The Gypsy Re-emerges

After having been in Montreal for 8 weeks, I’d decided my inner-gypsy needed to re-emerge so I decided to take off to New Jersey and New York for a reprieve from my very un-gypsy lifestyle.  I got off work that night at 10:00 pm and the bus departed at 11:45 pm, giving me just enough time to boogie on up and stand in line – and what a line it was, no less than 75 people long, plus their accompanists.  I was kind of worried I might not actually get on the bus since seats aren’t reserved and it’s first-come, first-serve.

I managed to make it into a seat and settled in for what is quite possibly the worst commute on the face of the planet.  There’s only one thing worse than a ride on the Greyhound for eight and a half hours, and that’s a ride on the Greyhound for eight and a half hours, where you need to get out of the bus twice, in the dead of winter, before you actually arrive in your destination.  You were probably envisioning a nice, peaceful ride through the Adirondacks, my pleasant slumber accompanied by dreams of New York City food establishments and of course of my international love interest, but you couldn’t be more wrong. 

Not only do you have to get off the bus to go through Customs at 12:30 am where you wait, always anxiously, in line while people ahead and behind you are questioned, have their retina’s scanned, and are sometimes pulled aside for additional questioning; but you also have to get out in what I will endearingly refer to as the “butthole of America,” Albany, New York.  We arrived there around 3:30 am.  It was about 15 degrees below zero.  I was not a happy gypsy.  We sat in the station while they serviced the bus for another half hour, and then reloaded and as I approached my seat I came to realize that someone sniped it!  I thought everyone knew the rules of travel, when you sit somewhere, that’s where you stay – especially on lengthy trips.  I was delegated to the back of the bus, right next to the bathroom and some dude who snored loudly for the remainder of the trip.

The only saving grace of the whole drive happened when we arrived just outside New York City.  There was a cold, misty fog hanging above the skyscrapers, causing them to disappear into it, as if they could go on forever.  The sun began rising just as we approached the city and the vibrant yellows and reds behind the beautiful New York City skyline blew me away.  I was then grateful for being ousted from my seat, and for being kept awake by my snoring seatmate, because otherwise I wouldn’t have caught the magnificent view.

I’ve briefly referred to the five days I spent in New Jersey/New York City in my blog post on becoming vegan.  My trip took place just after I finished my four-week vegan cleanse and I was rewarding myself for my dedication by allowing myself to eat whatever I wanted, after all, I was on vacation.  My body had other plans for letting me know what was going to go down (specifically down my oesophagus).  Throughout the week I had a heaping pile of waffles with whipped cream and fruit, pork, chicken and beef taco sliders, burritos, Peruvian food, coconut cake, eggplant parmesan (it’s not a visit to Jersey without it), and chicken fajitas, not to mention snacks and other treats along the way. My body reacted by developing a chronic stomach ache and blessing me with nightmares every single night.  It was then I decided I was going to be permanently vegan.

Surprisingly, it was the last day and my travel back to Montreal that left even more of an impact.  Coincidentally, my best friends’ parents were in New York City for a conference, so before catching my midnight bus back to Montreal, Matt and I met up with them for a 20 minute, super fast, catch-up cram session and I was on my way, fearing that I was going to miss my bus.

During the drive to the US, I kept to myself with my headphones on, but on the way back I happened to sit next to a fellow, or rather he sat next to me.  He immediately offered me a piece of chocolate and so the conversation began.  He just got back from travelling for six months in Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Guatemala, Belize and Florida.  He told me about how he began as a deck hand for a rich Floridian man who was sailing down the coast to Costa Rica, but after a few days at sea he realized their personalities clashed too much to salvage even a working relationship, so when they docked in Costa Rica he decided to stay there.

He took 48 hour long bus rides, hitchhiked, taxied and walked throughout all of the countries he visited, and all just at his own whim.  The travel wasn’t planned, it wasn’t sought out, it just happened.  He took the circumstances he had and made the best of them.  He received his certification as a scuba diver and was only coming back to Montreal now for a brief hiatus from the seas before he was heading West to Vancouver to meet up with a documentary film maker who was going to be at sea for three to six weeks filming whale migrations.

