Chapter 77 – Breaking the bank (Part 1)

July, 2004
This one is sort of a past story, but it seems to provide some entertainment value (and some shock value for some…I suppose depending on your view of me). I like to think I’m pretty easy going about some things, and fairly trusting of people when they say that they are going to do something for me. I trust customer service people, and above all, I try not to make waves…especially with people that have something to hold over me (like my bank account). This story actually begins probably about November of last year…

Having been with Crédit Lyonnais (upon the recommendation of the person in charge of exchange students when I arrived) since January, and despite having a “student account” (I think I’ve mentioned before that students get all kinds of discounts and stuff in France, probably in part due to the fact that most people don’t get their first paying job until after university), I had already reached an important conclusion: banking in France is over-priced. Having had many discussions about this, though, I have learned that apparently interest rates on loans are fixed by the French government, so in defense of the banks (this may be the last time I ever do something so bizarre as defend a bank) they make less on loans, which means that they need to gouge clients in other ways (that’s a good defense, right?). I have also since realized that the 4.50euros for the privilege of having an account is actually only every 3 or 4 months, rather than every month. This, by the way, is the student rate.

So anyway, late last year, I decided to get internet access to my bank account, so that I could keep an eye on things, and know when it was safe to send money to my Canadian lines of credit, and get this student debt paid off. When I asked at the “accueil” (reception, where most such things are dealt with), I remember being really surprised that it was 7 euros a month (no, I’m not kidding) but that it would be only 3.50 (oh gee, is that all) since I have a student account. I was surprised that I had to pay at all…especially thinking back to my good old PC account in Canada. But no, she said, I was already getting a “deal” at half price. Riiiight. So I signed up anyway, resigned to the irritation of the cost of banking in France. Let’s put this story on the back burner, and look at the more recent, more significant, problem I had…

Canada Day was tight, when I unexpectedly received a 210 euro electricity bill for my old apartment. My previous bills had been around 20 euros, so I was more than a little surprised, and definitely wouldn’t have the money (even had the 240 euro rent payment not been sent off) since money was already going to be very tight for the month (in reality…I probably couldn’t have swung it in any case since I had not yet been paid for my week at Sainte Marie). I called Michel (my boss at Sainte Marie) who was extremely obliging. He offered to advance not 200, but 400 euros from my pay, however he was on his way out the door for the weekend, but since I was desperate, arranged for Jérôme to make the delivery, thus saving my butt. I headed into town, and deposited the money right away.

On the morning of July 2nd, I checked my account to make sure that the 400 euros were in my account, only to discover that the automatic payment to my old landlord, which I had cancelled June 18th had, indeed, gone out on the 1st. I was particularly irritated since I had made sure that I was not making the request too late, and that nothing would be sent on July 1st. I had been assured that it was cancelled, and given a signed sheet to confirm.

I called my old landlord, leaving a message telling him that I had a problem, but not elaborating. I then went straight to the bank, confirmation in hand, and told them of the issue. The (same) lady found it odd, but re-cancelled the thing, gave me another signed confirmation, and told me that the money would be back in my account in 3 or 4 days. A few days later, upon checking again, I discovered that not only was the money not back, but they had also charged me for the automatic transaction. Nothing like rubbing a little salt in the wound. (Had the transaction been done as a one-off, it would have cost 3.50; you see why I dislike French banks…apparently if you deposit cheques directly with the teller, you pay something like 7 euros…to deposit a freakin’ cheque!…it’s free if you drop it in a box made just for that inside the bank; they process it later that day in that case).

On the 7th, I went back again, but the reception lady was too busy, so she sent me in to see my actual banker (whom I had never met, because last summer he had replaced the person I’d originally set up the account with, and dealt with for any problems…since reception was always able to do what I needed done; change my address, order cheques, sign me up for services to rip me off…I’d never needed to). He tried to call the person in charge of such things, but they were on “congé” (a day of holiday). He promised to try again the following day, but also said that such transactions take closer to “8 jours” (the bizarre French way of denoting a week; 15 jours is 2 weeks…go figure). Already I’m sure I was straining our previously non-existent relationship since I was showing up without an appointment (oooooooooooooo).

He suggested I ask my landlord for a cheque, but since the thing was already being processed, I figured that the time and annoyance of doing it (especially since we didn’t know where in the process the reimbursement was) was probably not worth it.

