff there and even though I couldn’t finish my ice cream, I was fully satisfied and ready for our next adventure. We went straight from the Ben and Jerry’s tour to the Magic Hat Brewery tour, which I don’t recommend for the tour itself, but mostly for the free samples you get in the main lobby area. Even though the beer wasn’t that good, it was free, and free is good. So, if A+B=C… well, you get the idea. After that, we headed for a stroll on Lake Champlain and went for one last round of Boloco before meeting up with our friend Sammy for the Built to Spill show at the Higher Ground. The show was incredible. Built to Spill was even better than I remembered, then after the show we stuck around to chat and when I reminded them about the Stone Pony show we were at they at least pretended to remember me! So nice of them. I can’t blame them if they were pretending (which I guess I’ll never know), because they meet so many fans and they’ve been touring pretty much consistently since then. Anyway, we went back to another friends’ place in town afterward to see another Bonnaroo alumnus, Hobbit, before heading back to Alex’s and going to sleep one last time in Burlington. I've gotta say, the folks I met there were some of the most ground, chill, respectful, generous folks I've had the pleasure of meeting and I'll consider myself really lucky if I get to go back again.

Monday morning rolled around and we waited for Alex and then went to Magnolia again for a little breakfast before hitting the road for Paramus, New Jersey to see my great uncle and aunt, Tom and Carol Ann. We got a bit of a late start, and coupling that with taking a wrong road, getting stuck behind a school bus dropping off children, and periodic downpours, we, needless to say, arrived later than we expected. When we did arrive at Tom and Carol Ann’s, there was a feast of all feasts awaiting us. Early Thanksgiving, they said, because they were so thankful we came to visit. Tom and Carol have been together for 40 years and give me hope in romance, relationships, and humanity. They’re still giving each other that eye, still going out of their way for each other, and still want to encourage youthfulness, and growth, and kindness, and everything good that we all should be and do. Thanksgiving, indeed. After a hearty meal, coffee, and desserts, we all retired. Upon waking, we were greeted with more coffee, orange juice, heart-shaped eggs, toast and crumpets. We chatted a while longer, shared our thanks again, and said our “see ya laters” and off we went to get ready for a day in New York City, and another night with Built to Spill. After scouring Chinatown for a cell phone case, finding some delicious Ethiopian food (even though it didn’t compare to the experience in Toronto), and driving to Williamsburg, we wandered the streets, got a gyro so we could use the customer bathrooms, only to find out they were out of order, grabbed a coffee, checked out the venue, walked some more, then finally went in to check out another night of Built to Spill. After playing all the usual suspects, including a cover of the Grateful Dead’s “Ripple,” and a two or three song encore, we left, without checking out Doug Martsch’s DJ set, to head back to New Jersey for one last sleep before I fly south for winter.

Then, the unspeakable happened. I missed my flight. The first flight out of umpteen flights that I’ve taken in my life. I missed it. I couldn’t believe it. I never do this! And of course, because I booked through Expedia, I had to rectify the situation with not one, but TWO different airlines. After two hours of lugging my expedition pack from one counter to another trying to get on a new flight without paying $600 extra, I managed to work out a later departure, with a 30 minute connection in Dallas, arriving in Arkansas at 9:45 pm. If I can make this work, anything is possible! Luckily for me, Matt was understanding and kind (as usual) and generously agreed to come back to the airport and take me for lunch at our favorite diner, Tops. A bowl of motzaball soup, a tuna melt, some sweet potato fries, and some chocolate mousse cake later, and we were back to the airport for my departure, take two. I ended up having to excuse myself ahead in the line-up for security because apparently being late for my flight once wasn’t enough, and successfully made it to my gate for departure to Charlotte, North Carolina. I’ve never seen an airport that needed an upgrade, until I’d been to Charlotte. I’m fairly certain they hadn’t changed the décor in at least 20 years, and a power outlet was about as rare as a pink elephant. In the hour I had between flights I had enough time to update my iPod, check in on Facebook, and chat for a bit, then it was on to Dallas. We landed in Dallas at 7:45 pm (CST). I got off the plane at 8:07 pm (CST). My flight was boarding at 8:05 pm, at the complete opposite terminal than I was at, which was two walks and a sky train away, and was departing at 8:30 pm (CST).  Needless to say, I ran from the Gate E27 to the sky train between Gate E32 and E34, rode the sky train until Terminal B and then ran to Gate B8. I made it, just in time. And off I went to Little Rock, Arkansas. Also known as, Bizarro World. But, that’s a whole other blog entry.