Honestly, How I was to know? I mean, I’ve heard people say it… and even warned me about it…but, now I know how Canada is really French. Hey, I figured…it’s like America…where we accommodate everyone. (yeah, little laugh there)
Other languages can be difficult for anyone, I’m sure. But French is especially difficult. How about 3.4 km Sud - du - Ste-Angelina-monninor / Rue St. Ellen vers Delasuus / Bol. Rue Ashland ??? Go ahead and find THAT animal on the map, I dare you!
I did finally figure out the whole KM thing about 200 miles (er) Kilometers from Niagara Falls… It was a quick lesson in mathematics and equation solving. I couldn’t believe that petrol (gas) was ONLY 68 cents (Canadian) per Gallon….er…liter. Four liters is just a little bit more than 1 gallon. OH…hell!
Well, then I seemed to remember my stupid car was made in Canada….there has to be some digital way of figuring this out. Well, after fooling around on some of those display prompts on my speedometer… I reset my oil usage meter three times… I finally figured out I could use “other” for measurement! Wow.. my speedometer ran up from 60 to over 100 kph!! And suddenly, I could measure distance to go, liters left in the tank, everything. Technology to the Rescue!!! Yeah!!!
It still didn’t help me out with the road signs, though.
I was thinking I was going to find my hotel sometime around 4p.m. It turned cloudy and rainy and dark suddenly. And driving around in dark, rainy weather in Montreal…where I’m sure there is more construction on the roads than there really are roads. After some 20 (and I’m not joking here) detours around my destination.. I finally found the Lord Berri Motel located on Rue Berri Street (there are approx four of those with different spellings by the way) by 8:00 pm.
The only way I could find the place, was to use my (up until now) psychotic GPS unit. However, I must admit…. The thing performed perfectly, leading me deftly around what I would discover was the Montreal University (no wonder it was so confusing here!)… My room actually faced the “Main University Library”. I know this because I’m sure several of the shocked students got to see me in my birthday suit (there were no shades or drapes on the windows), as I got out of the shower.
Well, I asked about parking and the very well-coffered (Is that REALLY a Rolex you’re wearing?) desk manager informed me, “we’re all filled up on parking tonight.” Okay, then Jeeves ol boy, where do you suggest I park? Up your ass? (I didn’t say it…but I kind of wanted to)… He told me there is “additional parking” next to the hotel…however they charge 35 dollars (Canadian) per day… and the day starts at Midnight. So for the princely sum of 70 dollars I can park my car in a questionable part of the city on an above ground lot until check out time the next day at noon?
Wow…what a scam. But, at this point, what else could I do?
I must say that the parking attendant was very cool though. He laughed when I told him the story (Of course, I don’t think he spoke much English, so maybe he was just laughing at the funny way I pronounce stuff), and only charged me 25 dollars (American), for the whole night.
The hotel room? Well, I felt like I was suddenly stuffed into one of those strange Fellini French Films… all in black and white.. and young people… stick figure girls in short short tight black skirts, long black flowing hair, tiny breasts, and wearing a beret… the men all tall, tanned French men with zero abs, curly black hair and not a clue how to treat another human beings…aka: The woman they were romancing…. inhabiting the whole place… I was very tired, but I was determined to see a little of the city before I conked out.
I walked down the street, and I did find a small jazz club that a lot of people were walking towards. Up some questionable wooden stairs to a small, dingy and badly lit club… the music was really something… drums.. (just a snare, bass drum, one tom, and a lot of high hat)… stand up bass and piano… It was a little richy for my taste. Music a little over my head (beret?)… but again.. it was like watching some 1960’s film.. I nearly expected to see Maynard Krebs (if you were born before Gilligan’s Island, you’ll know who he is) in the corner with his bongos.
I found out that as long as I didn’t speak much, mumbled a lot to myself (I do that anyway), and paid for everything in Canadian money, no one would take a second look at me… I stayed for the better part of an hour… drank some very foul (yet, somehow tasty) French wine… and headed back to the motel room.
And what the heck is the idea that you eat your room service food, and then leave the remainders outside the door on the floor? Is that a French thing… or is that just a human pig thing? Doesn’t anyone think about rats or bugs?
Well, I got very little sleep that night. The noise from the air conditioner (if you could call it that… I would call it the out of tune, not-quite calliope), was not good.. if you shut it off the dingy room smelled of sweat and urine, and the next door neighbors were either having sex…or watching tv… couldn’t tell which, and the French wine was now burbling in my stomach.
I was up and out of there by eight the next morning.. the day started out as rainy and cool…and overcast skies.
I think that Montreal was way outside of my comfort zone. It’s one thing with the Canadian money, and the way the people absolutely HATED us American’s.. but, the language barrier, the non-accommodating traffic signs and the absolute foreign-nation of the place made me VERY happy when I finally crossed over the next day into America.
All this got me thinking of something though: Perhaps there’s a reason we are hated in other countries. You know, it’s not just the eight years of G.W. pushing everyone around like some yehaw cowboy. It’s the way we Americans perceive things too.
I saw a very funny commercial the other day on television with Wanda Sykes. She was playing like she was “the President” in a press conference. One of the reporters asked her is she could prove that she was of “Authentic American Heritage”, she replies; “Of course I’m American! I only speak one language and I REFUSE to learn the metric system!”
I saw plenty of evidence in only my two short days in another country of what has been termed “the ugly American”.. Maybe like everything else we seem to do lately, we’ve gone to extremes on how we treat others in other Countries.
I think I’m going to try and learn another language, or maybe more. It’s really a global world we live in, and by moaning and bitching that we…oh…have to push “English” on the ATM… we belittle ourselves. I’m willing to bet our ancestors did not have a great idea how to speak the native tongue either.
