tripping

as we reach Astoria to join Route 101

the fog wraps itself around us

like a big soft blanket

cool on the cheeks

but wonderful

someone has built an elegant stack

on a roadside post

the midday sun has eaten the lovely fog

an abandoned sandcastle at driftwood beach

is our marking point

so we can find the trail out again

more fog

and the night time amusement

reconstructing the dress

that had been intended to stay in Montreal

but didn't

we're back in California now

dinner was dried salmon and bread

followed by peanut butter and buckwheat honey

eaten together with a small spoon

i have a passion for honey

and seek it out wherever i go

the buckwheat honey found at the Pike Street Markets

in Seattle

liquid gold but oh so dark...

the road-trip continues tomorrow

along the old route 1

by the coast

thirty four years since i was last on this road

unlike Montreal

it retains its magic

despite widened roads

and many more buildings than i remember...

à bientôt Quebec

there might be other ways to play with leaves

but

there's no better place than the Panetier du Faubourg

for breakfast in Quebec

only the foolish [or ridiculously disciplined]

could resist the aroma of freshly baked bread

wafting down the Rue StJean at 7am

being neither

we didn't.

the Brioche aux Raisins

is to die/dye for

and we may yet return

to acquire rations

in order to sustain us on the flight out

resuming normal transmission

not roadkill but windfall

a flower from a tuberous begonia

finds its way from the pavement of Quebec

into my pocket

where it meets a nasty end

squashed on to the piece of paper

i have been stitching on my travels

that blue at bottom right

is a result of the kaolin

on the surface of the backing paper

reacting with the red from the begonia

the top layer is gampi

from

the Japanese Paper Place

in Toronto

dreaming of returning to Quebec in the Fall

it's full of maples and aspens

and sourwoods

all magical when muttered over

whilst in the cauldron

blessed are the cheesemakers

The Montrealers have quite a lot to thank the French for, such as brutally claiming Quebec [province] from the original inhabitants, introducing their lilting language, giving the region some quite delightful architecture and establishing the production of cheese. Despite this the Montrealers seem to hate the French even more than they despise Les Americains.

Noted local musician Dan Bigras, playing at the Montreal Jazz Festival, opened his set by enquiring [in English] if there were any Americans present. Three hapless persons in the front row innocently raised their hands, whereupon the great man spent the rest of the evening speaking ever broader Quebecois and making jokes at their expense. Sometimes he switched to picking on the French instead and once or twice had a go at the ‘other’ Canadians. That would be those who are not Quebecois. In between he sang [great voice, terrific range] and expertly played keyboard [again, respect].

I’ve wandered quite a bit in my life and [perhaps foolishly] consider myself a traveller rather than a tourist. In general I travel for work rather than amusement. I’ve slept in places as diverse as an abandoned cowshed in the Swiss Alps, the railway station at Boulogne and on red sand in the wilder bits of Australia, where the trick is to unroll your swag only as you’re getting into it for the night so as to be sure that nothing reptilian [or otherwise] occupies it before you do. I’ve mended mosquito nets at the youth hostel in Suva before turning in for the night and walked down the west coast of Scotland in wild weather hefting a pack. I think it’s fair to say I generally maintain a fairly optimistic outlook and am pretty flexible except where bedbugs are concerned.

I try to become familiar with at least a few words of the local language wherever I go. I find it helps. For example, if you make the effort to speak French in France the locals invariably respond in a friendly fashion. They might find you slightly hilarious but they will be gracious about your massacred attempts to mumble pleasantries.

J’adore la France.

I came to Montreal to revisit what was once home [hey, my brother was born here] but with the exception of the charming young lady serving at the epicerie on Maisoneuve, the lovely people at the Fairmont Bagel bakery and lots of friendly dogs; I encountered nothing but venom and sullen stares from the Montrealers [or are they properly called Montrealists?]. I even tried dressing sedately in jeans and a Tshirt in case my distinctive clothing style was the problem. Same response.

So after some thought here’s my advice to the residents of Montreal. If you want people to continue visiting your city and giving you money to prop up your economy, try at least to pretend that you don’t mind them breathing.

