[continued from entry of August 18]
I began writing this entry in a B&B in Montreal, seated on the bed in my cosy rented room, rain falling outside, the faint sound of vehicles passing on raindamp streets drifting in through the open window -- me back in this sweet city two weeks after the jaunt I've been slowly (so painfully slowly) describing in recent entries.
Back in part because it's a lovely city that strikes a chord with me -- an interesting, liveable, homelike place. And in part because things went so nicely with I., the woman mentioned in the previous part of this narrative.
It's a bit wacky, the B&B experience. You never really know what you're in for. At this one -- operated by a friendly, older Québécois woman -- I found myself alone at breakfast, being served sugar, starch, caffeine. Fruit, fruit juice, bagel, english muffin, tea. Just as I finished with the small plate of fruit, turning my gaze toward the kitchen (hoping to see some protein gliding my way), two older women stepped in the front door, calling out Boujours. Friends of the owner, both looking to be in their 60's. They entered, laughing, removed shoes, appraised me, interested. The owner introduced us, they came over, each gave me a firm handshake, seemed to lose some interest at my lack of ability with French. Moved to the living area right outside my room, sat down, shrugging off light jackets. The owner lay a small plate in front of me (containing bagel/english muffin), told me nicely to ask if I wanted something more, then sat down with her friends, began chatting. My room contains an alcove with a sink, but no shower or toilet. To get to the loo, I'd need to pass through their get-together, not exactly how I was looking to start the day. Settled for shaving in my hideyhole and decamped with laptop to a nearby café to wake up, pull myself slowly together.
Which is where I am now, slowly swimming toward what passes as full consciousness, the air full of French being spoken by attractive women, James Brown cranking out Hot Pants Pt. 1 on the in-house stereo (not my typical wake-up soundtrack).
Montreal is positively heaving with places to get a decent meal, with caffeine peddlers pushing good coffee, with all kinds of people (excellent for high-quality people watching), at least half of whom are female people (excellent for high-quality female people watching).
Which brings me back to a big part of why I'm back in Montreal: the sweet female type person I spent time with during the visit two weeks ago. The one who waded through two hours of crossed wires to have dinner with me, then carted me around far too much of the city the following day, showing me neighborhoods I'd never been through, showing me the Oratory (complete with flight after flight of steps that pilgrims can ascend on their knees if they're so inclined, and rack upon rack of crutches/canes left by pilgrims -- post spontaneous healings -- along with sweeping views of Montreal).
Meals, cups of high-octaine joe at sidewalk cafes, plenty of conversation. A nice time. Nice enough to get me back there two weeks later for more.
[continued in next entry]
España, te echo de menos.
rws 12:11 PM [+]
Comments:
Sitting in traffic: not a very user-friendly way to start the day. If I were in your position, I might be cursing too.
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