Before we proceed, Patey would like to clarify that we were talking about defecating on rapists, and not just defecating. Yes I love montreal.

Is there a criminal on the loose with the same last name as me? TWICE. Two freaking times in a row, the security staff at the airport looked at my boarding pass and then consult this gigantic spreadsheet of names and numbers. A couple of hushes later they turn to me and ask me to go to a corner for a RANDOM security check. Random my ass. How random can consulting a spreadsheet with my name on it be? They then proceeded to fondle through my luggage, my handbag, my cosmetics bag and passed my laptop through a bomb detector. Just when i thought, ok, thats it, now the whole world thinks im a terrorist, they told me they needed to body search me. So here I was, this tiny asian girl, spread eagling in front of a hundred passengers while a strange woman frisks me. If you know me well, ya would know that I have huge issues with personal space especially around strangers. I was trying to resist not punching her in the face. I know they are just doing their job and i respect that, but its the same gut reaction straight guys get when any guy gets too touchy with them. And then after this craziness in the airport, this dodgy guy at the train station tried to chat me up with the line "I want to know how asian girls are like." Are like where? In bed? On a telephone pole? In your closet chopped up with twenty other prostitutes? After having coffee spilt all over my laptop bag, pizza oil roll down my face as you try to balance a slice of pizza, my laptop and a thousand things with two hands while walking, and two connecting flights that took forever to takeoff because there was "a problem with the machine", my mind was having a verbal diarrhea of vulgarities, and this guy just added the cherry to the cream.

But yes, despite all that craziness of today, Montreal/Quebec city was fantabulous. I was so reluctant to leave! I have fallen head over heels with montreal. The french all around me, so much that I sometimes surprise myself when I hear someone speaking in english. I had gotten use to not understanding anything. But yet people speak english and it was so easy to get around. The bustle of St Catherine street contrasted with the majestic somberness of old montreal. The archaic serenity of cathedrals faded in with glassy office buildings, as people, so multicultural that you couldn't tell at one look what their ethnicity was, strolled with a kind of c'est la vie rhythm. Oh and the food. Good ol' meat pies, poutine (fries with gravy and cheese), french crusine, lebanese food, baked croissant with almonds and chocolate, beaver's tail....oh its all so real. So good. And the shopping. Fashion shop after shop after shop, each totally different and designer. Food, fashion and culture. Seriously, what else can a city offer? Oh and to add to that, Montreal has some seriously hot guys. Dark hair, dark eyes, euro fashion, french accent and a wicked sense of humour. Montreal people (what are they called Patey, montrealians? montrealites? i don't know) are morbidly hilarious. The french heritage contributed to the hilarious bit while the english, to the morbid part. I was bursting a stitch at every corner. Every conversation was like a stand up comedy waiting to be staged. It was my idea of a perfect city.

Quebec city however was slightly disappointing. It was beautiful to say the least, the opulent chateau frontiac stood hovering over cobbled stone streets, little brick rows of shops with red/green roofs and cute stone churches. It was a pretty and cozy town, but I couldn't help but felt like it was disneyland with some french culture thrown in. Maybe it was the fortress walls surrounding the city and cutting it off from reality. Or the fact that every street was pristine and poverty-less. Or every other open door was a museum or a souvenir shop. Or the fact that the town is completely dead after 5pm. I couldn't feel the soul of the town, just as I found it hard to find a permanent resident there. But it felt good being completely alone in a foreign place where my nearest friend is 3 hours bus ride away. Good in a "I-miss-home-I-want-my-mommy-I-shall-eat-a-bar-of-chocolate-someone-please-talk-to-me" kind of way. I met Alison, an aussie from sydney who was doing a canada/england backpacking trip, while on a free tour offered by my hostel. Over a dinner of meatpie, beans and a beetroot cake (yeah ya got that, a purple beetroot cake that tasted surprisingly yum), we mused about travelling alone. The thrill of dragging your luggage across town and heaving it up five flights of stairs. The thrill of standing at street corners turning the map around and around and around, and finally finding the place by pure chance. Or the thrill of trying to get a local to understand you. Travelling alone is the thrill of doing it yourself. It is the high you get from conquering a certain fear, a certain weakness, and those hundred little silent pats on the backs you give yourself when you finally did it.

From getting lost through the streets on montreal to some crazy two hours shopping with Patey where we literally sprinted through a suburban mall screaming and hyperventilating, to waiting in the cold for steaming smoked meat sandwiches at Schwatz, to obsessing over gorgeous cathedrals, my trip to montreal and quebec were some of the fastest, craziest and most culture-soaked days I have. I was soaking up everything quebec, from the language, the food, the history, the politics, everything. Patey, you are a fantastic host! Montreal wouldn't have been better if not for you!! Thank you for absolutely everything! I will be back!