And here we are, at the end of my trip already.  Five days was too short.  I must really take longer vacations.  That Monday was Canadian Thanksgiving and American Columbus Day and my last day in Montreal.  The city felt empty, especially when Michael took me up to the roof of his building so I could get some cityscape shots.

The mountain:

Far out in the distance there is the school where Michael teaches and commutes to each day:

This was pretty much the view a few floors down from Michael’s balcony, of the bridge, etc.:

That geodesic dome is in there somewhere.  I’m going to find those penguins next time I visit!

So pretty with the leaves changing:

Downtown:

Tattered Quebec flag:

We met up with Vani again and walked down to the Village to see it during the daytime.  On the way we passed this random protest parade:

We think maybe they were street people protesting.  Definitely lots of bullhorn chatter about Capitalism and Democracy destroying our lives and planet (and protesting in English!  Very risky).  Speaking of street people, a story: as we were walking home the evening before, we passed a homeless man putting out his cardboard.  A cell phone rang.  We turned thinking the source was someone walking behind us, but no.   The homeless guy pulls out a cell phone from his pocket and answers it.

Raven display:

This is Club Sandwich and there is evidently a train car inside.  You can dine in the train car.  Lots of post-club traffic heads here when the clubs close, especially during the warm months since there is so much terrace and outdoor seating:

We had a yummy lunch at Kilo (I had this delicious sandwich with chicken and avocado and mango and pineapple on dark bread):

We wandered the Village some more post-lunch and watched the gays slowly wake and venture out into the daylight (the Black & Blue Festival was going on that weekend).  Browsed some clothing and we dragged Vani into some more risque shops where we checked out cute underwear and pondered outlandish sex toys and scary instruments we three weren’t quite able to fully figure out.

And before I knew it, it was 5 o’clock and time for me to catch the shuttle to the airport.  It was a difficult good-bye for many reasons, but I won’t end on a heavy note.  Instead I leave you with this image of the good shadow of things to come:

After that very romantic evening on Mount Royal, we spent Sunday morning lazing around and enjoying the view from Michael’s apartment and balcony, eventually going out for some Indian brunch at Le Taj and then hitting up the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts.  There was this huge John William Waterhouse exhibit going on with that damn Lady of Shalott painting plastered all over the place (which only makes me think of Elizabeth Bishop’s wonderful poem “The Gentleman of Shalott”).  I’ve never cared much for the Pre-Raphaelites, so we skipped that special exhibit and just made our way through the permanent collection.  There were some lovely Pissarros and a nice representation of Modern art from the late 19th and early 20th century. Post-museum we wandered around downtown some more, visited some bookstores, and I got to visit the infamous underground city (felt very much like a mall with all the stores in the section we walked through, but I guess they are mainly tunnels wide enough to have stores on either side of the main walkway).

After a late afternoon nap (so much walking!  so much fresh fall air!) we ventured out to the Botanical gardens to see a special Chinese Lantern Display.  I will apologize in advance for the onslaught of lanterns you are about to witness.

But first, the Olympic Complex from when Montreal hosted the 1976 Summer Olympics:

It’s a weird structure, the roof held up by all these tension wires that connect to that large concrete diving-board-esque tower which is evidently the tallest inclined structure in the world.  The building appears to be falling into disrepair.  Kind of looks like a spaceship.  Or a docking station for a spaceship.

Anyway, we passed it on our way to the Botanical Gardens where we encountered a very long line to get in to see The Magic of Lanterns.  Totally worth it even though we spent the evening dodging empty strollers pushed by the children who were supposed to be riding inside them.

Here I am posing at the entrance to the Chinese gardens and lantern display:

Fancy roosters and hens:

Butterfly flutterby:

Cranes:

Acrobatic man with umbrellas:

I liked how her scarves and pose echoed the large rocks flanking her:

Musicians:

Flames!

Michael and me and a glowy liony friend with his ball:

Cool reflections:

More water features with tower in background:

Entering the bonsai pavilion:

Trippy bonsai pavilion:

Seahorses!  Horsies!  Er…

Are you bored yet?  Do you feel captive as I show you my slides?  And just think ,this is the edited version.  So many more photos to show you…

Tiger…

Waterfall…

Fountain…

Okay I’ll stop there.  So many lanterns!  And two romantic nights in a row.  I’m a lucky guy.  ;-)

Saturday was slow going after being out so late, but we dragged ourselves out to meet up with Michael’s friend Vani who we convinced to accompany us on a long walk that eventually took us through the Old Port.

