North American Adventures

Last Wednesday, the 30th April, I woke up with a distinct feeling of butterflies in my stomach. D- Day had arrived. I felt excited and a little uneasy, a feeling that was strangely familiar. Lying in bed, looking at my packed bags and almost empty room in apartment 411, Solin Hall, I realised that this was much the same feeling I had leaving Australia four months previously. It was goodbye Montreal, a place I had come to call home, and hello two months of travel in North America. 

First stop, Ottawa, Canada's capital. On the bus I hopped, six months worth of possessions packed tightly into my backpack, accompanied by a few fellow exchangers. Anne, my darling Dutch pal, who has daringly agreed to spend the next four weeks with me; Sam, a bubbly and vivacious fellow Aussie; Ka Ling, another cute Dutchy, and Louise, a lovely Belge who'd come to Ottawa to start research on her History thesis. 

In true, small, underwhelming capital city style (ahem, Canberra), we were greeted with rain. We walked to our evening's accommodation, a hostel that used to be a gaol and were greeted by a rather slow and awkward guy at the front desk. After being told the place was haunted, we unlocked the heavy iron cell door with four beds squished into the size of three singular cells. An eerie night's stay, to say the least, despite the fact that I refuse to believe in ghosts.

Next morning we woke to more rainy weather. We walked to Parliament Hill, upon which the Parliament House majestically overlooks the Ottawa River. The canal flows down towards the river, segmented by old-fashioned locks which are still operated by hand. We freaked Anne out about worms and leeches ('bloedzuiger' in Dutch) and then took a tour of the Parliament. The building is quite stunning, old fashioned and fitted like a castle. The library is the oldest remaining part of the building, after being saved from a fire in 1916 and still holds books with the earliest of Canada's laws.

Next stop, Toronto for a night and then on to Niagara Falls. Honestly, an overly touristy, commercialised commodity used to make power and a hell of a lot of money. The mini-vegas strip aside, the Falls are quite spectacular and no matter how long I looked at them, I found it impossible to encompass how large they really are. We (accidentally) stayed in an old French-family owned Victorian house built in 1893 in the quiet adjacent town of Niagara, with a strange little girl across the street who made a conscious effort to ghost us. Definite upside: sleeping in a double bed and waking up to delicious home-baked muffins. As Ka Ling and Louise departed, Anne, Sam and I hired bikes and rode alongside the river past vineyards and parks, to an equally touristy but undeniable gem of a town called Niagara-on-the-Lake. Fitted with old-fashioned cheese and chocolate stores, small cafes and horses-and-carriages to boot, its like taking a step back in time. We ate cheese in the park, and indulged in free wine tasting at Jackson Triggs winery, particularly well-deserved considering the 45km ride return. I like to think I would have made my parents proud. 

Heading back to Toronto again for a few days, we stayed right near Kensington Market, stoked on fresh food shops, cheap sangria (Templeton's) and good coffee (Jimmy's) in the sun.

I am also lucky enough to know a great Dutchman called Filipp, who happens to have connections everywhere, and his roommate Albert, who offered me a joy flight in a little Cessna plane over Toronto. We flew to 2400ft in this 4-seater vessel, in windy yet gloriously sunny conditions, and were able to take in how ridiculously huge Toronto is. Watching Albert and his pilot friend Gabe talk so passionately about the freedom of flying and the dedication it takes to pursue such a career was enlightening, and I completely understood how small it makes the rest of the world seem. There are absolutely no hassles or concerns when up in the air. Except for maybe the slim possibility of crashing. 

Not a bad way to begin my trip, not bad at all. 

Spring changes people. It really does. 

Montreal has finally rid itself of a five month freeze and evolved out of an era of tiny faces hidden behind manes of fur and dark winter coats, and awoken to a dawn of actual shoes, as opposed to thick snow boots, colourful clothes and a literal spring of the step. I've seen pathways and parks that I never knew existed and have actually been able to sit outside in a t-shirt. The blossoms are budding, and terraces are being built. 