Since the electricity bill wasn’t supposed to come out (it was already on automatic payment, but via the electricity company, so I couldn’t have stopped it regardless) until the 13th, I still had time, but just to be safe, I asked whether my account had overdraft protection. It didn’t, so I set it up, confirming, several times, that if I was to go into overdraft any charges / fees would be reimbursed since it would be the fault of the bank if I went into overdraft. We got things set up, and I got another one of my banker’s limp dead-fish handshakes (shudder) as I left.

Chapter 76 – Breaking in the château

July 22, 2004
As I quietly skip over another entire month, I find myself the day after I finally had a party (albeit a small one). Lynn’s had several small parties, but I figured with my summer departure fast approaching, and the fact that I’ve been here nearly a month, it was time to invite some friends to Château Maximus Force, as we (Lynn “Lynnus Maximus” and I) have so lovingly dubbed this new place which is indeed castle-like (at least relative to the old place). It was just so nice to have people over, and be able to cook and stuff. Altogether we were 15, and those that had not yet seen the place finally realized why I was so excited about it (especially those that had been to my studio, or better still, my room in Bâtiment A last year). I guess I don’t really have a whole lot to say; I didn’t get a lot of photos although I did get at least one good one of Lynn teaching Christophe, Marc and Nico a little Highland Dancing. Did I mention she was Scottish? Is she ever. Wow.

Anyway, I’m off shortly to a bbq at a friends, before attempting to pack it in for an early night…by the time you read this I will probably somewhere over the Atlantic (after an hour-long train ride to Strasbourg, and a three-hour bus ride to Frankfurt…aaah travelling on a budget).

Chapter 75 – And the sieve-like qualities of my memory prevail…

June 23, 2004
Wednesday saw work picking up a little; the empty tables and tents started to fill up, and the “regulars” started to show to make their deals and get out of Sainte-Marie before the flood of people started. People at site 2, though, were already moderately disgruntled that the route from the first site to the second wasn’t directly evident, and that there seemed to be far more buyers at the main site. I was already learning the speech I would need to repeat many times in English and in French, and hear many times in German; the stands at our site were discounted, to account for the fact that it was new, and that we were putting up more and more signs, that we would be making announcements at site 1 once the event officially opened the next day, and that the Saturday and Sunday would see traffic blocked at site 2 (coming into town, you would have to drive past site 2 to get to site 1).

With all the details I’ve remembered so far, it means that a lot have to start slipping through the cracks, so things are getting less detailed…Thursday and Friday saw less traffic at site 2 than at site 1, and more and more complaining, but progressively more customers nonetheless. As promised, the traffic improved dramatically Saturday, however Thursday / Friday are generally wholesalers, and Saturday / Sunday are generally individual customers, so those that sell mostly to wholesalers were still fairly disgruntled. Getting people to pay for their stands was quite the challenge, and we put up with a lot of delay tactics, complaining, and attempted negotiating, but by the end of the weekend we got most of the money in. The complaining and such only led to funnier stories at the restaurant, and the unwinding got more entertaining each day…and the food and wine was equally fantastic every single night. All in all, it was an amazing (and exhausting) experience. We worked at least 12 hours a day, and ate and socialized until at least midnight every night. I finally understand what Michel meant when it told me that it was like a family (aside from the fact that the exhibition itself is a part of his actual family!). When Monday came, we were wiped out…but Marc and I had one more big job to face in Mulhouse: my move.

Of course Marc didn’t have to help, but he did, and I got everything moved a little later than planned (mostly because we left Sainte-Marie late) but quickly enough. You’ve already heard about my landlord not showing, and all the happy news he gave me the following day when I did get to meet up with me.

Since that time, I haven’t done a whole lot, other than settle into my new place, and, as I write this (on Monday, July 19th) I plan my next big trip; I’m heading back to Canada this Friday!

Chapter 74 – First I like a fish dish (that sounds silly) and now this!!!

June 22, 2004
It started (as so many jobs do) with getting to know my team, and my job a little. While I have fully adapted (I think) to “bisous” with people my age, people that are more than a couple of years older or younger is still strange, but this was one place where I would have to get over that. Like I said in my last installment, this group is something of a family. On the other hand, I would also get to be back in the working world, encountering people who would expect a handshake, rather than a kiss on each cheek (which is oddly comforting).