He didn’t know what he would do after that, but that didn’t matter to him anyway.  What mattered was that he was following his passion, the sea, and his heart.  I find the idea of static living to be so suffocating that a conversation with this late-twenties West Islander invigorating to the point that I couldn’t sleep until roughly 4:00 am.  It’s always so inspiring when I find people who don’t blend in or conform to societies’ rules of what they should do and when.  His life was full of uncertainty, not unlike mine, but also full of pleasure and pure joy, also not unlike mine.

As we parted ways at the Berri-UQAM station in Montreal, I wondered if I should have asked for his contact information, to be kept informed on all of his adventures and travels, but as I slowly descended the escalator I knew our brief encounter was just what I needed to remind me of my own need for adventure, drive for discovery and absolute necessity of listening to my heart.  The moment before a new, exciting chapter in life is what I refer to the “inhale,” and with that in mind I could feel myself breathe in.

This is why I'm vegan. Now stop harassing me about my protein intake.

So, it was suggested to me that I should write a blog about why I became vegan.  I've found that since becoming vegan, I've been explaining myself - a lot.  Either defending my protein intake, excusing myself from eating certain things, ensuring that I'm being "healthy", defending my choice, and just about every other wild and crazy debate and discussion you can think of.

Here's how it went:

Firstly, I "became" vegan unintentionally.  After a visit from Matt over two months ago where I had eaten entirely too much meat and dairy (on his last night in Montreal we ate for two hours at an all-you-can-eat Brazilian restaurant that served 12 varieties of rotisserie meats), I decided to do a cleanse.  I'd be vegan for a month to detox my system, give it a well-needed rest, and reduce the bloating I was having from all the dairy and salty foods I'd been eating.

My first week of being vegan was a little challenging, but bringing food to work with me helped and I started researching and trying new recipes instead of just eating salad and quinoa.  What I started realizing was that I actually enjoyed the hunt - I liked looking for new recipes, making alterations based on my taste and trying new things.  I really liked cooking - a lot.

During the next 4 weeks my energy levels increased, I lost a couple of pounds (probably mostly in water weight), I stopped craving salt like I used to, I felt happier, was sleeping better, and felt like I was getting into a natural rhythm.  The only thing that became difficult was continually defending my decision, but usually when people found out I was only doing it for a month, they relaxed and stopped bothering me.

On my 28 day mark, I was to arrive in New Jersey for a visit with Matt and the end of my vegan cleanse (since all we do is eat new food while we're together).  For the next five days I gorged on waffles with whipped cream, pulled pork taco sliders, ice cream, and just about anything else I could get my little Canadian hands on.  And in return I had severe stomach pains every day and nightmares every night.  I felt lethargic, had no motivation to go to the gym or work out, and was sleeping 9+ hours a night.

It became clear to me exactly what was going on.  My body was happy with the way it was under my new vegan regimen, and was rejecting the old chemical-, hormone-, preservative-filled foods I was pumping into it again.

When I got back to Montreal I started reading Alicia Silverstone's book The Kind Diet.  This book touches upon a wide variety of reasons for becoming vegan, and just one of these reasons is the inhumane treatment of animals in industrial food production facilities.  I say this because for the vast majority of non-vegans that I've crossed since making my choice, most of them raise their eyebrows and make some snide remark about me wanting the save the cute little cows or chickens or whatever.  While I disagree with the way animals are treated in mass production, unethical facilities, I've gotta admit that my reasons for deciding to stay vegan were a lot more selfish than that.

In Alicia's book, she touches on the way animals are slaughtered and how it actually effects the meat itself - this is what got me.  When an animal is in a slaughterhouse, it's aware of what's going on around it, and when it's time to go under the knife, the animal knows it's about to die.  All animals possess a fight-or-flight impulse that will help any creature to survive a threatening situation.  When an animal goes to slaughter, it's fight-or-flight impulses and stress hormones kick in, causing the chemicals adrenaline and cortisol to spike in production.  

