How to sum up a quarter of a year in a blog post...
Well, you really can't, but my best attempt is, Québec was probably the most fun I've had since I got out of high school.
I'm standing behind the counter of the Café La Mosaïque, clicking away at my keyboard, listening to Beirut. The place is totally dead today, so Catherine and Jerome took me out for lunch at some posh spot called Délice. Steak still wasn't as good as L'Intimiste, but it wasn't bad.
Last night we Skype'd the Orillia group, the 31161. They look like what Katimavik group should look like, all smiling and hilarious, not shit-heads like my group. :) As it happens, because of Katimavik's long standing relationship with the YMCA, we all get passes when we get to Orillia. I can finally reverse the damage done by cheap beer, cigarettes and poutine, and maybe get a little muscle added on as well, but knowing my skinny ass, probably not.
And, as is tradition with the 21161 apparently, we're losing another group member. Lauren has decided to quit the group so she can be with her two friends back in Nova Scotia during their pregnancy (and not because she maxed out her new credit card in a few days). Once again, things are a little dark in our Katimahouse, but maybe Ontario will help brighten things up.
With this weekend comes a final volunteer placement, a big game of Manhunt/Kick the Can (rose valley knows what I'm talking about) with Candra's group, packing and a power clean. They really make you feel it in Katimavik, the moving-on that is. It's kind of sad leaving my 200 year-old, creaky, haunted house. Seems like just yesterday our bus woke the neighbors up as it dropped us all off at 3am. Now we're going to go do the same thing in Ontario.
Before you know it, I'll have landed in Kelowna (probably in a foot of slushiness, because Valley winters suck), unpacking my stuff and not knowing what the shit to do with myself. Ah well, deal with Ontario first.
This coming Tuesday, at 4am, I'll be on a bus. at 7am, I'll be saying good-bye to one of the coolest girls in my life (for a while), and right after that, I'll be on a train for 16 god-damn hours. I'm about to do a bloody huge amount of pirating and poetry writing.
My only question left, is ''Why is it so damn hard to find good Montana paint in Québec?!"
Friday, September 23, 2011
sshhhhffuuuuuuuuu------
Five hours sleep is not adequate after a night in Montreal. But once you get past a certain point in your day, you just kinda can't sleep anyways.
Candra and I got in to Montreal station at 9pm on friday night. Three hours of wandering, metro and bus riding, and spam-calling Petey, we made it to St. Therese, about 20 minutes outside the city. We then proceeded to wreck ourselves down at the Monte Cristo. This place is Alex's favourite bar, and has been for years. You can tell, because everyone is rocking the same style, punkish-hippyish-stonerish-quebecois. So much, in fact, that we lost Peter.
After 3 hours of frantic phone calls, worried text messages and a lot of interrogating, we see a small dude with wispy hair walking up the street.
"Oh, you were calling me? I thought I was following Alex for 20 minutes." Pete says.
"No man, it's 3am, you've been gone for two and a half hours." We say.
As we're getting ready to leave, shouting and shoving starts up across the street. Next thing you know, a mob of every drunk 20-something in St Therese is chanting "ALLEEEEZ! ALLEEEZ!" Dumb blonde ho-bags who would normally have no chance at fingering a cop and getting away with it are screaming and flipping off these six police officers and acting like they're actually badass. Every Ed Hardy-wearing asshole is still chanting and fist pumping and cheering in victory as the officers get back in their cars and drive away.
"That was fucking intense. I thought they were gonna throw rocks at them or something." I say.
"Nah man, this happens... probably once or twice a month on this street." Alex says.
____
Melanie, Alex's friend, chauffered us around the area for most of our stay. Saturday was a lot of hanging out, LARPing, napping, and drinking beer and wine with Alex's parents. Michel Vaillancourt is one of the coolest people I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. He's either laughing, cooking, drinking, or smoking, sometimes all at once. Breakfast consisted of toast, cereal, and fine quebecois pastries. Eclairs out the wazoo.