I was to work for exhibitor reception in Eurominéral 2 (a new site a couple hundred metres from the main site, holding some 150 exhibitors, since the main site was over flowing with the 650 that it housed). My partner was Régine, a 40-something trainer at a company in Basel, whose semi-native German nicely set-off my native-English, so that between the two of us, we would (in theory) be able to communicate with all participants (since those that weren’t French were pretty much required to have some level of English in order to sign up to the event in the first place, and while correspondence is no longer sent out in German, there is a significant number of German-speaking participants). François (40-something) was our techie (although he worked at both sites), who helped me get a feel for the rather elaborate Access database that housed all exhibitor info, and how to use it, although I was under strict orders that nobody would accept actual payments except Régine, in order to keep money and balances in check.

Denis and Jérôme were pretty much in charge of the site. Denis (Michel’s 30-something brother) and Jérôme (Michel’s 20-something son) both knew very well what was going on, although some people, like Régine, who has been working there for 13 years, still saw Jérôme as the cute little kid that hung around and helped out, but didn’t take it very seriously (that would change). Despite him being a couple of years younger than me (and since I didn’t know how Régine and company viewed him) I had no trouble deferring to Jérôme with questions. I was thoroughly flattered, actually, when it got to the point where he was asking me questions as often as I was asking him. The boss’ son was a team member like any other.

and soon became a good friend too

Béatrice (40-something) was responsible for the cashier tent for visitors (who would start arriving on the Thursday, so I didn’t see much of her the first couple of days) and had Camille (a local teenager) and … another 30-something local, whose name escapes me, working with her. Béatrice’s son, Lionel, who was in charge of selling the souvenir type stuff would also favour site 2 later in the week.

Tuesday started off relatively quietly; most exhibitors were starting to show up, setting up their tables (for those inside the gym where were) or decorating and setting up their tents (for those outside). A few people paid for their placements up front, but the norm was for us to go around after a day or so, and ask; exhibitors generally pay for their placement in cash, from the proceeds of their sales. We’re talking (at least on our site) 200 to 2000-something euros, paid mostly in 20s (I saw plenty of 50s, some 100s and 200s, and even a couple of 500s, but the stacks of 10s and 20s that changed hands was downright impressive). Tuesday and Wednesday were set-up days, though, after which vans and trucks would no longer be allowed past the gates. Thursday and Friday, when admission is more expensive, is generally reserved for dealers and wholesalers, whereas as Saturday and Sunday sees 75+% of the customer traffic, with people buying less at a time. However, the precedent for allowing people in on Wednesday had been long-established, so people were allowed in (for an admission fee separate from the rest of the event…things I don’t fully understand, this having all been new to me).

With the site closing (and the guard dogs arriving) at 7:00, and not too much balancing of the cash boxes to do, I think we were out by 7:30, and off to another restaurant in a nearby town. I forget what we ate each night, but suffice it to say that we ate like kings at dinner. What I do recall is that this was the night that I got my reputation. Only in the past six months have I started to develop a taste for wine of any kind. The wines one sees most here are whites: Gewurztraminer and Riesling (both Alsatian specialties). To my own surprise, I prefer Riesling (the drier of the two). Gewurz (as I so often hear it called) is more of an apéritif (before dinner) or a dessert wine. As a side note, which I may have mentioned before, the culture of food here goes way beyond quality. First is the apéritif, along with “gâteaux apéritifs” (pretzels, chips; salty stuff basically). Then the meal, in however many courses, then the cheese (although I don’t recall getting cheese during that week, I don’t like much of it anyway, so it wouldn’t stick in my mind) then yoghurt or dessert.

But I digress…at dinner I discovered another white that I quite appreciated; Chardonnay, which my table took great pleasure in serving me until the bottle was finished (and they’d shared about half of it between the five of them). Michel, though not at my table, had never seen me as more than the quiet kid that did his translations – in my defense, though, when eating dinner at the home of the boss you barely know, with him and his wife, you don’t generally act the same as at a meal with 30 other people, where wine is flowing generously – and he was rather amused at the thought that I might be drunk (I wasn’t drunk, I was “joyeuse,” as they say here). I was surprised at how quickly my appreciation of Chardonnay became known (less surprised at how quickly it became known to Jérôme and Béatrice who, while not at my table, worked close enough with me that Denis and Régine were happy to pass on the news. This dinner, like all of them that week, found us heading home after midnight, only to be back at work by 7:30, and working at least 12 hours, before heading back to the same restaurant, for a few more hours of unwinding, amazing food, good conversation, and a good time in general.