Now, in humans, adrenaline is produced naturally, which can give us a rush and make us feel good, or in too-high doses it can cause aggression and anger (this is the "fight" part of the fight-or-flight impulse).  Cortisol is naturally produced by humans, too; when we get stressed out, our cortisol levels increase and this has been linked to weight gain and a variety of other stress-related ailments (this biological reaction dates back to the caveman days when "stress" meant "food shortage" so our bodies released cortisol to store fat for famine, even though this is no longer the case).  So, consider this:  animal secretes adrenaline and cortisol moments before being slaughtered, therefore, those chemicals are released into the blood, which pumps through the muscles, which then get packaged and sent to grocery stores and bought by people who cook it up and eat it, so those chemicals get passed into us!  If these chemicals are already proven to negatively affect us when we produce them ourselves, then what do you think is going to happen when we consume more when we eat foods that are laden with it?  Cortisol and adrenaline overload = angry, fat people!  That's not good for anyone!

And not only that, but because the FDA doesn't enforce slaughterhouse rules as tightly as they should, we have cases of food contamination.  Do you want to know why that happens?  You probably don't, because it's going to ruin eating meat for most of you, but I'm going to tell you anyway.  When they string up an animal for slaughter, slaughterers go at it with knives, usually while it's alive, slashing away all willy nilly!  In the process, sometimes internal organs are pierced, like colons, which are full of shit - literally.  What does this mean?  Escherichia coli, or E. coli, which is responsible for 20-30 deaths, countless food recalls and over 70,000 illnesses every year.  Fluids from the liver, pancreas and gallbladder can all make their way into our meats, too, filling us with all kinds of nasty toxins.  Milk isn't safe either.  Cows are often over-milked, causing inflammation and infection in their teats, which translates into puss in your milk, cheese, butter and yogurt.  YUMMY!

To top it all off, these poor animals are fed nutrient deficient food and pumped full of hormones and antibiotics, which all (you guessed it!) gets passed onto us in their meat.  And we wonder why we're living in an increasingly aggressive, anti-biotic resistant, messed up, cancer-ridden world.

Also, the anti-establishmentarian in me loathes the incestuousness of the industry and government.  These industries pay government parties and officials millions of dollars every year to promote legislation that will keep them on top, and they spend even more promoting their "staples" as absolutely necessary to human survival.  Let's get one thing straight:  until refrigerators were invented, meat, dairy, eggs and  cheese were rarely eaten at every meal.  It's was impossible.  They couldn't be stored for long periods of time like they are now.  Yet, somehow, people still survived.  How could this be?!  Well, I know it's hard to believe, since the dairy, egg and meat industries have brainwashed us into believing that their foods are the only complete forms of proteins, calcium and other nutrients available, but you can get all of those things from other sources - and they're even better sources than meats, eggs, and dairy!

Our bodies use a huge amount of energy to digest these nutrient-deficient, hormone-filled, antibiotic-laden foods.  So, a plant-based diet - one that includes other sources of protein, like beans, lentils, dark greens, and sea vegetables if you're so inclined - is going to provide you with all the vitamins, nutrients, and amino acids (these make up proteins) that you'll need to life a healthy life.  And you'll likely find that you're naturally staying away from preserved foods, which are often extremely high in sodium, and junk foods that have dairy products in them and are often high in fat and refined sugars.  Just what the doctor ordered!  

Whodathunkit?!  A natural diet makes us feel most human - not so shocking when you really think about it.  And vegan diets have been proven to reverse a plethora of medical conditions - even cancer!

Now, I'm not writing this to tell people to become vegan or vegetarian, though it would be nice if a few did.  I'm writing this because most people just don't know about this stuff - I know I didn't!  But in order to make a change in your life, you need to find a reason that will work for you.  If that's thinking about the cute furry animals and not wanting to be responsible for hurting them anymore--cool.  If it's the reasons I listed above--cool.  If it's jut wanting to make a healthy change for yourself and the environment (don't get me started on the waste that's produced and the water that's used for raising livestock!)--COOL!  Whatever your reason is, you've gotta believe in it.

