MMM: Morning Has Broken
Mostly Montreal Monday
Shots and thoughts from my new home of Montreal.
That which occurred to me my first morning as a Montreal resident, presented in a timeline:
Huzzah! No car, no house. My purse just lost four pounds.
City lights, city noise, loud fan and the best night of sleep she’s had in more than a week.
I am glad we are moving to a first floor apartment. I have a toddler.
It was an exhilarating 1.8km walk to Arlo’s school. I am rejuvenated by this urban landscape. Madison ignited in me an appreciation of nature however, so I hope Kris agrees we need a country/mountain/farm/river/lake house. Are you there Kris? It’s me, Lisa.
Walking takes much longer than expected. No time for food or coffee. Balls. Also I’ll never judge another person speeding down the sidewalk staring at their phone while appearing to ignore their kids. That was me all morning paying attention to my map app.
Remembering last night how I was the oldest person in the restaurant by at least 15 years. Because of the long travel day and late bedtimes it was already 9pm while I waited for take-out. WHO EATS AT 9PM?!? The heavily accented, tattooed and pierced, all at the same time and in the same place. That’s who.
Walking is the best. Another 1.8 km! I am going to learn my neighborhood in less than a week!
Holy crap. I just got back and now I have to go pick him up. 1.8km. DRINK WATER DUMMY. I’m going to have to figure out how to bike with these kids once our stuff arrives. I think I can use the alleyways. Why not use the alleyways? Everyone bikes on the street but that terrifies me. Is there something wrong with the alleyways, something … French?
I crack myself up.
First-born retrieved by 11:50am. He too is exhilarated and I am so happy that he is so happy that I hug him and cry. Parenthood.
Everyone is speaking English but it holds true that a greeting followed immediately with a sincere “parlez-vous anglais?” is the best way to get what I need. I SHOULD NOT speak limited French unless I can follow-up. For example, feeling bold, I asked the cafe guy “Excuse-moi, avez-vous les sandwiches?” and he responded. Oh, how he responded. It went on and on. I caught the “Oui” part only. Switching to English at that point was … awkward.
Back to the temporary apartment with grilled cheese and Arlo in hand. That’s 7.2 km (or 4.5 miles for you Americans snooty snoot snoot) by noon. I’m going to eat the hell out of this city. Avez-vous it all?