Chapter 73 – Big-time exhibition in small-town France

June 21, 2004
My next assignment (which I chose to accept) was working at a mineral exhibition. I was hired as an interpreter (by the guy for whom I’ve been doing translations…of letters for the exhibitors). I had been somewhat apprehensive about the thing being interesting, so when Michel (my boss) asked me if I knew anyone else who could work as an interpreter for one of the exhibitors…in both German and English (as well as French of course) I jumped at the chance to be able to invite a friend, even if our bosses wouldn’t be the same. Unfortunately, my friend Marie-Luise (a German whose English and French are frighteningly impeccable) couldn’t come. When my boss said that German was less important, but English was a necessity (the exhibitor was American, and didn’t speak a word of French), I was able to invite another friend, Marc, who I later found out speaks really good German too…and was able to come along.

We embarked Monday afternoon, although Marc wouldn’t be meeting his boss until the following afternoon, and I wasn’t needed until the morning, so that we could take our time, check the place out, and so Marc would be able to help his boss find his way. It was also important that we weren’t on the road during the France-Switzerland soccer match that was on that night. As we arrived in small-town, mountain-villagey Sainte-Marie-aux-Mines, we spotted a bar that boasted televisions showing the match that night. After a difficult tour around the town, where many streets were already closed in preparation for the event, which had the town-centre completely closed off and covered in tents waiting to be occupied by the 800 some exhibitors arriving over the next few days (apparently preparation takes a few weeks – I can’t say I’d want to be putting up all those tents and tables), we found a place to park, and headed to the gates in the direction of where Michel told me to meet him. The security guards told me that nobody was there. I told them I was looking for Michel, and that he’d said that he was in the theatre. They insisted nobody was there until I told them that I’d just got off the phone with him…then they let us through. I thought they were just messing with me for the fun of it, but this was just a taste of security at this event (even before there was a single precious stone there to be put on display). I would get a second taste of such in the morning, on my way to pick up my badge, when I was reprimanded by another security guard for not already having it.

Michel had told me that room and board were provided for the week for us, and we met with the person that had the keys for the student house where we would be staying. As an aside, I don’t know why there is student housing in Sainte-Marie-aux-Mines, but I’m guessing that the 8 or 9 rooms there were a good indication of the maximum number of students studying there at any point in time! Anyway, we got our stuff up to our rooms, and I unloaded the dress shirts and whatnot into the closet so that they wouldn’t get wrinkled. Michel had said to dress like I usually would, but I thought it would be better to put it up just a touch…after all, there are times when I know that I fully look the part of the North American student. By the time we were settled, it was time to meet for dinner. When the time had been set (7:00) I had asked Michel if the restaurant where we were going had a television, so that we would catch the match after dinner. I figured that Marc and I weren’t the only people that were wondering. He assured me that there was a bar next door to the restaurant that did, so that was fine.

Marc and I hurried up a bit to make it to the restaurant by 7:00…only to be the first people there…of a group of 30…ah yes, French time. It was probably 15 minutes before the next person showed, and from there it was a slow trickle. Michel was one of the last to arrive around 8:00. Ah yes…French time. There was, indeed, a television in the restaurant, but it was not in the room where we had been booked to sit. A few people debated asking if we could move, but in the end those most interested in the match simply moved once we finished dinner. The meal was Backaoffe (pronounced Back-ah-off) au Poisson; very Alsatian. The most traditional recipe sees three types of meat (usually pork, mutton and beef) covered in sliced potatoes and onions and drowned in a white wine (Alsatian white, of course) sauce, then baked in the the oven. This version, as you may have guessed, had three types of fish; salmon…and two others. And for those that know me well, you may be surprised to hear; I quite liked it (pretty impressive since the only fish I generally like is tuna from a can, and I’ve never been potatoes’ biggest fan). It’s definitely a meal for families or groups (and over the course of the week, I would realize that this group is something of a family in itself, that gathers once a year to run this exhibition). So, that was dinner.