If you still want more information, hit up the interweb.  There's so much information online.  Go to www.sprword.com for some mad chill documentaries on food production and other cool stuff.  Read Alicia's book The Kind Diet, or find another book that you are more drawn to.  And even if you don't go vegan, at least educate yourself and stop making yourself look like an ignorant asshole when you talk to me about how "unhealthy" I am for being vegan.  What's in your food that makes it healthier than mine? Don't know?  Then go find out.

This is me being concise... Enjoy it while you can

So, now that I'm a solid 3 months behind on my blog I've decided I'm going to give the quick and dirty of the last 3 months of my life.  Not that anyone particularly cares at this point, but a promise is a promise.

While in New Jersey I was permitted to watch the slow deterioration of the extremely upper class in a FYEO exhibition of holiday drunkenness and anorexic food avoidance.  I, the lowly server, had the pleasure of pouring wine for people whose clothing was probably worth more than my student debt, while they talked business, then pleasure, and finally ended the night by just yelling "NOOOVVAAA SCCOOOOTTTIIAAAA!!" at me repeatedly.  Yes, Miss - I'm from Nova Scotia, for the twenty-seventh time.  And no, it's not on the West Coast, and it's also not "like the north pole up there".

The rest of my time in Jers' was spent visiting as many restaurants as possible, hitting up the Museum of Natural History, seeing a few bands (Dark Star Orchestra jammed so hard that I almost lost consciousness - literally), visiting my great aunt and uncle, learning to snowboard (and subsequently crying almost the entire way down a one-mile trail), and of course, I was present for the infamous "Snowmageddon".  We went to three NHL games, got 35 blocks away from Times Square on New Years Eve, and even hit up Carlos' Bakery in Hoboken!  I spent a full 25 days at the Duker residence (much love goes out to Linda and Joe for being so hospitable) and by the end of my time there, between hanging out at the house, meeting lots of new people, seeing lots of older acquaintances, and even working the odd job here and there, I practically felt at home.  But, I wasn't and so I had to leave and come back to Canada and get a real job.

So at the beginning of January I hopped on my 9th airplane of the past six months and headed back to NOOOOVVVAAAA SCCOOOOTTTIIIAAAAA. (ha) Oh and of course, just for me, Halifax got hit with a blizzard the day I arrived.  Luckily for me, my poor-weather rescuer was at hand again to pick me up at the airport, followed by our usual 45 minute bitch session and then parking lot donuts.

Originally, I'd intended to stay in Nova Scotia until May or June - in the hopes that I'd be able to find work and save up some money before going to Concordia for their graduate program in Journalism (which I had yet to be accepted to).  But, as is to be expected with me, my plans quickly changed.

Firstly, being at home after being away for almost 7 years is a dramatic lifestyle change.  I felt like I couldn't accept or relate to the vast majority of the attitudes and personalities that resided in my county.  "No girl at the bar, just because I looked in the general direction of your boyfriend for a split second doesn't mean that I'm going to try to steal him. Feel free to loosen your death-grip on him now." In all seriousness, though, it had been so long that some people didn't even recognize me anymore.  I wasn't home - I was away - and eventually this started to eat away at me.  Within two weeks I was starting to feel anxious and depressed.

Like I may have mentioned before, I'm lucky, or blessed, to have the people in my life that I do.  One of these people came to the rescue late one Friday night when I was feeling particularly gloomy and alone, and she offered for me to move to Montreal.  "Honestly, Allie," she said, "don't worry about anything, just come here. You can worry about a job when you get here - just get out of Pictou County.  Don't let that place kill you."

So, in the next few days I applied on seven jobs, and set up interviews for four of them the coming Monday.  I had five days to figure out a plan and get my ass to Montreal.  My brother and I decided we should rent a car and take a road trip up together with all my stuff, so we made the reservation and specifically told the agency the class of car we needed because we'd be moving some things. "Shouldn't be a problem."

