First Day in Montreal Recap
Wow. I wish I would have taken the time to write down in half-day increments just how I feel when I have jetlag, so that the next time I have it, I can read what it's like and be like, Oh. Ok. That's why I feel like this. Next time for sure.
This afternoon I left the house FOR NO REASON, no errands to run, no nothing, just because I felt like I had energy and wanted to go to do something. My head was clear and I could like, speak properly. Yay, jetlag is gone! (Until next week...).
Anyway, I was thinking back to my first couple of days in Montreal. I didn't get to write (or take pictures of, which is what I really wanted to do) about my traumatizing salon event. Ok, perhaps traumatizing is a little dramatic.
I booked my hair appointment for the day that we landed, so that I could get my hair colored and cut right away and be done with it. Good idea - in theory. Louis and I got to the airport, sweaty, disoriented, and we hadn't really discussed who was going to do what. He had to get groceries and pick up the girls, so I assumed I would take a taxi to get my hair done and take a cab home.
Louis really thought that I should really consider taking the Metro.
I really thought this was a really bad idea.
We went through a bunch of different scenarios. With each different idea, each of us got more and more annoyed at the other. I'm not so sure we were directly annoyed with the other, as just annoyed that we had to like make any decision while working on ?? hours of sleep and screwed up body clocks.
Somehow the decision got made (I honestly CANNOT remember how) that I would take a taxi there and back.
I'm pretty sure Louis was pretty unimpressed with my princess-ness of not wanting to take the Metro. The idea, in concept, is a good one, but not after travelling ?? hours and having to like, function and exist in a non-zombie like state.
The taxi was $40 CDN to the hair salon. On the way, I called to see if they could get me in a couple of hours earlier, since I was in the area. OH! Now I remember why Louis and I argued, he was telling me to take a taxi to the salon right away, and just hang out in a "really, really cute park" nearby. Um...hang out in a park? Like, by myself? Like, tired and unshowered? Doing what? [I don't think my response was very....friendly.]
Anyway, when I was on the phone with the salon, they told me that they didn't have any record of me booked in that day. WHAT!?!?!!!! I started to sort of freak out and explain my story that I JUST FLEW IN and was like desperate. Somehow, they managed to get me in for a color, and then one of the teachers (upstairs is a salon, downstairs is a salon-school) would stay late and cut my hair.
After settling in, we all figured out that the appointment was for September 4. Except today was September 5. As soon as I heard that, I knew I had booked the wrong day. Even though I have the flight schedules in front of me, I STILL can't figure out how to convert the time going to-from Madagascar. So I had booked in the wrong day. But they wouldn't stop apologizing. I casually mentioned that it might have been my fault and wasn't a problem.....and kept my mouth shut.
Just before I was getting ready to leave, I told the hairdresser that I was going to take a cab to our place, in Ste Therese (30 min drive w/o traffic). She says, "You're brave!". Um...why?? She explained that it would be AT LEAST one hour and very, very expensive.
I'm just sort of starting to understand that we don't live in Montreal and just how difficult it is to get to/from. Especially in rush hour. She goes on to tell me that I should take the Metro. Oh, god. Here we go again. I tell her I don't really want to, and then she goes on and on about how the taxi is going to cost me a gazillion dollars, so... I caved.
That's right. A stranger tells me to take the Metro and I listen to her. Louis tells me and I think he's crazy (he graciously did NOT pull the "I told you so" card afterwards).
As I leave I ask the receptionist for directions. He tells me turn left here, walk five minutes, and you'll see this. I ask him again, and my sleep-deprived brain can't recall anything he said. I asked him to write it down for me. He wrote an entire paragraph - but it was effective since I didn't get lost. I had to ask for directions once, I passed the "super cute park" and then called Louis to ask what train to get on. He told me the name of it, but the reception wasn't great and my French-comprehension over the phone plus jet lag is horrible.
I get inside the hot, sweaty terminal (I'm dressed for 10*C and it's about 27*C) and go up to the counter and tell the guy (in French) what train station I need to get to. However I said it, plus my sweatiness, plus my like, perplexed overwhelmed look, caused Mr. Ticket Salesman to burst into uncontrollable laughter. I started laughing too, but we both stood there until I said, Stop laughing!! And then he pointed to the sign of where I wanted to go. I told him I needed to buy a ticket as well and he printed me out one, trying not to laugh the entire time (I think I said "Monmartre" - which is in Paris, where I needed to got to Montmorency.)