Once the backaoffe was finished, several people headed into the other room to watch the match. While out there, the owner of the restaurant actually came around to serve us our desserts (there were two or three options, of which I took the blueberry pie, which was seriously just a ton of blueberries in a crust with some powdered sugar on top; sooooo good). France won 3-1, making dessert that much sweeter…okay, so that statement was a little cheesy, but it came to me…I just had to say it. Anyway, the meal was yet another taste (no pun intended) of what to expect for the week.

The next day’s work would be starting by 7:00 (for most; I was to be there for 7:30, but Marc wasn’t meeting his boss until 1:00 or so), but people comfortably stayed for a digestif (stuff like Bailey’s) before heading back up the hill to our various accommodations. Marc and I went back and watched part of Monty Python and the Holy Grail (I’d brought my computer with me in case of boredom) before calling it a night.

Chapter 72 – Escaping again (after being back less than a week)

May 3, 2004
Just before I’d left for Canada, and mostly while I was there, friends back in Mulhouse had been planning a weekend away in Heidelburg and Frankfurt (Germany) for the weekend after I got back, so I spent much of that week making sure I was ready for the next, so that I could be a part of the trip too. I didn’t have many classes, since my business students (5 of the 10 hours of class I still had at that point) were working on a business simulation (those extra hours were all to be completed the following week though; fun!).

As you might imagine, many details have been long lost to my sieve-like memory, but here goes. We headed off, late as usual, Friday night, for the 2 1/2 hour drive to Heidelberg, where we (Thibault, Delphine, Hervé, Christophe, Nico, Marc and I) were meeting Luc (another friend of theirs), who lives in Heidelberg, so that he could lead us to the hostel where we would be staying. As one might expect, since there were no trains to miss, or airplanes to be hit by lightning, something else had to go wrong; traffic. Our two lanes of the standard-sized four-lane highway were at a stand still for an hour, and when I say stand still, I mean it. There was no inching forward, or constant need of shifting gears. During that hour, we advanced maybe 4 or 5 times, but otherwise we were stopped dead – to the point of people turning off their cars and pacing (or peeing…who’s kidding who) at the side of the highway. When it started moving again, it was very quickly back up to speed (there must have been an accident that had been cleared).

The hostel was fantastic (for anyone planning to be in Heidelberg, remind me to look it up for you) and after a trip downtown to the Hard Rock (and another shot glass for the collection) we took full advantage. Saturday afternoon saw us heading into Frankfurt…and again stopped dead in traffic. This time, when we finally got moving, we saw the source of that half hour or so of stand still; a Corvette that had hit the median, slid across the two lanes, and landed (not unscathed) in the rather deep ditch at the side. Aaahhhh yes; a reminder that no speed limit doesn’t mean no caution is necessary. We stayed in Frankfurt the afternoon, and for our night out (at an 80s bar that had quite an interesting array of patrons) and did a fair bit of time killing, since we had to be at the hostel either before 2:00am, or be locked out until 6:00. With over an hour drive between the cities, we opted for the after 6:00am arrival, unfortunately knowing that we still had to check out by 10:00.

It was a rough morning, especially when, after waiting in a long line of people checking out, they hostel employee was being a total jerk saying that they had not received our deposit (of 90% of the cost) even though she was the very same girl that had told us the night we arrived that they had received it. After a lot of (very expensive) time on Hervé’s cell phone to Luc (whose German was the best of any of us…being that he lives there and all), they finally sorted out, and we reached an important conclusion: people that don’t like foreigners, shouldn’t work in hostels. Hervé’s German was more than sufficient to get us through this, but the girl was just being an ass. We finally escaped, and got back to Mulhouse in reasonably good time.

The last week of school was busy, but uneventful; last classes, exams…oooo except when one of my students yelled at me when she found out that she’d got a bad mark on a presentation, telling me that what I had taught them was a waste of time (her level of English was miles ahead of everyone else in the class, so a good 30% of what I was doing was well below her level, but mostly she was upset cause she didn’t really get away with not coming to class all of second semester). She came to apologise a couple of days later when I finished another exam, but even without the apology, I was rather surprised at how little it had bothered me for her (a student my age, by the way, so a couple of years older than everyone else in the class too) to challenge my authority in front of them. I prepared myself to have to talk to my boss in that department, just in case, but I knew that I wasn’t wrong so I wasn’t that worried.

