Calgary, Winnipeg, Montreal

The drive to the airport was nothing short of terrifying. It was 5:30 am and a snow / sleet storm hit Calgary like a giant fist. For a fleeting moment I was glad that I opted for the 6:30 am flight out of Calgary because in an hour the roads would be impassible.

However, as I hit Deerfoot I instantly recanted my thought: people were in the ditch, there was a prison bus to my right tailgating a minivan and not letting anyone in — it was overly aggressive and out of control. On the left a pickup truck was spinning slush and ice and barely able to stay on the road. People were going 30 and 100 on a road with limited visibility; and, my car performed badly.

My hands were trembling when I finally made it to the airport, parked the car, climbed out and ran for my flight. I don’t know how I got to the airport without getting into an accident. I don’t know how I made my flight. I don’t know how the plane managed to take off; though it was the first time I’d ever seen a procession of snow plows clearing a path on the runway for planes. It seemed very mechanical and science fiction-ish; and, as I watched them proceed in an orderly manner down the runway I sat slightly dazed and intrigued by how surreal it all looked.

Winnipeg came and went; another airport… another run for a flight (in reality I didn’t have to run because Winnipeg’s airport is the size of a matchbox).

Montreal came at me like a gigantic, familiar, sooky blanket; and, when it’s familiar smell hit my nostrils I felt like I’d arrived home. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in Montreal but I haven’t forgotten any of it. I love Rue Sainte-Catherine and Sherbrooke. I love staring up at Mont Royal from the belly of Montreal. I especially love walking amongst the character buildings on Crescent, Bishop and La Montaigne. I barely noticed the wind whipping at my cheeks and through my clothes as I walked up Bishop towards Mont Royal Park / Rue Sherbrooke after a curry meal and bottle of red wine. Where else in Canada could you be served curries in an Indian restaurant by a little Hindu man speaking in a thick Scottish brogue?

I love Montreal.