"Days 101-107: Montreal": comment by Buster-O

Wed, 7 Sep 2005 03:19:25 PDT

But did you catch the right bus?

"Days 101-107: Montreal" by erik

Sat, 25 Jun 2005 11:31:00 PDT

A VICIOUS, NAIVE and COMPLETELY UNSUBSTANTIATED notion of the roles of women and men has existed deep within our collective consciousness for centuries, or, quite likely, millenia.

This notion depicts men as the barbarian hordes, pillaging and plundering with great ardor and beating of chests, slurping of gruel that leaves dribblets of fat hanging in our beards, knocking of horned helmets, and other behavior that is markedly lacking of the subtle refinements of polite society.

And at the height of our pillaging, amidst the splendor of ravaging a particularly scenic countryside, our warriors seem to fall, one by one. They drop their axes and grog-mugs and disappear, victim of a mysterious, unseen hand:

Women.

Soon the countryside is drowning in the screams of panicked barbachelors, and you can hear the last rallying cries:

HOLD THE LINE, MEN! NEVER GIVE IN!

NEVER SURRENDER!

Then there is quiet. The dust settles. Listen; the plastic click echoes through the valley with a solemn finality. It is the sound of the fanny pack being fastened, full of wet-naps and formula. It is the sound of defeat.

I have asked women if it really is this way, and they have always assured me that such a notion as the one presented above is VICIOUS, NAIVE, and COMPLETELY UNSUBSTANTIATED. Surely I can rest easy, knowing that there are no women guerilla training camps, or none that any woman will admit to me, though I did once hear of a women’s lecture in a packed football stadium, where it was proclaimed that “MEN ARE LIKE BUSES… YOU JUST GOTTA CATCH THE RIGHT ONE!”

I have asked men if it really is this way, and most often I have encountered the same denial, except for those few cases in dark, smokey war-rooms hidden behind grandfather clocks. Here a man will speak of marriage, and with carefully metered words, he will state that “There’s no hurry, you know.” I cannot tell if the tone in his voice is nostalgia or bitterness, but from the glow of his cigar I can make out the shape of a wry grin.

True or not, this (vicious, naive, etc) notion has tumbled around in my head in some nebulous form for some time, and it has played havoc with every one of my relationships and almost-relationships since I entered university, remaining unchallenged for many years. And then I went to Montreal.

day 101

The day started near a pair of metal rails. They hummed under the strain of their fast-approaching load. I stepped aboard, and though I was not there to hear, I suspect they hummed again as I left.

Fate chose to sit a censored guy next to me, and we chatted as the Hudson sped by in the background. He told me stories about his homeland, and when I told him that I was, in fact, visiting a girl in Montreal that I’d met in censored just a month ago, he expressed surprise, of course. But immediately after he launched into extreme fraternizing mode at my mention of Claudia, full of winks, nudges, sly grins, the works.

We reached Montreal that afternoon. Claudia was waiting at the top of the stairs, and I quickly, almost thoughtlessly went through the process of adjusting an old face to new settings. In a way, our conversation began as if we had just continued from where we’d left off in censored. Claudia led me through town and did a wonderful job of explaining the layout, even while apologizing for knowing so little. This is a thing I have noticed that people do: they apologize profusely for lack of knowledge in some area and then proceed to overwhelm you with volumes of information.

We fixed some very tasty sandwiches and walked down to the water to watch France show off their fireworks, part of an annual fireworks competition held in Montreal. I stood next to Claudia as the climax cast strobe shadows all around, and the thunder of explosions reverberated in our chests.

That evening we carefully navigated our way through a protocol of insurmountable importance: we figured out eachother’s music preferences. We shotgunned band names back and forth, with each exchange becoming a bit more excited, along with lots of “Oh oh, you really must listen to THIS.” However, I learned that Claudia really, really likes The Cure.

day 102

Claudia took me out for a lovely picnic in the park. I met a number of her friends and quietly noted how unpretentious yet ridiculously cultured they were. They would say things like, “Oh yes! Well my boyfriend is filming in Dakar right now, so you absolutely should have coffee with him on your way through.” I felt very welcome, even when Claudia’s friend Marilyn said, “No offense,” (of course), “but I think to be called an American [US Citizen] is about the worst thing a person can be called these days.”

Oh, Canadians! If I had a penny for every time I’ve heard that sort of statement, why, I could buy your country.

It was a perfect, sunny, sweltering afternoon, and the only thing missing was a swimming pool, or some kind of appropriate watercooling institution. We got high tech with a hose, and afterwards sat on Claudia’s porch steps and had a wonderful conversation.

That evening we went out for Afghani food, and I accidentally insulted Claudia. Not only did she gracefully provide an avenue for me to remove my foot from my mouth, but took me out for icecream afterwards! We talked late into the night.

day 103

I took some time to explore Montreal, walking down St. Laurent through Chinatown and Old Port. In Old Port I found Montreallers relaxing with their feet in a big city fountain. Everyone here is so laid back! On the way back, I walked up St. Denis and admired all the cafes. Everyone here is so hip!

Claudia took me for a bike ride up a large hill that overlooks the city. From the top we watched the sun set while families clicked pictures and toddlers tumbled around us. I began to really take note of just how accessible everything is here. Everyone bikes or walks, and there are even designated bike lanes throughout the city.

That night I had my first ever poutine. Heaven.

day 104

Claudia gave me a tour of her neurogenetics lab. This place was from the future, with doors that whooshed open and closed, machines that shook solutions for you so no one had to shake them themselves, and space age microscopes with so many buttons that I nearly had a seizure. It was interesting to see Claudia move from room to room and interact with her workmates. She had a quiet command, an elegant self-assuredness to her movements. I could tell this was her element.

That afternoon was a Shakespeare play:

O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray—grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

days 105-107

Montreal Jazz Festival! I met Albenna, another of Claudia’s friends, and every day was full of great food, music, and conversation. But most importantly I learned a few things about Claudia that really impressed me, and now I intend to write a few sentences in praise of her.

First off, Claudia smells nice. This is not really vital to my point, but I thought I’d mention it anyway.

One of the things I noticed when I first stepped into Claudia’s apartment was that the place was arranged very deliberately. In one corner stood her light table, slides, slidemounts, and prints. She kept her camera equipment on a set of shelves nearby. Across stood a small table with her computer. In the same manner, her main living room had shelves full of books with all her favorite authors, great big atlases that she would open on her lap with a resounding thump, and collections of photography. In another corner, her favorite music albums surrounded a small stereo. Her kitchen was arranged in a way that showed a love of cooking and eating, and her bedroom and bathroom were arranged in that way that showed a love of comfortable things and girly things. Each corner of her apartment was a small altar to something that she loved.

By itself this may have been nothing special, but the more I got to know Claudia the more I saw that she didn’t just have a deliberate apartment, but that she lives a deliberate, passionate life. She flies through her days like a rocket, but if one stops her in mid-flight, she can always name the purpose of her every random movement.

At one point, Claudia opened up her giant atlas, and we both studied it on her couch. She said to me, “Well, where shall we go?”

“You told me you like trains. Want to do the Trans-Siberian with me?”

“That would be lovely!”

And so we decided, just like that.

notes comments on Days 101-107: Montreal

"Days 101-107: Montreal": comment by Buster-O

"Days 101-107: Montreal" by erik