edensgarden's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Parelz vous Quebcios? or, do you know any French folk songs? Montreal Quebec � March 15th. My sister dropped me off at the Bethlehem airport, and I waited for, what I thought my plane to Newark, would be. Instead, I boarded a shuttle bus and was driven an hour and a half over the New Jersey Interstate to the lovely and less than tropical Newark International Airport. Just as a word to the traveler, the NJ turnpike is very bumpy, to say the least. From there I proceeded to board the smallest airplane that I had ever been aboard. The plane was only 3 seats across! Add to that, the fact that my suit case alone weighed 50 mazillion pounds did not give me the confidence I desire when I travel. ***Eden thinks to herself: �Please, God, I don�t want to die in a plane crash and have Tom Brokaw reporting my death on the Nightly News.�*** We eventually were airborne and on our way to Montreal. I don�t know if I�ve mentioned the reason for my visit to Montreal. My �sister� Denise is currently working on her MA at the University of Montreal. I need to explain the reason I wrote �sister� as such. In the summer of 1991, I was an exchange student in Berlin; I stayed with Denise and her parents. They loved me as if I were there own flesh and blood, and I would have to say that the feeling was and still is mutual in that regard. Denise and I got along so well that in the fall of 1991, she came and lived with my family. Her exchange experience was just as good as mine had been. Consequently we have remained friends all these years. In January I received a belated Christmas card from her informing me that she lived in Montreal. Well, the visit that we�d hoped for was finally planned, and after 11 years finally happening. In the air I had a lot of time to reflect on my life of the past decade. I am not at the place I�d planned to be as a na�ve 18 year old. What would she want to know? What would I tell her? Would we run out of things to talk about? But, this is a topic that could fill volumes� I knew that Montreal would still be in the grips of winter, so I dressed accordingly. I was so excited that I was going to be able to wear my parka and wear my wool scarf and my magic mittens! When I got off the plane I was slapped in the face with the cold � literally. How cold is cold? Damn cold, I tell you! The woman and child who had sat next to me on the plane were not prepared for this. All they kept saying was, �Oh my, we�re from Florida, and it�s so cold here! We�re from Florida!� This same woman and her child were in shock as we went through customs and all that was heard were the French babblings of the customs agents. �Oh my, what is going on here???? I don�t understand them!� I turned to her and said, �They�re speaking French. That�s what they speak in French-Canada, French.� �OH, ok� and she went on her merry way, as if nothing were wrong in the first place. So, after coming through customs I waited for Denise. She wasn�t there to greet me. Five minutes, then 10, then 20 and finally 30; I was worried. �Oh my! I don�t speak French! What am I going to do????? I�m not in the part of Canada where they say �Take off eh?�� Denise eventually found me. What a reunion there in the airport. We hopped in a taxi and sped away. She kept telling me how tired I looked. I was very tired actually. The night before the trip I didn�t sleep very well. But how could I, knowing I was going to go to CANADA. Side note: I have this infatuation with Canada. I don�t know where it came from or why it persists in me. In fact, my old roommate Janey, who is in fact, a real Canadian, made me an Honorary Canadian. She did this because I know all of the words to �Oh, Canada!� I don�t know why I know the words to the Canadian national anthem or why I love Canada, I just do. Once in the big city we headed out to explore. Again I was slapped in the face with the reality that is: COLD ICY RAIN! After which I went right back into the apartment and zipped the hood back onto my parka. I didn�t care if I looked like Randy from the Christmas Story, I didn�t care if I couldn�t put my arms down, my ears needed to be warm. We walked all over town, to the old French Quarter, Chinatown, Little Italy and the English section. Eventually we stopped at a Caf� for warm beverages and conversation. Four hours later we emerged and went to meet her roommates. They were a very drunk bunch of people. It was quite funny. They all were blabbering away �au Quebecios�. Then Philippe looked at me and realized that I had no idea of what was being said. He grabbed a beer and shoved it my way, as sort of a consolation prize. No thanks, but hey �merci� for the thought. Seeing that I wasn�t a drinker, Philippe tried to speak to me in English. I don�t really know what he tried to say, other than he was sorry that he didn�t know English better and that he was sorry that he was so drunk. He continued on by saying that he never had been to the US, but he was sure it was a nice place, oh and did I know any French folk songs? Sorry pal, the only French Canadian music I know is Sister Celine. �And that�s the way it is�� 11:43 p.m. - March 28, 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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