I got on the train and it was standing room only. Ick. Sweaty and gross. Eventually it started to clear out and I got a seat. A Metro employee came around and I assumed I was supposed to show him my ticket.
He tells me in French, "That's not what I asked for. Are you going to Laval?".
I reply, "Uhhhh. uhhh...",
He continues in English, "Do you speak French or English?",
I continue, "Uhhh, uhhh"
(Seriously though, this is the hardest question for me to answer. I get asked all the time and my answer is always something like, "Uhhhh" until they continue in whatever language they feel like and then I speak that language. Or not even, they might speak English to me and I'll respond in French. I am so language confused sometimes.)
So Mr. Trainman kicks me off of the train. He points to something. I figure this is Montmorency so I climb up a gazillion stairs, and then get outside and realize this is not where I want to be. So I go back in, try to get my train ticket to work, but I keep getting an error message from the electronic reader. In my mental state, I can't understand what the error message means. "Billet épuisé". I don't know what "épuisé" means. As soon as I don't know a word, I panic. I'm pretty sure I would know what the word meant under normal conditions - but right now - I can't even take a guess.
I go to the ticket counter and point and make gestures, and he just pushes a button and lets me go through. I really think that I looked that pitiful that he's just like, I don't care if she has a ticket or not, this is not her day.
So I get back on a train, then finally get to Montmorency, where I'm supposed to take a short taxi ride. Which ends up costing $40 CDN, which makes me cringe to think how much a taxi would have cost from downtown MOntreal in traffic!
I start small chit-chat with the taxi driver, who turns out to be like, full on separatist, and is ready to tell me how politics should be conducted, and how the demise of Quebec is due to all of the immigrants and their babies. This goes on for thirty minutes. I nod politely and try to understand what he says (rural Quebec accents CRACK ME UP so while he's rambling on I figured I could try to get some entertainment factor. Rural Quebec accents are such an odd sound to me, sometimes I have to focus on not laughing).
And then, finally, I get home.
I left the airport at 13h00, I get home around 17h00. Yes, hair-doing accounted for a lot of that, but the to and from was the most exhausting.
In conclusion:
This afternoon I left the house FOR NO REASON, no errands to run, no nothing, just because I felt like I had energy and wanted to go to do something. My head was clear and I could like, speak properly. Yay, jetlag is gone! (Until next week...).
Anyway, I was thinking back to my first couple of days in Montreal. I didn't get to write (or take pictures of, which is what I really wanted to do) about my traumatizing salon event. Ok, perhaps traumatizing is a little dramatic.
I booked my hair appointment for the day that we landed, so that I could get my hair colored and cut right away and be done with it. Good idea - in theory. Louis and I got to the airport, sweaty, disoriented, and we hadn't really discussed who was going to do what. He had to get groceries and pick up the girls, so I assumed I would take a taxi to get my hair done and take a cab home.
Louis really thought that I should really consider taking the Metro.
I really thought this was a really bad idea.
We went through a bunch of different scenarios. With each different idea, each of us got more and more annoyed at the other. I'm not so sure we were directly annoyed with the other, as just annoyed that we had to like make any decision while working on ?? hours of sleep and screwed up body clocks.
Somehow the decision got made (I honestly CANNOT remember how) that I would take a taxi there and back.
I'm pretty sure Louis was pretty unimpressed with my princess-ness of not wanting to take the Metro. The idea, in concept, is a good one, but not after travelling ?? hours and having to like, function and exist in a non-zombie like state.
The taxi was $40 CDN to the hair salon. On the way, I called to see if they could get me in a couple of hours earlier, since I was in the area. OH! Now I remember why Louis and I argued, he was telling me to take a taxi to the salon right away, and just hang out in a "really, really cute park" nearby. Um...hang out in a park? Like, by myself? Like, tired and unshowered? Doing what? [I don't think my response was very....friendly.]
Anyway, when I was on the phone with the salon, they told me that they didn't have any record of me booked in that day. WHAT!?!?!!!! I started to sort of freak out and explain my story that I JUST FLEW IN and was like desperate. Somehow, they managed to get me in for a color, and then one of the teachers (upstairs is a salon, downstairs is a salon-school) would stay late and cut my hair.
