Les blogs des autres

VOTRE BLOG !!!!!!!

http://www.votreblogue.canalblog.com

sur www.canalblog.com

id:  votre blogue
mot de passe:  palmito

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C'est le blog de Jo.

www.golblanac.canalblog.com

A vous d'y mettre des petites affaires !! C'est un blog commun.

id: coblog (en minuscule)
Password: amitie (en minuscule)

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Le Blog de Greg qui est arrive fin Janvier a Montreal!

www.gregdo.canalblog.com

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Le Blog de Fabrice! Son voyage en amerique du Sud a moto!
Rien a rajouter.... IL est trop fort !!! (a suivre aussi sur www.voyages-sncf.com)

http://yamana-patagonia.blogspot.com

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Le long mail / Blog de Ben....  partit de Montreal pour Halifax ... je comprends pas toute!

[ Well....

It has been a while since I sat down at the computer and reflected the thoughts of my travels across the keyboard to send out to family and friends....  I guess I got into a bit of a funk in Montreal. Not that I didn't enjoy my time there, far from it, I had a blast for the majority but I guess I found it hard to keep up with such frenetic pace, as only Montreal can set. The winter was probably the biggest culture shock I've had to deal with since arriving in Canada, harder to deal with than the sight of the poor and homeless or addicted. Despite the winter Montreal is far and away the coolest, sexiest, most cosmopolitan, friendly and multi-cultural city I've come across. So many different cultural flavours that compliment each other in the best ways. And all ways something happening somewhere. Keeping in mind that this has all been over the last few months in the height of winter... I can't wait until I see this place over a summer somewhere in the future.

So yeah, I started working at a bar on Crescent Street (in the heart of the tourist/English speaking party section of town) as a Bus Boy (gotta start somewhere) and ended up working as a Promoter on the street hussling up business for the club. We (me, Phillipe and Olivier - My two French-Quebec brothers in arms) would round up business for the club until around two in the morning, all the while dodging the cops and making sure we at least looked busy for when the boss would eagle eye us from the nightclub windows on the third floor, then head to the club to cleanup the mess at the end of the night. Usually promoting meant spotting the young kids who were fresh across the border from the States who would come to celebrate and drink in Quebec where the legal age is eighteen as opposed to the American twenty-one. Or we'd get laughed at by the locals who wouldn't get caught dead in "Karina's Nightclub" and loved to tell you so if you invited them to visit. Ahhh the joys of working for a dodgy nightclub.

By the time it finally reached the minus twenty mark I'd had enough of that and quit the place altogether to discover a spot on the couch with the TV to keep me company. It was cold outside and warm inside and that was all there was to it.   

Montreal for me is, Watching The Habs play Live and win, and watching them on TV losing winning and losing, soaking up Ice Hockey culture through my two room mates Chris and Bryan, Mad hockey fans, players and in general. The apartment had Hockey posters and placards on the walls, hockey blankets on the couch and a small hill of hockey gear behind the couch, also a nice little cat named Whiskey who would occasionally come on heat and drive herself and us mad, but she's got nothing to do with hockey . Montreal, where I learnt a little about Texas Hold'em and how to gamble(or better translated-lose money), with Dom bluffing his way to the pot every first round, cheeky Frenchman that he is. Montreal, going out to see live theatre, whether it's the 'Nut Cracker Suite', 'Vampire Lesbians of Sodom' or camp, kitschy and burlesque(had never seen pasties before and doubt seeing so many at one time again) conglomerations such as 'Diaries of a Lost Circus' at good old Cafe Campus(seven dollar jugs, old eighties music and a favourite of the local uni students on Tues nights) complete with big bands, comedians, the Roller Derby Team of Montreal, bagpipes and drag queen MC's singing the odd song. Montreal, Karaoke Christmas parties, outdoor raves in the snow at igloo fest, Stinky (occasional beatboxer/chipmunk voiced Christmas carol singer - according to Stinky being in solitary gives you alot of time to hone your skills) Hollywood (sticks people up with a banana for change), the crazy guy that walks down the street yelling at himself and stamping the pavement(not a very effective way to panhandle), the dude with one arm(this works better), the guys with signs- "tabernac, it's not for crack", - "pigeons don't taste like chicken", "1c for a smile", the dude that breakdances like a champ and all the other hobo's I forgot along the way.

