Quebecois For A Moment

 The art of solo traveling is that you are alone. Quite literally. You have to plan what it is you're going to do day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute. Maybe not as far as that, but the point remains. You have to deal with the customs agent wondering why some random American is coming to their country for vacation, language barriers between you and the taxi drivers, not getting hit by a car while you're there (this happened to me last winter in Longueuil), amongst other things.

But once you past that, you're there. Your mileage may vary, but you're there. That could mean a plethora of things. It could mean anything in between you finding a bar that you go to every night during your stay or a cafe that you make your acquaintance to for their fresh western omelettes. The world is yours it seems. Time moves slightly slower. It's as if you're an NPC character that is on the loading screen of your favorite RPG. 

My fascination with Canada, and Montreal specifically, is not nascent. When Trump won the presidency in 2016, I joked with my mum about how we should pack the entire family up and move there. But even before that conversation, there was always this myth and grandeur that flooded my mind about what went on across the border. I've heard horror stories from childhood friends about crossing into Vancouver from Washington State as adolescents and getting chased by border patrol. They're still alive to tell the tale by the way..

It probably all started with me being such a huge hockey fan and following the Canadian teams in the NHL since high school. You start to learn about the legends: Patrick Roy, Gretzky, Jean Beliveau, The Rocket Richard. And the myth grows! Where are these fuckers from? What about their hometowns have made them so legendary? 

Years would go by before I would travel to Canada for the first time, with Montreal being the city that my girlfriend and I picked. The French aspect of the city makes you feel like you are in Europe. Zone Petione. Arret. The old town is straight out of the 1800's for all we know. Le gens are extraordinarily accommodating, having the mental edge of being able to switch effortlessly from French to English for someone who studied Spanish all throughout their schooling. The city itself is, unironically and without trying to sound like a fucking loser, a melting pot. You really just have to get there to see what I'm talking about.