At the end of the week, my boss in the Applied Foreign Languages and Economics program arranged for a trip to a small town (Eguisheim – pronounced EGG-ee-sime) and a nearby vineyard for a tour of the facilities and, of course, a wine tasting. It was yet another step in my relatively new-found appreciation for wine. It gave me the chance to have a better understanding of what I like (of the two most common wines here: Riesling and Gewurztraminer, I prefer Riesling – the drier of the two…which surprised me; I thought I would prefer sweeter…although reds, in general, are still not my thing). And with that (very cool) trip, I headed into my weeks of virtually nothing to do (except mark exams which I put off until the the last few days before they were due, June 11th) and handle a few more oral exams.

The end of May, and most of June I did virtually nothing other than try not to start packing too soon for my week away (next email) and my move out of my hole…I mean studio. There were several parties to attend; a brunch at a colleague’s in Belfort, followed by the annual FIMU music festival, a day-trip to Europa Park (a theme park in Rust, Germany), an end of year dinner (and pinata) at Libby and Dana’s (aka my then future apartment), Nico’s birthday BBQ, an office party, and another end of year dinner chez one of the professors I work with.

It’s kinda funny how I fit nearly two months into this email…I guess that’s what happens when I write them ages after the fact; so many details just get lost.

Chapter 71 – Our nation’s capital…oooooooooo

April 14, 2004
The bus from Montreal to Ottawa was uneventful, and it’s not the most exciting trip in the world, so the bus driver was rather amused at the fact that I sat in the front seat, and spent the whole trip leaning forward, taking in the view. As we got into Ottawa, I got instructions from him as to the easiest way to Algonquin College (where Cynthia was working) since I’d been unable to give her a definite arrival time, and I was therefore on my own in figuring out how to find her. It was at this point that I really started to miss having a cell phone (I’d considered getting my Canadian one re-activated, since I was gonna be there almost a month, but had mistakenly decided against it). The bus driver was very helpful, and as I made the last leg of the bus journey on the OC (Ottawa…um…public transportation system) I was in awe of if (quite the improvement over Oakville…which, sadly, isn’t _that_ much smaller than Ottawa, considering that Oakville is a suburb of a suburb of Toronto). I made it to Algonquin, spending most of the time squished into the over-crowded bus, and arrived at the campus having no idea where to go. I asked a couple of passing students, who said that they’d been heading that way anyway (according to Cynthia when I got there, they hardly took the most direct route).

Cynthia was nearly done work, so we were soon heading off to be girly; with an unfortunate time limit, since I had a dinner date with my sister (who I hadn’t seen in about a year and a half). Swiss Chalet was sooooooooooooo good (oh, how I’d missed it) and it was great to just sit down with Sasha for the first time in forever. The rest of the week ended up being even busier than I thought, and I barely got to see Cynthia at all. The following night (Thursday) was the “bachelorette” party, Friday; the rehearsal and post-rehearsal dinner, and Saturday; the wedding. One of those nights (I’ve forgotten which) Cynthia and I did manage to head into downtown Ottawa for a drink, but in the end it was just that; _a_ drink. We felt so old and boring when after one short drink (and the purchase of a shot glass to add to my collection) we were both just wanting to go home and sleep.

The wedding…was beautiful. There was the standard pre-wedding chaos before the ceremony, both at Sasha’s house in the morning, then at the church in the early afternoon. Oddly, I feel strange describing the wedding here…I’ll let you guys see for yourself once there’s room on my website for more photos (although I didn’t take too too many). Following the ceremony, and the photos upon photos at the church, we were off to the Crowne Plaza for the reception. In the many trips through the lobby (you had to cross the lobby to get from the parking garage elevators to the building elevators) Anne (my dad’s girlfriend) and I made nice with the bellboy, who actually turned out to be a pretty cool guy. Again, the reception seems sort of intimate and hard to describe here, so forgive me for the lack of detail. Following the reception, Cynthia and I had made plans to go out for a drink, and we invited the bellboy (who was just finishing work as we left). He told us about a bar that he knew of downtown (the Honest Lawyer for those in, or planning to be in, the Ottawa area) so we headed back to Cynthia’s to change, and to pick up a friend of hers, then off to the bar; which, incidentally, was pretty cool.