But it was.  That morning, all we could get was a minivan, and because we were leaving the Maritimes, it would cost us $0.18 for every kilometer past the New Brunswick border.  The fees started adding up and eventually it just wasn't reasonable anymore.  So, at 10:30 am I was forced to re-pack all my things, find a ride to Truro and take the train.

Lucky for me again, Janelle stepped up to the plate, and even though we had to pack her car in 30 minutes, and we had to drive the entire way with a snowboard in between our heads, she was a total trooper about it.  I arrived, unloaded my stuff onto three trolleys, headed into the station and started sorting everything out.  I had nine bags total, 2 carry-on, 4 checked, and 3 additional checked bags, one of which shouldn't have been accepted because it was a trunk. Thank goodness for ViaRail's amazing staff that day.

The train ride was 20 hours long and when I arrived in Montreal I was a cold, lonely Anglo in my new city of residence.  The porter for ViaRail on the Montreal end managed to somehow stack all my bags on one trolley, which garnered more than a few stares from customers and staff members alike.  He made sure to point out that generally, porters are tipped $3 per bag.  I gave him all I had left in cash after wasting my money on a too-small, disgusting train egg salad sandwich and couscous, which was only $15, but it would have to do.

My taxi driver stopped at a CIBC for me on the way to the apartment and even helped me with my French, clarifying for me why sometimes one uses the noun "vous" instead of "tu" when speaking to an individual ("vous" is more respectful, by the way).  Since he helped me learn French, and helped me carry everything into my apartment building I tipped him $35.

I'd thought I couldn't be so happy to arrive somewhere.  That is, until I couldn't get inside the apartment... But I'll save the rest for another post.

American Thanksgiving/taking

(Preface:  I realize I'm extremely late in posting this.  My apologies for my negligence.)

I find it ironic that the day after most American's traditionally give thanks for everything in their lives - the day they express outwardly their gratitude for all of the things they are already blessed with - is the most intense,  greedy, consumerist, cut-throat shopping day of the year.

But that's exactly how it happens.

The third Thursday in November is Thanksgiving in America.  This year, my dad, my step-mom, my usual called-upon-travel-comrade, and I all headed to my dad's and Lorraine's friends place.  It was to be a not-so-traditional Thanksgiving, with a hearty mixture of southern and Italian flare.

Fourteen of us were there, two tables long, ranging from two years old to probably late 60's.  Some of us had just met, but we were all family together.

The day began early with shrimp dip, cream cheese and jelly dip, and tons of crackers.  Most people knew of me for longer than I knew them, or even knew of them.  Dad had told them lots of me, even before we had our own reunion.  That was really nice to know.  Most of them had anticipated meeting me one day.  That was really nice, too.

The cornucopia of foods served at dinner included a variety of Italian home made macaroni, turkey, ham that had been smoked for hours overnight, mashed potatoes, salad, sweet potatoes, roasted vegetables, breads and so much more.  We all joined to give thanks and then dove into our meals without restraint.  One plate, two plates later, appetizers, entrées, salads, and desserts later.

Though the meal and the company were both phenomenal, we had to give our thanks and head out.  I had a time-sensitive project that needed attending to.

We finished up our dealings a little earlier than anticipated and decided to head to Downtown Disney to see what was up and to pick up a little "thank you" gift for my Dad.  After checking out the sights, we decided to head home.  On the way home, we came across the most insane traffic I've ever seen.  It was almost midnight and the exit ramp from the highway was backed all the way up onto the highway itself.  The ramp lead to an outlet mall that opened at midnight for Black Friday shopping insanity.  Never was I more relieved to not be a shopper than I was in that moment.  I felt anxiety from just looking at the traffic, never mind actually being in the stores and I can only suspect that people who shop on Black Friday at midnight are nothing short of clinically insane.

Up next: Police Dealings of Broward County/the Florida loop.

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.

Where Dreams Come True

Picking up where I left off, I was awaiting a visitor.

It was like Christmas morning, only better.

