Another weekend of celebrations, and actually a tinge of sadness as I cleared my desk, Jerry Maguire-style (minus the goldfish), and began to pack my life back into the rucksack from whence it came.
I opted for overtime for the last three days of my working week. Incredibly, the task of selling cosmetic surgery consultations is surprisingly fun, and the commission I was racking up made it all the more enjoyable!
After I said my goodbyes to all the MyChoice Medical colleagues, I aimed to make the most of my final weekend in the snowy plains of QC. Saturday morning was spent watching Arsenal scrape a draw against Villa, the afternoon was whiled away by packing up my room, and then I saved the fun for the evening.
I opted for overtime for the last three days of my working week. Incredibly, the task of selling cosmetic surgery consultations is surprisingly fun, and the commission I was racking up made it all the more enjoyable!
After I said my goodbyes to all the MyChoice Medical colleagues, I aimed to make the most of my final weekend in the snowy plains of QC. Saturday morning was spent watching Arsenal scrape a draw against Villa, the afternoon was whiled away by packing up my room, and then I saved the fun for the evening.
Down in Vieux-Montreal, far and away my favourite part of the city, was the second and final week of the Winter Festival. The fireworks began at 8:00pm; Allie, Erica, Marg and I arrived at 7:59pm. It was all tres impressive! Hot chocolate laced with Baileys, marshmallows roasted over the open fire (just like in the Cub Scouts), maple syrup lashed onto the snow (to create syrup lollies), and strange men dressed in ape suits crowd-surfing from the stage (don't ask, I didn't understand the French master of ceremonies and just accepted that this was normal French-Canadian behaviour)!
Also, savoured some more typical French-Canadian cuisine, including my last Poutine in this icy province, and a beaver tail. It has a definite Scottish flavour- it was deep fried- and smothered with banana slices and chocolate sauce. Gorgeous.
Kate, fresh from four whole hours of sleep the night before, came round on Sunday and we were back down to the Old Port. Important things first- hot dog combo. Afterwards, we got ourselves in the queue, amongst the hordes of Spanish, snow-ball throwing toddlers (and their parents). We collected our sleds and got ourselves onto that amazing ice-slide! My coxsix took a battering on the way down, it was so bumpy- plus I was trying to go as fast as possible. It was all over in a second, and we weren't queuing up for another half hour, so we got ourselves a well earned coffee, then continued with the festivities.
Further down the hill, past an overlooking Jacques Cartier (statue), we saw energetic South American women on their tam tams, a kind of bongo drum. We partook in this other strange photo booth thing also, which had strange accessories for us to wear. Kinky feather bowers, jesters hats and sequined, rouge top hats were all at our disposal for the apparently pointless exercise. It was free though, so we took advantage.
Another twinge of sadness once we got back to the apartment, after a gorgeous Boccacino's dinner (and cheap- gladly paid for by the Valentine's Day vouchers I had won). Marg and Allie handed me my leaving present. It was a t-shirt from a snazzy made-to-order t-shirt shop downtown. On the front it has a poutine, of course, and on the back, four numbers that will be immortalised forever- 6767 (Rue St. Denis).
I'm now on borrowed time in Montreal. Technically I am homeless after my lease ran out on the 29th of February. Tomorrow, I will finally go to the Jean Talon market- a place that was mentioned to me after about one day of being here- and then on Tuesday.......travels!
No comments:
Post a Comment