But first, some sculpture.  Here is a sculpture of a hand on Michael’s coffee table:

Michael had many opportunities to buy more hands that weekend, but he resisted.  I still think a hand collection would be creepy and fun.  And here is Michael posing with a sculpture of a woman and a child:

I’d still prefer a sculpture of a woman breast-feeding a child, but I don’t think anyone would find that all too scandalous there.  Here is a cow:

And here I am reclining on the cow:

I wanted to ride it, but restrained myself.

I love when birds poop on statues of famous important dudes:

I’d tell you who that is, but I wasn’t really paying attention.  I was too bemused by this cat on a leash:

If you look behind this sculpture, beyond the pool you can see a subway entrance modeled after Hector Guimard’s Art Nouveau Paris Metro entrances:

This is outside the convention center.  The park off to the right produces mist in the warmer months via grates.  I loved the way the colors reflected off the building and into the water and onto the trees.

We randomly came across a piece of the Berlin Wall:

We passed a random wedding reception set-up and I liked these rows of red and orange cacti that were going to be center pieces (ignore Vani’s leg):

Here we are down in the Old Port area where the feel of the buildings is decidedly European:

We passed some art galleries and were struck by the work of Charest at the Blanche Galerie D’Art.  They had just ended an exhibition of his work entitled “The Fruits of His Imagination” which featured bright jewel-like colors and close-ups of some of our favorite fruits.  He even painted some on slate as if the image was part of a larger fresco or work and was broken off.  Here is a gallery of his work and an image to whet your appetite:

I also snapped a shot of this pear sculpture in the window:

I liked the juxtaposition of the cruise ship against the weird, pueblo-like, shanty-town-esque, cardboard-box-condo-mountain:

These trees were so red.  This picture doesn’t do them justice:

Vani posing in front of the trees:

The Old Market:

Don’t jump!

That weird geodesic dome I saw from Michael’s balcony.  The U.S. government evidently built it decades ago.  There are penguins or some mutant experiments in it:

It is always noon.  Or midnight.

Late afternoon sun:

And swings!  Weeeee!

On our walk back up to Sherbrooke we passed this crazy store that kind of looked like a thrift store but it had this strange window display.  Yes, those are used tampons.  And yes, that is pubic hair, presumably shorn from the corresponding woman.  So random.

After a quick nap we met Michael’s friend David for dinner on the other side of the mountain.  I forgot my camera, so I don’t have any pics from the rest of the evening.  But after dinner, we hiked up the side of the mountain, passing many a lovely house and embassy and mansion until Michael led me up a flight of stone stairs into a black field which let up further onto a dark spooky road.  I felt like the headless horseman would come riding down the path at any minute.  Here we walked in the darkness, under the silent, chameleon leaves, the city lights down and to our right.  Michael explained how safety isn’t a top priority in Montreal, even though the city, in terms of crime, is very safe.  Many people run up here, even in the dark, the attitude being if you’re afraid, don’t do it.  Michael conjured a picture of what it would look like in winter with the leaves down, snow on the ground, the city lights and moon light reflecting and I could imagine how bright it would be.  We eventually found a long and winding staircase (and other people!) and began our ascent to the Kondiaronk Belvedere and the Chalet du Mont Royal. As I said, I didn’t have my camera, but I found this image of what the view looked like:

I can’t wait to see it in winter.

Friday I woke to rain and the news that Obama had won the Nobel Peace Prize.  Don’t get me wrong, I like Obama, and I understand why they gave it to him not for what he’s accomplished (other than not being Bush) but for what he wants to accomplish.  Still, it struck me as a bit odd, especially when so many unknown people do so much on a daily basis to help others and are never acknowledged.  But that’s the funny thing: most of those people wouldn’t want the recognition, would shy away from that kind of attention.  It became a bit of a theme for the weekend as we discussed the nature of awards.  I was kind of hoping Obama would decline it.  It was interesting to be out of the country when such news hit, to see your home filtered through another country’s lens.