So, I’m getting ready, checking flight arrival times, dollin’ myself up a bit, checkin’ out my butt in the mirror… you know, that kinda thing.  I’m ready to rock at 12:55 pm, since the flight arrival time is 2:15 pm, but we need to stop at Walgreens and pick up some polysporin and Band-Aids because of the giant oozing abrasions on my left arm and knee.

My wonderful chauffeur (no sarcasm, seriously) is running late – as usual – but only by a few minutes, so it’s all good.  Shoes on.  Out the door.  Off we go!

When we get to Walgreens it’s raining, for the first time since we’d gotten back to Central Florida.  Of course, the day I’m having a visitor.  Anyway, I exit the vehicle, assuring my driver that I’d be in and out and that I’d already scouted out the products online.  I got inside, grabbed the goods, showed off my battle wounds to the pharmacist, paid, and ran out to the car.

But, my driver was no where to be found, so I called his cell.  Of course, Ferrero Rocher takes precedent over being on time for airport pick-up.  I tease, of course.  But seriously, the flight was scheduled to arrive in 10 minutes and we were still 20 minutes away from the airport.  I hate being late.

I made it to the arrivals terminal, scanned the baggage area, but it appeared despite the chocolates, I was still on time or even better – early!

My usual, slightly finicky-when-anxious, self then proceeded to pace, lean against random structural objects, stare at arrivals monitors, pace more, sit in a chair, stand up, lean some more, then finally stand in one place.  Finally, down the glorious tile stairs (as opposed to the escalator) of MCO came that tall glass of water I’d been thirstin’ for.

Our visit together started out like most of our other experiences together – someone took a stab at Matt’s pride then complimented me.  Here’s the story: we went to Enterprise to pick up our rental for the visit.  The car rental clerk processed our reservation, looks at Matt hands him his card and says, “I’m sorry it says it’s been declined for insufficient funds.”  Matt, shocked, knowing this is impossible looks like his heart drops into his toes and can only muster out a “what?!” before the clerk smiles, laughs, tells us she was just joking and she’s “so bad!” and then proceeds to tell me that she loves my haircut and thinks it’s super cute on me.  

So off we go and our usual luck follows us, most of the way.  First, we got a free upgrade on our rental car.  Score.

After having some supper and discussing the weeks plan, we decide it would be best to get up early and hit up Disney World the next day.

I’m sure it was a blessing in disguise, but I accidentally set the alarm clock for pm instead of am, so we slept in – not late though. We got to Disney by 10:00 am and filed through the endless crowds to get to Magic Kingdom. 

We took the ferry across and arrived to one of the many periodic parades down Mainstreet USA, involving all of the usual suspects: Mickey, Minnie, Goofy, Donald, Daisy, Belle, Cinderella, Ariel, Sebastien, Lumiere and almost every other Disney character you can name. 

I immediately transformed into a five year old and felt blissfully happy.  I’d finally made it to Disney World, after all these years, and it was just as good as I’d imagined.  It’s really true what they say – Disney World is where dreams come true!

Now, if you’ve only got one day to spend at Disney, I would suggest you tackle it the same way we did to get the most bang for your buck.  If you don’t want to waste time driving between parks, you’re going to want to focus on Magic Kingdom and Epcot, which are connected by tram and you don’t need to move your vehicle to get from one park to the other.

Figure out which rides you want to do most and start at that park first thing in the morning to get “fast passes” so you don’t need to wait in line as long throughout the day. The fast passes are tricky, because you can only have one at a time, so you’ve gotta time it right.

We went straight for Splash Mountain and picked up our fast passes, then walked around checking out other rides with short stand-by times to fill our time before we could use our fast passes.  We went through the haunted mansion, strolled through a few areas of the park, and watched Mickey’s Philharmagic Orchestra 3-D movie.

After realizing the wait time for Space Mountain in Tomorrowland was significant, so we wandered back to FrontierLand to use our fast passes. When we presented our passes to the attendant, he kindly informed us that they were for Thunder Mountain Railroad, not Splash Mountain (in our defense, the rides are practically side-by-side).  So we rode the Thunder Mountain Railroad, but the wait times for both fast passes and stand-by on Splash Mountain were too long, so we headed to Epcot.

