airportthe opposite of a warm reception. lots o' customs. suitcase checker lady hit on me just a tad. absolutely no one in the airport. ghost town, canada. rude, rude, rude. mysterious bus that took us to somewhere - didn't know exactly where it would drop us off, we just lucked out that it was only 1 metro stop from where we were staying.
first day
stayed in mont royal... hip/hippie young part of town. lots o' boutiques and even more cafes. stopped off at our hotel to check in and drop our bags off... sweetest brown girl with heavily accented english showed us our room. delicious brunch and kir royales. skipped in the rain. nap and disaster television involving gruesome plane crashes and burn victims. decadent dinner of various sausages and giant beers at a belgian rest-o-raunt a mere hop/skip/jump from our hotel. second day
it was still raining. the hotel staff left a delicious breakfast for us outside our door, consisting of croissants, jams, orange juice, tea and fruit which we thoroughly enjoyed before venturing out into the gray, overcast city. headed downtown where we stumbled across a cirque de soleil tent. stopped off for a delicious lime tart and chocolate-drizzled almond croissant at sweets shop. window shopped in touristy old montreal. explored a labyrinthine underground maze of subway tunnels. took the train a few stops and disembarked in yet another young/hippie area.
it was by this time that i'd determined that montreal is a great place if you're young, artistic, and financially unambitious.
spent the afternoon wandering down narrow straights and in and out of vaguely french boutiques. stopped in at a fun-looking vintage shop on rue st-denis only to come face to face with my beloved duck duck dave's french canadian doppleganger. the likeness was uncanny, save for canadian dave's thick accent and love of fanciful chapeaus. while he was ringing us up, he told us a charming anecdote about how, while his english grammar is fine, he struggles with vocabulary every once in a while. apparently, he and his pals are making art porn photographs of vajayjay, and while discussing the project with a potential investor, he wanted to make it clear that it would be more art than porn. unfortunately, he couldn't quite think of the proper verbage and ended up proclaiming that the project would only involve "tasty vagina". thankfully the investor understood that dear canadian dave meant to refer to the ladyparts as "tasteful" and they all had a good chuckle.
we parted ways with doppleganger dave since sunday shopping hours were quickly drawing to a close and i had yet to purchase anything spectacularly french canadian aside from a handful of expertly executed culinary triumphs. and then suddenly, a beautiful, striped dress caught my eye from across the busy thoroughfare. i felt compelled to enter this boutique, lustre and to sample their wares. everything was moderately boutique priced (low to mid $100s) which i thought was fair considering the level of craftsmanship and the whimsical nature of their prints. i tried on a few pretty things, but they were made to fit ladies with more endowments, until i came across the loveliest striped jumper dress in the most muted tones of eggplant and wine. it's jersey. it cupcakes out to just below my knees. i stood admiring my reflection in front of the mirror, commenting that the only thing that could make this garment more perfect was if it had... POCKETS! as soon as i uttered the word, my hands instinctively found two pockets at my hips, hidden within the delicate folds of canadian jersey. alas, i had found my purchase and nothing was going to stop me from making it mine. the lustre girls locked the shop door behind me and spencer and i worked our way back onto the street into the increasingly clear late afternoon sun.more street wandering. more vintage window-shopping. ended stopping for a couple of drinks at a low-key bar near the hotel. second-story, streetside, with a great view of the neighborhood. uber pleasant bartender. the bathroom had saloon doors. a couple hours later, we headed back to the room for a much needed nap.
slept a long time, only waking up long enough to head down the street for a surprisingly greasy plate of pasta and some tea.
last day
woke early and braved a long line outside of a restaurant we'd noticed on our first day. it did not disappoint. most delicious brunch i'd had in a super long time and it was at this point that i determined that montreal was not only ideal for loafing artists, but also for foodies, as nothing i'd consumed in the span of 3 days did anything less than utterly delight my senses.
headed back out to the airport, back through customs, back on the plane, and back to new york city. tired, well-fed, and totally in love with our gentle, bilingual, hippie neighbors to the north.
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