Toronto vs. Montreal

So, I was in Toronto, crashing at an old friend's place behind Chinatown.

Toronto never disappoints me.

I go to the Beaches during the day and I feel like I'm in Venice, CA:
the boardwalk, the skatepark, the colorful parasols, the tramp stamps, haha.

At night, I'm heading out to 751. This grungy little place where the owner recognized my friends, but looked at me and said: "You're new, what can I get you hunny-bun?"

I don't remember the last time I was called hunny-bun, but I rolled with it.

Basked of Wings for $4. Sweeeet.

Skip to another night. We were at Sneaky Dee's and I was doing a fair bit of people-watching while my friend went nuts on her blackberry.

Time for Toronto hipsters vs. Montreal hipsters:

It's like if you took a Montreal hipster, ripped up his/her Urban Outfitters clothes a bit, made him/her a bit more punk, get'em tatted up (sleeves please) , don't let them shower for a few days - and there you have it: A hipster a la Toronto.

And of course, my last day in Toronto, we somehow end up at Dance Cave.
This place smells like sweat, cheap beer, puke, and dirty toilets. Ha. Except the music is soooo good. And you dance the night away or until some man in his middle life crisis approaches you wearing a ridiculous newsboy cap and a desperately button-down tropical t-shirt.

Wow. I'm really not making this sound like a place you want to end up.

But it IS just one of those places, you just find yourself singing to your own anthem song at last call.

But the nights didn't end when the bars and clubs close. Nope, not for us.
For two nights in a row, we hopped a fence (a frickin' tall one mind you) to get into an outdoor swimming pool. Stripped to underwear (some braver ones wore even less).
Finally beating the summer heat.

I had an amazing time. I got to live a little/dance a little.

But now I'm all partied out. I kinda just want to crawl back onto my couch in Montreal and watch Season 3 LOST.

Stay Close Chuck

Finallyyy.

It's quite a bit different from the original drawing.

Fuck the rooster.

I've been on the road again, but done a few sketches.

I will post them when I get home.

There I was.

There I was.
Ankle-deep in burning-hot black sand and a toad crawling out from beneath my toes.
I jumped at the same time the toad did and he had the better idea of jumping onto my boob, while I almost stumbled into a patch of poison ivy.
This would have been about the time I recovered my balance, except the toad had now caught its little leg in my knitted sweater and it was frantically attempting to jump off my chest, so my distress continued as I tried to pull him off.

To the red and freckled family of four standing in front of me, I must have appeared quite insane.
Toad on my left boob, huge knitted sweater in 27C (70F???) weather, red bumps on my legs from my newly-discovered mosquito allergy, and black hands and feet from struggling up sand dunes on my hands and feet. Plus, I was doing what looked like a tribal dance trying to shake the little critter off me.

I ended up in this mess because I was bored in Provincetown while Anna was working.
I decided to drive up to Racepoint and find a picturesque little beach and lighthouse where I could be alone, listen to the waves, and do a bit of reading.

The park ranger gave me directions to a dirt parking lot and a 3 mile trail leading to Racepoint lighthouse. He told me it would be a long walk in the sand and on top of that, it had started raining. He said it was the only way to get to Racepoint lighthouse because all the roads only led to the major and more popular beaches.
3 miles didn't seem so bad.

When I got to the tiny dirt parking lot, there were no other cars there. I put on my sweater and raincoat and began the journey down the dirt path.
It was hard to walk in the heavy wet sand, so I had to take off my sandals.
After 20 minutes of trudging in the sand, I reached a marsh.
The path cut across the marsh and I thought: I've already walked this far, I should just keep going.

20 more minutes, I was jogging and at the same time, swatting away airborne blood-suckers.
My legs had already started to swell, yellow bumps surrounded by patches of red skin.

Finally, I got out of the marsh and the rain had stopped. Thank god.
The next challenge was sand dunes.
The sun was coming out, so I thought that I had gotten through the worst.
Still barefoot, I felt the sand getting hotter under my feet and the sweater I was wearing wasn't helping. I was already carrying the raincoat and climbing up the sand dunes, so I didn't take off the sweater.
I'm sure the scenery was beautiful around me, but it was hard to focus on anything but my burning feet.

After nearly an hour, I saw the lighthouse. And this was where I got into the black sand (don't ask me where this black sand came from) and confronted the family of four, who were staying at the guesthouse beside the lighthouse.

The family was nice enough to give me some bugspray after my fiasco. I didn't care that a hairy, fat, red and sunburned man wearing a thick gold chain around his neck felt sorry for me, I was just thankful for the bugspray. If there hadn't been any bugspray, I swear I would have just stayed on the beach until help came in the form of an enclosed vehicle where no toads, mosquitos, or hot black sand could get in.