After a short ride on the monorail, we arrived to the world-famous view of the Epcot Globe.  We headed straight for the main attractions: Soarin’, Mission Space, and GM Test Track – all of which had 180+ minute stand-by wait times and sold out fast passes.

Lucky for us, as we got to Mission Space and stared hopelessly at the wait times, a lady walked up and offered us her fast-passes which were just about to expire.  They wouldn’t be using them so they thought they should find people who would – and those people were us! 

We went to the entrance of the ride where you get to choose between “green” and “orange” tickets.  The ride has a very specific disclaimer warning people that if they get motion sickness, or a variety of other motion related ailments, they should choose the green ticket.  Orange is for “true astronaut training”.

We chose orange.  I’ve never felt more afraid of voluntarily subjecting myself to something in my life.

Of course, the waiting line didn’t make it any easier.  Every minute that passed I got more anxious.  Video monitors on the walls offered constant reminders that if you changed your mind and wanted to do “green” training, you could still opt-out.

Apparently, more people throw up on this ride than any other ride at Disney World.  Isn’t that charming?

So finally, we get called into our “pod” for a briefing by one of those guys who always plays the role of a scientist or astronaut in Disney movies.  And we wait.  And we wait some more.  People begin to sit down, getting fatigued from standing in line then standing in our training vessel.

Finally a door opens.  But it’s the wrong one.  Through the door we entered from stands a ride attendant, in his astronaut gear.  Apparently no one told them that the ride they sent us into was broken.  We all got switched to the next available pod and went through the debriefing all over again.

We all entered in our space ships to prepare for a six month voyage to Mars.  Sweet.  One of the girls in our row opted out at the last minute, so we were down a commander.  We would just have to make due.

We each locked down our chest-restraints and proceeded to obey our orders to keep our heads pressed firmly to the back of our seats and stare directly through our viewing window.

Engines: check.  Fuel: check.  Mission is a go!

There was a loud and viscous rumble from below, and lift off! We were propelled through Earths’ atmosphere and into space.  The six month journey would sling-shot us around the moon and onto Mars.  Thankfully, since the voyage was so long, we were put into a hibernating state to pass the time.

Six months passed as quickly as we were told it would and upon awakening Mars was in sight.  Unfortunately, so was an asteroid storm!  We dodged and darted through the chunks of space debris successfully, but ended up off-course for our landing.  We’d need to work together to complete an emergency landing.

The captain was called on to steer us in, lights were flashing, options were ignited, and after a rough up-and-down, through ancient fjords, and past our landing site, we crash landed, albeit successfully, on the edge of a cliff.  Phew.

For the next 45 minutes after exiting Mission Space, we were disoriented, unbalanced, and slightly nauseous.  I now fully understand why there are so many warnings and disclaimers on the ride.

So we checked out a slightly more low-key ride: Ellen’s Universe of Energy with Bill Nye the Science Guy!  I learned all about fossil fuels and dinosaurs and lots of other forms of energy and laughed heartily because the Ellen who hosted was Ellen circa 1998, a slightly less fashionable, slightly more “mullet-ey” version of the Ellen we know and love today.

After that we headed to the World Pavilions, which included: England, Canada, Morocco, Germany, China, Norway, the US, France and a few others.

I was, of course, very much intrigued to see how us Canadians are represented.  And, I’ve gotta say, they did a pretty spot-on job, if we were all lumberjacks, that is.  The female Canadians had the pleasure of wearing the always flattering ¾ length, mustard-brown pleated skirts with delightful button accents down the front, construction-style boots with wool socks, and red and black plaid shirts.  The Canadian boys had a similar uniform, but got to wear pleated pants instead.  Lucky!

So I obviously have to see what else the visitors of Disney are learning about our beautiful country.  We stroll through a beautiful reproduction of Stanley Park in British Columbia, and head toward the 360˚ theatre to watch an 18-minute movie about Canada, as presented by one of Canada’s top comedic exports: Martin Short (sarcasm intended).