Pete, Candra and myself found a large stash of LARPing weapons in Alex's closet. All hell broke loose. Some were hit in the nuts, others in the face, and many limbs were lost, metaphorically. I also managed to scarf down a very large amount of poutine, resulting in a fantastic siesta.
Saturday Night was a Metal/Ska/Reggae Luau, complete with pork on spits, baked potatos in tin foil, caesar salad, and lots and lots of beer. We got very, very messy this night. We set up a big tent in the field outside the party, along with lots of other drunk Quebeckers, and were eaten alive by mosquitos, all damn night long.
Sunday.
Sunday morning was a day of rest.
Sunday was a drive out to Montreal.
Sunday was a chance for us to all rage in a big city and retreat to urban sanctuaries when we were done. Mine, however, was not so sanctified. I ended up cancelling the room because it would have set me back 200 bucks. word of advice, only use Priceline when get hotel rooms. That's what Stephanie and Aurora did, and it worked out in everyone's favor.
Petey's two partners in crime came to visit the little guy and drink with us.
I don't remember anything beyond that.
But that was three weeks ago. Let me bring you up to speed...
Five hours sleep is not adequate after a night in Montreal. But once you get past a certain point in your day, you just kinda can't sleep anyways.
Candra and I got in to Montreal station at 9pm on friday night. Three hours of wandering, metro and bus riding, and spam-calling Petey, we made it to St. Therese, about 20 minutes outside the city. We then proceeded to wreck ourselves down at the Monte Cristo. This place is Alex's favourite bar, and has been for years. You can tell, because everyone is rocking the same style, punkish-hippyish-stonerish-quebecois. So much, in fact, that we lost Peter.
After 3 hours of frantic phone calls, worried text messages and a lot of interrogating, we see a small dude with wispy hair walking up the street.
"Oh, you were calling me? I thought I was following Alex for 20 minutes." Pete says.
"No man, it's 3am, you've been gone for two and a half hours." We say.
As we're getting ready to leave, shouting and shoving starts up across the street. Next thing you know, a mob of every drunk 20-something in St Therese is chanting "ALLEEEEZ! ALLEEEZ!" Dumb blonde ho-bags who would normally have no chance at fingering a cop and getting away with it are screaming and flipping off these six police officers and acting like they're actually badass. Every Ed Hardy-wearing asshole is still chanting and fist pumping and cheering in victory as the officers get back in their cars and drive away.
"That was fucking intense. I thought they were gonna throw rocks at them or something." I say.
"Nah man, this happens... probably once or twice a month on this street." Alex says.
____
Melanie, Alex's friend, chauffered us around the area for most of our stay. Saturday was a lot of hanging out, LARPing, napping, and drinking beer and wine with Alex's parents. Michel Vaillancourt is one of the coolest people I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. He's either laughing, cooking, drinking, or smoking, sometimes all at once. Breakfast consisted of toast, cereal, and fine quebecois pastries. Eclairs out the wazoo.
Pete, Candra and myself found a large stash of LARPing weapons in Alex's closet. All hell broke loose. Some were hit in the nuts, others in the face, and many limbs were lost, metaphorically. I also managed to scarf down a very large amount of poutine, resulting in a fantastic siesta.
Saturday Night was a Metal/Ska/Reggae Luau, complete with pork on spits, baked potatos in tin foil, caesar salad, and lots and lots of beer. We got very, very messy this night. We set up a big tent in the field outside the party, along with lots of other drunk Quebeckers, and were eaten alive by mosquitos, all damn night long.
Sunday.
Sunday morning was a day of rest.
Sunday was a drive out to Montreal.
Sunday was a chance for us to all rage in a big city and retreat to urban sanctuaries when we were done. Mine, however, was not so sanctified. I ended up cancelling the room because it would have set me back 200 bucks. word of advice, only use Priceline when get hotel rooms. That's what Stephanie and Aurora did, and it worked out in everyone's favor.
Petey's two partners in crime came to visit the little guy and drink with us.
I don't remember anything beyond that.
But that was three weeks ago. Let me bring you up to speed...
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