I arrived at the beach and walked straight into the ocean to cool off my feet. Ah, finally. the journey had paid off. There was no one to be seen. Just me. I closed my eyes to listen to the waves and to feel the cool, ocean breeze. I felt a cloud pass over the sun and I was sooo thankful.

"Watchhhh outtt!"
Too late, the football had hit me in the head already.
The shadow was not a cloud, but some frat boy running towards me because his buddy had told him to 'go deep'.
The boy wearing the backwards cap and flaming orange shorts helped me get up, apologizing as he did. He checked to make sure I was okay and told me I should put on some sunscreen because my legs looked really red.

I decided not to explain.

In my confused and frustrated state, he led me around the beach bend and what I saw next made me feel just st-oo- pid.
A crowd of scantily-clad college kids were putting up tents and RVs with more students in them were pulling up from behind. Of course, they brought tiki torches.
I thanked the boy for helping me, but I had to go back to my hotel.
He said: "Do you need a ride? I'm driving back to Provincetown."

So here's what I've learned:
a) The park ranger is either a liar or he doesn't patrol the roads very well.
b) I'm allergic to mosquito saliva and I will now and forever carry a large bottle of OFF! in my purse.
c) Weather.com can't even get the same day's hourly forecast right.

In A-mer-ica.

In my last post, I convinced myself that I could stay in one city for a summer.

I'm in Boston.
Admittedly, I have a problem.

But.
I'm still working on the rooster man.

More to post later.

Staying Still.

While my friends are off exploring the far corners of the world
(see http://encountersatfarpoints.blogspot.com),
I have:
cleaned my oven, nurtured a dying cactus, and replaced what used to be the t.v. area in my kitchen with an easel.

Getting back into drawing with mixed media is my summer project. Maybe I'll be able to do a little vernissage by the end of the summer. No promises. Odds are I'll become the girl who cried wolf. But maybe, one day, it'll be true. and you'll be sorry. maybe.

...

I spent the first day staring at the crisp new pastel paper I taped to to a failed painting-turned-easel-backboard.

Day two:
Well, since I can't leave the continent this summer, I decided that I might as well draw the places I've traveled and hope to travel.

Day three was met with some success, I drew an man holding a fighting rooster in a crowded marketplace. I used a light blue pastel paper (it has a subtle texture) and graphite for the preliminary sketch. Dry pastels (earth tones) for blending and charcoal for outlines and detail.
I need to get some cold pastel colours.

Here's a picture of my progress so far:


So now, I'm thinking: maybe being unable to travel this summer is a good thing after all.
Maybe if I stay in one place long enough, I'll finally be able to have a show. It's what I've always wanted to do. Hopefully, posting my progress on this blog will motivate me to put my money where my mouth is.

Yikes. I used a lot of maybes in the post.

On an unrelated matter, but oh-so-important: I originally created this blog not just for myself, but several other friends. It was meant to help us keep track of each others' goingabouts
during the summer. They are the ones traveling, so I'm assuming they have more epic stories to post than I do. So what gives guys? The water's not that cold.

Montreal, Montreal.

This is my third attempt to enter the blogosphere.
I've never blogged before.
For the better part of my life, I have been a pen&paper kinda girl.

My first two attempts at posting were meant to introduce the city I IN-habit. I found myself writing much that has been said and done before. Terraces, Hipsters, the Music Scene, yadda yadda yadda. So I stopped.

But. Tonight, I said: Alright, I'm just going to do it. I'm going to write what I feel.
"T'es capable" - as a friend of mine would say after I've nursed my beer for too long.

This summer, I've felt something change.
I've grown more restless.
It now takes considerable effort for me to sleep because when I get into bed I just curl and uncurl my toes and my brain runs a million miles an hour.

Sometimes I reflect about my time here.
I realized I know this city better than any city that I've ever lived in.
I've been to most of the neighborhoods on the island and Definitely all of the ones in the downtown area.
So many good memories.

I must say that my favourite memory took place in the Old Port.
If you walk west on the canal path from the main square, you will find three rectangular metal forms that sit directly across the canal from the old silos.
It is easy to miss them if you are not looking for them.
Anyway, if you speak into the microphone attached to one of the metal cubes, the sound will reverberate in the silos and you can hear the echos.
I've only been there at night when the air is still and no one is around.
I whisper "hello montreal" into the microphone, wait for the louder echo, and look back up the mountain. I feel calm.

I remember one night, a few years back in October, we were jogging and we stopped at the echo place. I was laughing about something he said, flushed from running, and I closed my eyes to take one deep breath. I never do that. It was pure happiness- an ineffable feeling.

I hope that this summer, something. SOMETHING. like that. will happen.