As I’m heading toward the theatre there are two Canadians waiting to greet us.  I begin to get closer and find myself squinting in disbelief.  I wait until I’m close enough to confirm this Canadian’s identity via her nametag and say, “Amy Irving?!  Umm, Allie Mason?  New Glasgow High??”

We were both shocked.  What are the chances?!  Turns out from my small high school of 300 (at the time when she attended before we were amalgamated), Amy Irving had made her way all the way to Disney World to work for a full year.  She was two months in, at the time.  After we chatted for a couple of minutes we went into the theater where she happened to be hosting today.  She gave me a nice little shout-out in her introduction, where she shocked audiences by telling them we don’t say “eh” all the time and we don’t live in igloos or take dogsleds to work.  One man requested she give a “Hey hoser!” to his son.  I have no idea what that means, but he seemed to enjoy it.

Anyway, the movie was a beautiful tourist-ey type of movie, showcasing all that Canada has to offer from our major cities to beautiful backcountry villages and our vast natural landscape.  I always find it odd when our strong aboriginal presence is ignored in our cultural history, but that seemed to be the case again.  Heck, even the US Pavilion had an animatronic Chief!  I guess it’s to be expected after seeing the outfits they had us in.

We checked out all of the other pavilions, took a log ride through Norway, stopped for a meal in Morocco, took another ride through Mexico, strolled the streets of Germany, France and China, and watched a completely animatronic theatrical production starring the founding fathers of America.

I don’t know about you, but I this animatronics are hysterical.  The fact that they had an animatronic Mark Twain, smoking a cigar and talking to George Washington was slightly entertaining to me.  I’m sure it’s just because it’s Disney, and Disney would never recognize negative relationships between cultures, but the US’s depiction of their history was about as ignorant and their depiction of Canada’s history.  It was so bad that Matt made sure to point out when it was over that he, “hoped I didn’t think it really happened that way.”  I had a laugh.

We hung out at Epcot to see their fireworks, which were absolutely phenomenal.  A giant light-up globe floats out into the middle of the lake and opens up to show a video inside, fireworks are going off everywhere, there are torches lit up in the middle of the lake.  It was an amazing display.

When they finished, we headed back to Magic Kingdom to see if we could catch their fireworks and hit up a few more rides before we headed home.  We arrived just in time to see Cinderella’s castle lit up from all sides with fireworks.  Mainstreet USA was packed.  We found a good place to witness the rest of the spectacle and took it all in.  The castle looked like it had been sprinkled with fairy dust.  It was beautiful.

We figured since all the parents and young kids would be heading out after the fireworks that we’d have a better chance of getting onto a few of the rides that had long wait times earlier.  We went straight to Space Mountain – an entirely indoor rollercoaster that zips and zooms through the universe!  Out of the coasters at Disney, Space Mountain was definitely my favorite.  It was fast, had lots of dips, dives, swerves and spirals, though it didn’t go upside-down at any point.  It was a lot of fun and being in the dark made the ride that much more suspenseful.

After, we went to go check out the inside of Cinderella’s castle, and go on Splash Mountain.  Splash Mountain is pretty low-key, comparatively speaking.  It’s a log ride, and for the vast majority of it you’re just floating around through this strangely erotic animatronic woodland.  I’m not gonna go into any more detail about that.

When we left Splash Mountain we were a little wet, so we decided to dry off on the Thunder Mountain Railroad.  We made our way to the top and were all settled in within 10 minutes.  Toward the end of the ride, the rollercoaster got stuck.  Slightly anti-climactic, but since it was almost back to the end it wasn’t so bad. 

We were pulled into the station where some people fiddled with whatever got jammed.  About 5 minutes later, the problem was fixed and the ride attendant yelled, “We’re all fixed… and you’re going on again!!”  The crowd cheered and off we went for one more round.

We strolled through an eerily empty, midnight Disney World, took the ferry back to the parking lot, and took the tram back to our car.

Disney World -  great success!

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.