After settling in, we all figured out that the appointment was for September 4. Except today was September 5. As soon as I heard that, I knew I had booked the wrong day. Even though I have the flight schedules in front of me, I STILL can't figure out how to convert the time going to-from Madagascar. So I had booked in the wrong day. But they wouldn't stop apologizing. I casually mentioned that it might have been my fault and wasn't a problem.....and kept my mouth shut.
Just before I was getting ready to leave, I told the hairdresser that I was going to take a cab to our place, in Ste Therese (30 min drive w/o traffic). She says, "You're brave!". Um...why?? She explained that it would be AT LEAST one hour and very, very expensive.
I'm just sort of starting to understand that we don't live in Montreal and just how difficult it is to get to/from. Especially in rush hour. She goes on to tell me that I should take the Metro. Oh, god. Here we go again. I tell her I don't really want to, and then she goes on and on about how the taxi is going to cost me a gazillion dollars, so... I caved.
That's right. A stranger tells me to take the Metro and I listen to her. Louis tells me and I think he's crazy (he graciously did NOT pull the "I told you so" card afterwards).
As I leave I ask the receptionist for directions. He tells me turn left here, walk five minutes, and you'll see this. I ask him again, and my sleep-deprived brain can't recall anything he said. I asked him to write it down for me. He wrote an entire paragraph - but it was effective since I didn't get lost. I had to ask for directions once, I passed the "super cute park" and then called Louis to ask what train to get on. He told me the name of it, but the reception wasn't great and my French-comprehension over the phone plus jet lag is horrible.
I get inside the hot, sweaty terminal (I'm dressed for 10*C and it's about 27*C) and go up to the counter and tell the guy (in French) what train station I need to get to. However I said it, plus my sweatiness, plus my like, perplexed overwhelmed look, caused Mr. Ticket Salesman to burst into uncontrollable laughter. I started laughing too, but we both stood there until I said, Stop laughing!! And then he pointed to the sign of where I wanted to go. I told him I needed to buy a ticket as well and he printed me out one, trying not to laugh the entire time (I think I said "Monmartre" - which is in Paris, where I needed to got to Montmorency.)
I got on the train and it was standing room only. Ick. Sweaty and gross. Eventually it started to clear out and I got a seat. A Metro employee came around and I assumed I was supposed to show him my ticket.
He tells me in French, "That's not what I asked for. Are you going to Laval?".
I reply, "Uhhhh. uhhh...",
He continues in English, "Do you speak French or English?",
I continue, "Uhhh, uhhh"
(Seriously though, this is the hardest question for me to answer. I get asked all the time and my answer is always something like, "Uhhhh" until they continue in whatever language they feel like and then I speak that language. Or not even, they might speak English to me and I'll respond in French. I am so language confused sometimes.)
So Mr. Trainman kicks me off of the train. He points to something. I figure this is Montmorency so I climb up a gazillion stairs, and then get outside and realize this is not where I want to be. So I go back in, try to get my train ticket to work, but I keep getting an error message from the electronic reader. In my mental state, I can't understand what the error message means. "Billet épuisé". I don't know what "épuisé" means. As soon as I don't know a word, I panic. I'm pretty sure I would know what the word meant under normal conditions - but right now - I can't even take a guess.
I go to the ticket counter and point and make gestures, and he just pushes a button and lets me go through. I really think that I looked that pitiful that he's just like, I don't care if she has a ticket or not, this is not her day.
So I get back on a train, then finally get to Montmorency, where I'm supposed to take a short taxi ride. Which ends up costing $40 CDN, which makes me cringe to think how much a taxi would have cost from downtown MOntreal in traffic!
I start small chit-chat with the taxi driver, who turns out to be like, full on separatist, and is ready to tell me how politics should be conducted, and how the demise of Quebec is due to all of the immigrants and their babies. This goes on for thirty minutes. I nod politely and try to understand what he says (rural Quebec accents CRACK ME UP so while he's rambling on I figured I could try to get some entertainment factor. Rural Quebec accents are such an odd sound to me, sometimes I have to focus on not laughing).
And then, finally, I get home.
I left the airport at 13h00, I get home around 17h00. Yes, hair-doing accounted for a lot of that, but the to and from was the most exhausting.
In conclusion:
- I can (almost) easily travel from Africa to Canada without any problems. I can't say the same thing for taking a train and taxi from Montreal to Ste Therese.
- It would be practical for me to find a salon closer to home. It's most likely that this won't happen and I'll book the appointments next time in the morning when Louis can drive me.
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