Well.. onward to the Coast!!!
Other languages can be difficult for anyone, I’m sure. But French is especially difficult. How about 3.4 km Sud - du - Ste-Angelina-monninor / Rue St. Ellen vers Delasuus / Bol. Rue Ashland ??? Go ahead and find THAT animal on the map, I dare you!
I did finally figure out the whole KM thing about 200 miles (er) Kilometers from Niagara Falls… It was a quick lesson in mathematics and equation solving. I couldn’t believe that petrol (gas) was ONLY 68 cents (Canadian) per Gallon….er…liter. Four liters is just a little bit more than 1 gallon. OH…hell!
Well, then I seemed to remember my stupid car was made in Canada….there has to be some digital way of figuring this out. Well, after fooling around on some of those display prompts on my speedometer… I reset my oil usage meter three times… I finally figured out I could use “other” for measurement! Wow.. my speedometer ran up from 60 to over 100 kph!! And suddenly, I could measure distance to go, liters left in the tank, everything. Technology to the Rescue!!! Yeah!!!
It still didn’t help me out with the road signs, though.
I was thinking I was going to find my hotel sometime around 4p.m. It turned cloudy and rainy and dark suddenly. And driving around in dark, rainy weather in Montreal…where I’m sure there is more construction on the roads than there really are roads. After some 20 (and I’m not joking here) detours around my destination.. I finally found the Lord Berri Motel located on Rue Berri Street (there are approx four of those with different spellings by the way) by 8:00 pm.
The only way I could find the place, was to use my (up until now) psychotic GPS unit. However, I must admit…. The thing performed perfectly, leading me deftly around what I would discover was the Montreal University (no wonder it was so confusing here!)… My room actually faced the “Main University Library”. I know this because I’m sure several of the shocked students got to see me in my birthday suit (there were no shades or drapes on the windows), as I got out of the shower.
Well, I asked about parking and the very well-coffered (Is that REALLY a Rolex you’re wearing?) desk manager informed me, “we’re all filled up on parking tonight.” Okay, then Jeeves ol boy, where do you suggest I park? Up your ass? (I didn’t say it…but I kind of wanted to)… He told me there is “additional parking” next to the hotel…however they charge 35 dollars (Canadian) per day… and the day starts at Midnight. So for the princely sum of 70 dollars I can park my car in a questionable part of the city on an above ground lot until check out time the next day at noon?
Wow…what a scam. But, at this point, what else could I do?
I must say that the parking attendant was very cool though. He laughed when I told him the story (Of course, I don’t think he spoke much English, so maybe he was just laughing at the funny way I pronounce stuff), and only charged me 25 dollars (American), for the whole night.
The hotel room? Well, I felt like I was suddenly stuffed into one of those strange Fellini French Films… all in black and white.. and young people… stick figure girls in short short tight black skirts, long black flowing hair, tiny breasts, and wearing a beret… the men all tall, tanned French men with zero abs, curly black hair and not a clue how to treat another human beings…aka: The woman they were romancing…. inhabiting the whole place… I was very tired, but I was determined to see a little of the city before I conked out.
I walked down the street, and I did find a small jazz club that a lot of people were walking towards. Up some questionable wooden stairs to a small, dingy and badly lit club… the music was really something… drums.. (just a snare, bass drum, one tom, and a lot of high hat)… stand up bass and piano… It was a little richy for my taste. Music a little over my head (beret?)… but again.. it was like watching some 1960’s film.. I nearly expected to see Maynard Krebs (if you were born before Gilligan’s Island, you’ll know who he is) in the corner with his bongos.
I found out that as long as I didn’t speak much, mumbled a lot to myself (I do that anyway), and paid for everything in Canadian money, no one would take a second look at me… I stayed for the better part of an hour… drank some very foul (yet, somehow tasty) French wine… and headed back to the motel room.
And what the heck is the idea that you eat your room service food, and then leave the remainders outside the door on the floor? Is that a French thing… or is that just a human pig thing? Doesn’t anyone think about rats or bugs?
Well, I got very little sleep that night. The noise from the air conditioner (if you could call it that… I would call it the out of tune, not-quite calliope), was not good.. if you shut it off the dingy room smelled of sweat and urine, and the next door neighbors were either having sex…or watching tv… couldn’t tell which, and the French wine was now burbling in my stomach.
I was up and out of there by eight the next morning.. the day started out as rainy and cool…and overcast skies.
I think that Montreal was way outside of my comfort zone. It’s one thing with the Canadian money, and the way the people absolutely HATED us American’s.. but, the language barrier, the non-accommodating traffic signs and the absolute foreign-nation of the place made me VERY happy when I finally crossed over the next day into America.
All this got me thinking of something though: Perhaps there’s a reason we are hated in other countries. You know, it’s not just the eight years of G.W. pushing everyone around like some yehaw cowboy. It’s the way we Americans perceive things too.
I saw a very funny commercial the other day on television with Wanda Sykes. She was playing like she was “the President” in a press conference. One of the reporters asked her is she could prove that she was of “Authentic American Heritage”, she replies; “Of course I’m American! I only speak one language and I REFUSE to learn the metric system!”
I saw plenty of evidence in only my two short days in another country of what has been termed “the ugly American”.. Maybe like everything else we seem to do lately, we’ve gone to extremes on how we treat others in other Countries.
I think I’m going to try and learn another language, or maybe more. It’s really a global world we live in, and by moaning and bitching that we…oh…have to push “English” on the ATM… we belittle ourselves. I’m willing to bet our ancestors did not have a great idea how to speak the native tongue either.
Well.. onward to the Coast!!!
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