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Well, holy shit. Here I am back in New Jersey... the past few days seem like years to themselves.
Montreal was a mix of excellent and crappy. Going with my three friends from school.. Meghan (my roommate), Callie, and Cortney, I finally realized how very different I am from them. Three of the four nights we were in Montreal I went off by myself rather than hanging with them. They wanted to go to big crappy music dance clubs every night and hook up with guys from Massachusetts... which is something I cannot understand. We can go to such clubs and hook up with such men in fucking Providence. I didn't drive hundreds of miles and cross the border into another country to do something I could do 20 minutes from school. But anyway.
The drive up was pleasant... I love the roads in New Hampshire and Vermont, curvy and sloping, with really beautiful mountains and pine forests all around. We arrived in Montreal Saturday evening, and for some reason I was dumbfounded by how they speak French there. I mean, of course I knew they speak French. But it's so different from visiting from visiting Toronto in that respect cos you really feel like you're in another country when you're in Montreal. Everyone has an accent (if not French, Canadian) and all of the signs are in another language. Of course this seems like it should be common sense. But I am not proclaming to be a genius.
The first night I went with my friends at first... we went to a cheesy karaoke bar and within a few minutes had a bunch of guys talking to us. None of them seemed of much interest and after a little while I was drunk, and didn't want to go with them to a dance club. I wandered down Crescent Street where there are tons of bars and pubs and clubs and restaurants and teeming masses of people on Saturday nights. I stopped at the door to a pub and asked a random man standing there if it was a good pub. He said yes, so I entered and took the only empty seat at the bar.. the place was packed. I ended up next to a young-looking guy who appeared to be alone and was nursing a Guinness. It took him about 15 or 20 minutes to start talking to me, and we ended up talking for awhile and then staggering to a little Middle Eastern fast food place where I got a really delicious vegetarian plate and he, souvlaki. Suddenly it was snowing (it had been strangely warm before) and he walked me back to my hostel, where we proceeded to awkwardly make out against the wall outside. Yeah, I felt like a slut. But it was just kissing. I'm a good girl. He was just so cute, with his adorable Canadian accent as he was from Toronto. And was wearing grungy worn doc martens that looked so good on him.
The next day... ummm... we went to Notre Dame Basilica, which is really ridiculously beautiful. Since two of my friends are Catholic they wanted to stay for mass, so we did so. It was in the chapel in the back of the church, much smaller than the actual church but still fairly large. Mounted on the wall behind the dais was an enormous golden sculpture that I proceeded to stare at the entire time we were there. It was so awesome. I don't even know how to describe it. I think I may have gotten more out of the mass if it hadn't been in French, but what can you do. It was a neat experience.
Notre Dame itself was so incredibly ornate and breathtaking. I love churches, but at the same time I always think about how I feel so much more spiritual when I am in a forest or open field, or by the ocean. It makes me think of the film Stigmata. Some churches are really gorgeous but they just don't live up to nature.
That night we... ummm... yes, that night I went with my friends to a club called Living which had two floors... one with shitty boring techno music, the other with shitty boring R&B; music. I chose the latter since my friends were there and I felt more comfortable dancing by them. After a little while a not-really-attractive man started dancing with me but I figured what the hell, I was drunk and he was a decent dancer, and then I proceeded to make out with him pressed up against the wall of the club not inches from other people. And I felt like a slut, again. But it was fun and harmless and I am young and supposed to do silly irresponsible things. Soon after the club was closing so the music went off and I was actually able to talk to the guy, who was apparently from New York. Yeah. He and his friend wanted to hang out with me and my friends, and he kept saying, "But if you've got plans, you've got plans," which became a huge joke with my friends and I because he said it at least 10 times in the space of a half hour. And it was just like, okay, we get the goddamn point. He gave me his cellphone number but I didn't call cos it was just frivilous and fun and I wasn't really interested in him at all.
The next day we went shopping in the underground mall, where I saw absolutely nothing I wanted but my friends proceeded to buy lots of cheap shirts. I also had horrible Chinese food.
Which reminds me, the night before we went out to a really nice French restaurant. The food was completely orgasmic. My tastebuds have never been happier. French food is so good. I want to eat it every day. You eat such a small amount but leave the restaurant feeling very well fed yet not overstuffed. And the wine was good.
So... on the third night I went off by myself again. I went to another pub and sat and had a couple of glasses of chardonnay and a sandwich, then wandered over to Marche for dessert. I got a mixed berry crepe with chocolate sauce, and sat at the bar and had another glass of wine and talked with a woman who had short red hair and bad teeth and was on her fifth Bailey's and coffee. She didn't speak a lot of English but it didn't matter, and we chatted with the hot young bartender and this other guy who told me that I talk too much and therefore must be insecure. I explained to him that the reason I was talking too much was because I was drunk. Maybe insecure too, but the drunk part was definitely the motivating force.
The last day, yesterday, I went out and got myself some damned good Indian food, later went out to dinner at a really awesome pub with my friends and the guys from Massachusetts that they had picked up at a club the night before, and then went on a "bar tour" with a bunch of people from the hostel. I met a girl named Jae on the tour who was 17 and from Toronto and had two symmetrical piercings like fangs right below her lower lip, along with two nose piercings, long reddish brown hair, a kick ass velvet coat, and huge fucking boots. We were both, apparently, cheap drunks and were gone after the first drink, which for me was an insanely strong rye and ginger. The tour proceeded to involve three different bars during which Jae and I and others got more and more drunk and we met people from France and New Zealand and Australia and Rhode Island and had a grand old time. Jae was pretty cool except for how she couldn't go more than a half hour without mentioning how badly she wanted to buy some mescaline, a drug I have only heard of through high school health classes. She did not buy any of said drug, but we did end up at some chain Italian restaurant at 2 a.m. and proceeded to eat obscene amounts of food and make friends with two equally-trashed girls who sat down next to us and went to school in New York. As we walked back to the hostel, staggering down wet Montreal streets, she smoked a joint.
I will not be consuming any more alcohol for at least a month, for at the moment even the thought of it makes me want to retch up my entire stomach. But I must admit it was a pretty good time, I met some awesome, crazy, strange people and had some cool experiences and ate some good food. I also learned that drinking Bailey's on the rocks is quite yum.
Since this entry is already novel-length, I will conclude for now.
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