If you want the rest of the whirled to leave you alone why not declare yourselves La Republique de Montreal, close the borders around your town [most of it should be easily defensible, being on an island] and keep the rest of us out. That way you can enjoy yourselves without all those nasty foreigners cluttering up the place. Perhaps you could put a box at the border so those people who like being insulted can just put their money in and listen to a recorded message about how pathetic they [and the rest of the whirled] are and then go away again. Et moi? I can take a hint and have gone somewhere else.

After a short train journey we’ve arrived in Quebec City, which by contrast appears to be full of genial folks who bear with my rusty French, are helpful and actually know how to smile. As opposed to just baring their teeth.

Tomorrow should be a lovely day.

more Montreal musings

best meal in Montreal

spinach salad [with chipotle peanuts, smoked blue cheese, grape tomatoes, goddess dressing and cajun seasoning]

prepared by The Precious

in the helltell icebucket

served in gelato containers saved from SOMA

[in Toronto, go there]

and eaten using nifty stainless steel chopstix

[that double as felting tools]

acquired on Stockton in San Francisco

that's my laptop cover serving as table cloth

wool fragment dyed with

windfalls gathered on the Mo[u]nt

silver and sugar maples

and some oak leaves [not shown]

wrapped around that nice dogspike found in New Orleans

on the tracks down by the Mississippi

here's what we're going to do next

and

pas ce soir, Josephine

it's been a long time since i was last in Montreal

about 27 years if we're counting

i had fond memories

and looked forward to revisiting a few of them

while researching a few other possibilities

and gathering some windfalls

in places i had walked as a child

i had also planned to donate a work

to a Museum here

glowingly billed [on their website]

it took a while to find it

a while being a 5 hour trek aux pieds

made memorable by rude bicyclists

indicating they would cheerfully have hurled us off the Jacques Cartier Bridge

despite that we were being well-behaved and walking on the side reserved for pedestrians

[where les bicyclettes were completely interdit]

clearly things do get flung from the bridge

from time to time

we saw a perambulator in fragments far below

the sort of pieces and splatter pattern that are produced when something

gets on the wrong side of gravity

in conjunction with a very hard surface

we hope the occupant had wings

or a parachute

or had simply outgrown and discarded the chariot

but i digress

here is the museum

charming, n'est ce pas?

[those are little bird houselets hanging on the posts at front]

but perhaps not the place to deposit a frock.

shall give it to the Precious instead

so she can make something of it

and wear it

rather than having it stored in that attic

waiting for visitors who never come

because they are lost on an island in the St Lawrence

or being hurled from a bridge by a passing cyclist

and slipping off topic for a moment

how do we think the inhabitants of

numero 155 Riverside drive [above] felt

when the powers-that-be

ran a freeway interchange

as well as a couple of overhead railway tracks

[couldn't get them all into the picture]

within spitting distance of their once charming cottage

a highlight of the walk was the Habitat building

designed by Moshe Safdie

and being serenaded by some wee black birdies

that had scarlet tufts on their shoulders

contents of the bundle to be revealed later

the textile blog

John Hopper of The Textile Blog has kindly mentioned my work on his pages - it's an honour to be among such illustrious company

do swing by for a visit [make sure you have a few spare hours and a cup of tea]

there are lots of interesting links to follow...

and here's an orphan

found towards the end of the workshop

unclaimed

dyed [so far as i can tell]

using a combination of

purple-leaved Agonis flexuosa

[from the florist's garbage]

a scrap of iron, a maple leaf

and some onion skins

magic

trundling on in Toronto

the delicate hues of the northern flora

strengthen in tone as the bundles are unfolded

and exposed to the air

meanwhile less and less of the communal table top

is visible

as busy hands

cloth/paper/scissors

and many many leaves

begin to drift across the surface

toto in toronto

the workshop in Toronto takes place in the Contemporary Textile Studio

a beautifully set up workroom

looking into trees through two lovely big windows

we're far from the woods

[although there's magic to be found at High Park]

luckily

the local florist is kind

and has delivered much treasure

we have fun with paper, cloth and stitch

and i drool happily over the pages of this book...