Montreal, drinking beers at midnight in the kitchen, Montreal, learning how to make Perogies, Montreal, bowling at sharks over cheap jugs and losing the odd bowling ball. Mad Aussies in the street, one from each state except the Territory, until we met, then big cheers. Montreal, the boys and girls I worked with at the bar, shenanigans at the staff party, the Oakville Connection, The road trip there for a friends engagement, myself driving with four considerate (suspended) Canadian passengers making making sure I didn't crash or drive on the wrong side of the road, Montreal, making new travel friends along the way, Camille, Veronique, Calvin, the backpackers hostel in the old port, Christmas dinner there with twenty strangers, nine different nationalities, going out afterwards and all unexpectedly ending up in a club in the gay village for Christmas morning. Montreal, watching the snow fall from our apartment balcony, watching the city from the top of Mont Royal then slipping, sliding and falling on the icy steps all the way down. Montreal, kissing on both cheeks, right then left, Cafes, greasy spoon breakfasts, good pubs with better live music, Movies being made on the cobblestone streets of the old port as you wander by on your way for a coffee. Local rappers shooting low budget music videos on St Catherine's Street. Endamames. The endless galleries of art to wander through. Smells of cheap Pizza by the slice or three am Falafals. The sounds of French and English, the odd Arabic or Hindi, the accents of drunk young men from Boston looking for mischief, fun, a strip club or possibly all at once, the sound of wooden spoons on an old Quebecois knee. Montreal, riding the subway system, riding the bus, getting lost, finding my way and getting lost again.

  .... 

Montreal is a great place, a place to grow and learn or be an artist or to learn/improve your French or English. Somewhere to make connections and build a network of Friends and associates. And the rent is cheap too. It's a great place.

So that is Montreal in a general roundabout way for me. My brother Michael arrived for the last few days I had there and we flew together to Halifax. A week or so there, saw a few sights, hit the maritime museum, went to the Saturday markets at the Alexander Keith's Brewery, sampled the local seafood regularly.  Found myself at the nearest local yacht club about an hours walk from the hostel. Was a bit hesitant to go inside... Yachtclub.... big sign at front gate ''MEMBERS ONLY", went in and had a look at the notice board, felt like I might have been trespassing, went back outside,thought about heading back to the hostel for an African conga drum lesson I had lined up with Tony but met someone as they were on there way inside and yeah, two minutes later I'm signed in, at the bar meeting all the salty old sea dogs and wondering what I was worried about. Turns out the person who signed me in was from Saskatchewan, and Craven of all places. Several beers later and plenty of yarns about this sea voyage and that race and a thousand questions by me about boating and a thousand from them about Australia, it's time to head off to JB's house for dinner. We load the car up and off we go picking up extras along the way, get to JB's, have some more beers, He cooks up an informal three course meal, we drink and eat, I call Mr T to let him know I can't make the bongo lesson, then attempt to phone my brother at the Backpackers, no luck there. And on we go, a few have left the party and it's only the stalwarts left, with a nice bottle of red someone left for the house and a bloody big glass flagon of homemade red someone else had left. And there were yarns, pub games-goanna pulls ect, drinking and eventually time to go home. Got a lift back by midnight, woke my brother up and had him cook me some eggs to help save my soul. Then suffered an awesome hangover for the next two days.... Sailors and yachtmen and shipwrights and oceanographers... I was right to be worried about walking in there.

Directly resulting of the hangover, as I was booking the ticket's for us to fly here to St John's Newfoundland, I managed to get the date wrong and discovered that we had three hours to get all our gear packed and selves sorted ready to go to the airport. We made it, I was a little worried, the usual hurried packing stuff, Wallet-check, passport....Damn! (Sorta close to what is said when you can't find your passport) Too late, your half way there in the taxi and the plane leaves in forty minutes... Sweat and curse, check and double check, find it, thank goodness, We're there.... Line up.. is this the right line.... could it move any slower, counting the minutes,  check in finally, we made it, everything is fine, Almost... discover there is a three hour delay on our flight. 

Eventually arrived in St John's, something like three am. Caught a taxi to the small hostel I'd hurriedly phoned after I'd realised my mistake back in Halifax. Found the key and a note on how to get into the place in the mailbox. Bill the manager had explained to me in his Newfoundland brogue over the phone while he was at the pub the details, some how we got through each others accents to organise accommodation for the night. And that all leads me to here. It's a beautiful day outside, we went out for breakfast, the snow is piled three, four and five feet high on the pavement, it's very hilly and I'm in Newfoundland....

Ha ha ha ha. 

St Patricks day is about to arrive and I have a heavy heavy feeling these guys just might be more Irish than the Irish. And if there's cod to be kissed I couldn't think of a better place or a better time.

I'll let you all know how it goes.

Till then I hope everyone is well, don't know where I'm going next but probably back out west before it gets to late on my visa for me to see old friends one more time.

Cheers,

          Ben

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