Despite the rain, I walked most of Boulevard Saint-Laurent, enjoying the French signs and the feel of another city,

checking out all the fancy restaurants and bars along the way (where evidently Hollywood types hang) though I kept taking detours down side streets when architecture or parks or pedestrian zones caught my eye.  Here are some of the things I saw:

The colors are a but muted here, but I loved the bright touches to the architectural features:

And I passed many rows of homes like this, that were all built in the same style but differentiated by color:

I stumbled upon a park at the end of Rue Prince-Arthur E, Sq St-Louis I think, and found some lovely homes bordering it.  The bright vermilion of this house struck me (and if you look to the right, that trailer was the first of four or five labeled with things like “costumes” and “make-up”–must have been shooting a movie):

I loved the flare of red leaves behind the fountain at the park’s center:

Some more houses that I covet.  Lots of bikes in Montreal too.  I passed many a rack where you could rent one:

Another side street distraction, this time on Rue Rachel E:

An educational center about marijuana.  I liked the sign.  It’s evidently legal to buy paraphernalia, but not to smoke it:

I wandered up toward the mountain and the beautiful colors of the trees changing and found this cute little corner at Avenue Bloomfield and Avenue Fairmount Quest:

I have a thing for roosters, so I started collecting images of them (there were more than just these guys at this store front; each window had a pair hanging out, but I started getting curious glances, so I moved on…)

Another.  They kind of remind me of the Pennsylvania Dutch style barn hexes from back home where I grew up (ignore the random woman; I don’t know who she is):

Le Coq:

I saw more throughout the weekend but refrained from capturing every one.  I have a poem in the shape of a rooster.  Perhaps it will get published one day and I can post it here for all of you to see.  It’s called “Dear Chanticleer,” and yes, it is literally in the shape of a rooster.  I kid you not.

I walked all the way up Boulevard Saint-Laurent almost to Little Italy and then worked my way back, winding up at this cute little cafe Cafe-Bistro Bresilien at 8, Rue Rachel Est.  There I met a waitress who has only been in Montreal for 7 months and is still working on her French; she was much more confident in English and grateful I spoke it.  And I met a fiction writer from Brooklyn, Victoria Cho.  I spent most of the rest of my afternoon here, eating and chatting and drinking tea, reading the one lone English paper to see what events were going on that weekend.  I gave Victoria advice about MFA programs and we talked shop for a bit.  A great way to spend a rainy afternoon.  And I had some creative breakthroughs; lots of ideas percolating right now, connections forging in my head.  Filled the first few pages of the new notebook I brought along and am ready to undertake some new poem sequences.

I wandered a bit more and then took a brief nap before meeting up with Michael.  We ventured down into the very hot subway and made our way to his friend Anne-Marie’s cafe Bistro Toi & Moi.  Anne-Marie teaches Spanish at the school where Michael teaches, a language she learned from a former lover.  She is also a five star chef and sold her restaurant but now has this cute cafe where her kitchen is literally a kitchen you’d find in your home, no industrial stove, etc.  The food and wine were delicious and we were in good company with Michael’s friends Joanna, who also teaches with him, and her friend Val.  That’s Joanna in front followed by Val and I think that’s Anne-Marie behind the counter in the back (my eyesight! squinty):

I liked these birds on the wall (I think that’s Michael’s head down on the lower right!):

After dinner Michael took me to one of Montreal’s gay clubs in their Village, Sky, where we danced til 3 in the morning.  It was a little crowded in some of the rooms but I fought through my crowd panic and claustrophobia to get down to some fun Madonna mixes and a nice career-spanning mash-up of Whitney’s biggest hits.  The hip-hop room unfortunately had a weird vibe to it, but we eventually made ourselves at home on the third floor where we had plenty of room to cut loose.  And cut loose we did…

Next post: random sculptures, The Old Port, more great meals, Parc Mont-Royal.

I arrived at Penn Station early.  My travel anxiety seems to grow ever more intense the older I get, which continues to baffle me. Once I’m in motion, I’m fine, but that irrational fear of missing a bus or a train or a plane throws my stomach into chaos.  The one thing that seems to calm me is Dramamine which either knocks me out in minutes or makes me float along in a haze.  Too soon for that.