The sun is out, and we're very happy about it. I'd forgotten how good it makes you feel. 

As the spring marks the return of all things wonderful, flowery, leafy and warm, this chapter marks a reunion with someone just as exuberant and lovely. Quebec elections and a consequent day off uni (cheers) called for a weekend away and a perfect opportunity to catch up with everyone's favourite Canadian, our long lost loafer kid and merman of the North - Ariel. How incredibly nice it was to see a familiar face, and I can happily say that after almost two years, this dorky crocs-wearing, Beyonce-dancing, skip-down-the-street 23 year old hasn't changed a bit. We've missed you, pal. Just like Montreal, and I, have missed the sun. 

Adopting the role of local tour guide superbly, Ariel showed us that there is far more to the city of Toronto than what many other locals and passersby have reported. It's a vibrant, diverse city that has a little something for just about every one... except for an effective transport system. I thought the old fashioned street cars (trams) were pretty neat though. We walked from the inner city, through one of the most bustling, large, authentic Chinatown's I have yet seen. Next street over, we hit the quaint, hippie, colourful terrace-housed, cafe-lined, vintage-shop full neighbourhood named Kensington Market. Ariel took us into a tribal shop owned by his old mate, who was convinced that Anne, Kara and I were all sisters and plunged our hands into some exotic hand creams, one entitled "Lick me all over." Interesting place, to say the least. We did however return the next afternoon when the sun was gloriously shining, in hope of enjoying a lazy sunday beverage, but an abundant crowd filled the area and proved that if you want to embrace the oncoming summer, you've got to get there early. 

Saturday night consisted of some cheerful reminiscing on college and our lovely friends Down Under, the consumption of beers and enormous burgers, the meeting of a few of Ariel's buddies, and the enjoyment of some crazy Australian music talent - a young lad named Kim Churchill from Merimbula. Australians really love Canada. 

Toronto shaped up even more the next day, greeting us with blaring sunshine, 13 degree temperatures (believe me, that's warm), an old Distillery District featuring excellent coffee and terrace bars, a lovely walk along the harbour front of the city, followed by my first picnic of the season (!!!) in the grounds of the CN Tower. This domain also has the best peanut butter milkshakes known to man, some damn good Thai food, as well as an old castle that overlooks the city. You did good, Toronto. 

The start of the new season also sadly means the end of another. Montreal managed its last sneaky squeeze of winter with a surprise 30cm snowfall last week. I went on my last ski trip last weekend at Tremblant, which despite the slushy snow and impending doom and depression in saying goodbye to skiing, was a perfect end to the season. A stunning bluebird day with my jolly lolly Swedish pal Anna-Karin, followed by an apres-ski with beers on the ski club and a Red Bull freestyle rail competition set up in the middle of the Tremblant Village all made for a pretty excellent Saturday at the end of term. Screw exams, I say. 

The end of term also means coming very close to the end of my time here in Montreal. Only having nine days left in this wonderful city makes me unnervingly sad, so I'm going to go and enjoy it while I still can. 

Conveniently, 'spring' can also be defined as

"to move or jump suddenly or rapidly upward or forward"

When apples are piled up in a crate in the supermarket, which ones do you pick? 

Granny Smith, Royal Gala, Fuji, Red Delicious...? 

I am personally a massive fan of the Pink Lady - a crisp, fresh, succulent handful that crackles each time you bite into its firm surface. Unfortunately, this fine specimen doesn't seem to exist in the Great White North.. In fact, apples are imported from Mexico or California, and don't stay fresh for long. 

So what do you do when you can't find a good Pink Lady? Settle for something else, or go in search of something bigger and better. 

Thus brings us to the tale of a very big apple indeed. That's right - New York City. 

