Next Stop — Montréal
It’s always exciting to go somewhere new, somewhere you’ve never seen or experienced before. That feeling in your stomach, the flutter of nerves before you get on the plane. It’s perhaps one of the most addictive feelings — especially to me. There are places that I long for out of comfort and beautiful memories — Paris, for example — but that nervous vibration, that hunger for newness wins (almost) every time.
Morocco was such a place. When we went last year, we immediately fell in love. We had absolutely no idea what to expect, even after hours of research and careful planning. It all went out the window, of course — and our days in Morocco comprise some of the most vividly beautiful memories in my mind. The absolute success of that trip while in the face of near-total unknown has made encountering new places a habit, an addiction.
I’ve never been to Canada. I know, it’s odd (and it’s not quite Morocco). I’ve been many, many other countries — but not the one I could just drive north to. Today, that changes. We’ll be in Montréal for almost four days, starting Friday night.
Montréal has always intrigued me — a fiercely Francophone city, here in North America? A little slice of pseudo-Europe within range of a three-hour flight? I’m in — and I’ve wanted to go for a while. It’s very spur-of-the-moment, something I don’t usually do — but to be honest, I didn’t book a thing. It was all masterminded by Mark and our dear friend Esley.
Spontaneity is not something I’m very good at. I’m much more logistically-inclined — custom Google maps, designed itineraries, planned dinner reservations. While I admit I’ve done a little of each in the short time between booking the trip and well, right now, it’s not to my usual level of fanaticism. I’ve mostly sent pictures of food to Mark and Esley — and stocked up on Lactaid for the poutine I’m surely going to overindulge in, repeatedly. The only thing we have vaguely planned is an event on Sunday night (details in the forthcoming post) and dinner on Friday night — and that’s solely because we’re arriving too late to wander about in chronic indecision.
While our trip to L.A. was a sort of rebirth, this trip is a sort of death in a way — embracing the moment, and letting my perfectionism and fetish for logistics have a weekend off for once. It’s time to embrace wabi-sabi and wander about — living for each blink, each step, each laugh.
And you get to follow along — lucky, lucky you.