I found a ticket kiosk and scanned my print-out to pick up my tickets.  No reservation.  I used my credit card to check in.  No reservation.  Stomach in knots, I got in line.  I had waited too long for a real vacation and was not getting left behind in New York.  When I reached the front of the line and the bell dinged for me to go, the man behind me said “Go ahead brother” as if he were allowing me to go ahead of him.  I say “behind” when really he hovered just off to the side of me the entire time, as if recognizing the line were somehow beneath him.  This is not the first time I’ve noticed this, though.  The concept of a single file line seems to be difficult for certain people in NYC.  I’ve often wondered if it’s some sort of middle finger to the man.  I just find it poor manners.

The sales rep disappeared for a good fifteen minutes before she returned and said they straightened things out.  “What was wrong?”  “Your ticket was already marked as picked up.”  I spent the rest of the train ride afraid I’d run into my doppelgänger.

When I checked in with Canadian Customs I overheard them discussing our gate which had yet to show on the board.  They whispered to us that we’d be at Gate 7, so I thanked the delay with my tickets in allowing me the perfect timing to be third in line at the gate.  We waited.  A woman approached the gate official asking for help with her train.  “You need to check the board.”  The woman left.  Returned and asked again.  “M’am you have to check the board.”  “Why can’t you just tell me?!” the woman whined, stamping her stilletoed heel and bursting into tears.  “M’am I can’t see the board from here.” The nearby police officer’s rotweiler starting barking at her.  “Lady, are you going to stand there and cry and miss your train, or are you going to check the board?” he asked, trying to calm down his dog.  “Where are you going?  You need to go to Gate 12.”  The dog barking the entire time.

I popped that Dramamine as soon as we got on the train and passed out for a few hours.  But when I woke, and after a snack from the snack car, I found fall outside my window:

All this work I brought with me, books and comic books to read, a movie to watch, and I just sat transfixed:

I already felt the tension of recent weeks releasing as the bright yellows and oranges and reds played against the blue sky.

Somewhere around Albany they opened the “Great Dome” car, a special edition during the fall foliage season so passengers can get a better view of the colorful landscape.

I hung out in the dome car during part of the 50-mile trek along Lake Champlain.

The route goes up the Hudson Valley through wine country and through the Adirondack Mountains.  I think many of my dome car photos are from the Ticonderoga vicinity.

It’s a long train ride (almost 11 hours!) but I didn’t notice it.  Since I slept for those first few hours and had ample leg room and a reclining seat, I was quite comfortable.  The longest hold up was at the border as Customs officials made their way through the train.  There was an old Indian man in a heavy long coat and a scarf wrapped around his head who got up to get something from his luggage and the Customs guy said “M’am, please return to your seat.”  They gave him a hard time for a while.  And the Goth gay kid next to him who spent too much money on clothes in the States and had to pay taxes in the office off the train.  Though I kind of loved the old Indian guy and the Goth gay kid by the end of the trip as they sat huddled over a laptop watching clips of Bollywood dance sequences.  The longest hang-up was a couple from Staten Island on the other side of the aisle who had issues with their passports.  I suspect they were either expired, or in that few month period before they expire when Americans are not allowed to travel.  “What would you do if we told you you had to exit the train with us and we’d put you on a car back to New York?” the one official asked.  The husband bristled and got all indignant.  The wife hissed at him that he was causing a scene in front of all these strangers.  They eventually left and we moved on without them, and it significantly distracted the Customs official who checked my passport, much to my relief.  I always get so nervous with Customs officials, nervous that they’ll see I’m nervous and suspect me of being guilty of something even though I haven’t done anything.

My friend Michael Ernest Sweet met me at the airport and we cabbed back to my hotel, the Armor Manoir Sherbrooke, which was right across the street from his apartment.

A nice man with no left hand checked me in and I deposited my luggage in my room.  The hotel is two old mansions stitched together, and my hallway was long and tall and narrow, all wood-paneling.  The whole place felt like something out of a movie set.

I particularly loved this crazy corner closet with three hangers inside.

Michael and I had a light dinner at his place, caught up on the past few months, and plotted out my adventures for the next day before I turned in for the night.

Coming up…Saint Laurent and the Plateau, Toi & Moi, Clubbing.