To be honest, I didn't have a lot of expectations when it came to visiting New York. With all the contradictory images and stories you see in film and popular culture - the extremely opulent and spoilt, and then the inconceivably poor and marginalised - I have always been slightly sceptical about what positive or real lifestyles New York actually has to offer. Stepping off an 11 hour train and into the Subway to make our way to the hostel, I found myself presented with these very real, very diverse images that I have been shown my whole life. In the carriage among the daily commuters, were two ladies, considerably prim and proper, laden with bags of shopping. In the same carriage was a man named Anthony, who claimed to be a single father of two children, with no home and no job. He was trying to sell packets of Oreos, stating that any donation or contribution of food and clothing would help. 

Immediately New York made me feel slightly uncomfortable, and quite confused about how I should stand morally in such a conflicting situation. I didn't offer up any money, or any food (I myself was starving) and I'm still left wondering whether I should have. I have seen beggars in many different cities and have been asked for money often in the Metro in Montreal, but this was the first time I have seen poorness and struggle so openly expressed by the sufferer. In a city that claims to have it all. It was like biting into a nice looking apple, and then tasting the worm underneath. 

These impressions aside, it is safe to say that New York is a wonderful, vibrant, intense city that lives up to every stereotype and cliche it has afforded itself. 

I awoke feeling fresh and excited on Tuesday morning. Out the door by 8.30 am, Frances and I walked from our hostel on 103rd street, had a delicious breakfast with a bowl of coffee (my mum would be impressed), and then wandered through Central Park. She enthusiastically pointed out all the important historical buildings and sites to me, as there is a full view of the city from the park, and I skipped and jumped and sang stupid songs because the whole thing was just so damn amazing.

I spent the entire morning moving my head around frantically, just trying to take the expanse of the city in. We walked all the way down Broadway, past enormous sky scrapers, beautiful old department stores, through Times Square, bustling people and crazy traffic, and then down to SoHo, a more artsy hipster neighbourhood in Manhattan. It was an odd mix of couture shops, expensive labels, old buildings and little cafes. In the quieter streets, I was taken by the rows of terrace-like houses all in different colours, with gorgeous iron fire-escapes and stairs. 

Props to it being Restaurant Week in New York, Frances and I enjoyed an incredible three-course meal in a restaurant called The Mercer Kitchen at a much more affordable price than usual. Pretty sure that was the best peanut butter and caramel torte with praline bananas I've ever had. Happy happy camper.

In the afternoon I walked back up to the Rockefeller Centre to see the skyline at sunset. It's not until you get to such a level that you realise HOW BIG the city really is, and even then it is so hard to describe, and impossible to capture on camera. I spent much longer up there than I intended, amazed not only by the view and the changing colours of the sky and city lights, but by the array of languages I heard being spoken by the other spectators. I suddenly felt very small in the grand scheme of things.

Next up: Broadway. I was lucky enough to see two shows during the visit, at an extremely cheap price. The first was 'After Midnight', a show that celebrated Harlem in the 1920s. So much singing and dancing and wonderful colourful costumes. The second show was 'The Book of Mormon', which I won lottery tickets to and almost knocked over a man and the ballot box when my name got called out. $32 tickets instead of at least $200 was exciting enough, but the show itself was every form of hilarity and wit and talent, and I wanted it to never end.

On Wednesday, Sam joined us and we walked down 5th Avenue and then Sam and I did the mandatory viewing of the Statue of Liberty. We took the Staten Island Ferry (free!!) and honestly I was more excited by the sunny weather and being on the water than the statue. After that we found an incredible bagel place. It may well be my first and last proper bagel - don't want anything to spoil the memory of the flavour and density of that fine morsel. 

The highlight for me (aside from the musicals) was definitely going across the bridge to Brooklyn and spending an afternoon there. Not only was it gloriously sunny, but the borough has much more calm than Manhattan, with tidy rows of houses and cafes and more green spaces. Despite the ridiculous price of rent, I would be quite happy living the life of Girls in this pretty district. In the late afternoon sun we walked around the promenade upon the water, went to a classic Brooklyn hipster bar, and then ate pizza and cheesecake in a cute Italian restaurant where we were served by the original founder of the place. Frances' knowledge of cooking scored us Espresso on the house to top it all off.

Despite the cliches, I realised this is why people love New York.