Sunday morning saw me back at the hotel for brunch with those that were still kicking around, before the drive back to Toronto (where I had a dinner date with my friend, Lesli, and a surprise guest). This was one of the other parts of the trip that I was really excited about; our friend Matt, from England, was on vacation in Toronto, but Lesli didn’t know that yet. I had arranged my dinner date with her weeks before leaving France, just to make sure we could set it up. The initial plan had been for Matt show up as the waiter and see the look on Lesli’s face. First problem with that plan; I talked to her from the car on the way, only to find out that she might have the possibility of getting 2 tickets to a semi-private Aerosmith concert at Research in Motion in Waterloo, where they were celebrating some milestone…so I had to tell her that if we did that, we might need a third ticket, so she knew something was up. In the end that fell through, but since I was still Justy-less, which means Lesli was going to have to pick me (us) up at my dad’s, instead of meeting us at the restaurant (second problem). She was still as surprised, but it wasn’t quite what we’d had in mind in the weeks we’d been planning for it.

I was in Toronto a fair bit that week, showing Matt, and another Matt (a friend visiting from Ottawa) some of the sites, going to the baseball; the usual Toronto-type stuff, so I got my fair share of the GO train into the city (and realized once again just how terrible public transportation in places like Oakville are). The GO train is great, but Oakville Transit, with it’s hourly buses, just doesn’t cut it. Considering the population of Oakville is roughly the same as that of Mulhouse, where there are currently installing a tram system to complement the already intricate bus system, it’s pretty sad. My third, and last, week in Canada saw me sitting in front of the TV a LOT. With no car, and virtually no public transportation, my outings were limited (Oakville was simply not made for those poor souls that don’t have cars). Besides, the few friends of mine still in the Oakville area work, and there was no way I would be able to make it to places like Waterloo without a vehicle. I did get to see a few people (in the evenings) and the Justy did finally get fixed (the day before I left…it figures). Before long, I was back on the plane heading across the ocean for the 2 weeks of school that were left…

Chapter 70 – A trip not working out as planned? Well I never!

April 10, 2004
My plan for the day had been a possible second attempt at surprising Lesli, followed by an early evening departure en route for Montreal. I would stop by to see Sean along the way, and be off again late Sunday morning for the rest of the way to Dave’s. A day or two at Dave’s, a day or two at Ben’s, who had only just moved to Montreal, and who I’d barely seen since maybe second or third year at Laurier. Next I’d be off to Ottawa to see Cynthia, have a dinner date with my sister, and be around for the various needs of a sister in the days before the wedding the following Saturday (April 17th). Sunday I would head back to Toronto for a dinner date with Lesli (and another planned surprise).

My dad’s little tour in the Justy changed things considerably. He confirmed that there was, indeed, something very wrong with the brakes. We took the car into a Speedy, who offered a solution, but an expensive, and not same-day one, meaning the Justy would be heading to my dad’s usual mechanic (still not same day, but otherwise more reasonable and reliable) to get looked at on Monday. So now I was out of transportation to Montreal. Not the end of the world; the Toronto – Montreal trek on Via Rail is probably the most used bit of Canada’s (ahem) elaborate railway network. I was reminded why train travel has never been the Canadian method of choice (aside from the wonderful intricacy of options therein) when the price for a one-way ticket worked out to more than double the price of a ticket from Mulhouse to Paris (roughly the same distance). I checked out flights too, which are about the same price as the train…if booked with more notice. So there it was; I was taking the train, missing my mid-journey stop, leaving Sunday instead of Saturday, and paying a small fortune to do it. On the bright side, it did allow me time to see Neil, a friend from the pre-Laurier, QE days (Queen Elizabeth Park; that renowned high school that has since been scheduled for removal from the public education domain into the world of; “okay, we’ve got the crappy, empty building…now what are we gonna do with it?”)

April 11, 2004
As the delights of public transportation require, I was up fairly early, although not as early as may have been required had my dad not been awesome enough to drive me into Toronto to get the train (trains from Oakville to Toronto are actually not bad at all, but the scheduling would have meant a fair bit of unnecessary mid-trip waiting in Toronto). Along the way, I decided that the guy sitting across from me was definitely European…his pant cuffs and shoes were the giveaway. You may think I’m crazy, but shoes, for starters, have a distinctly different look in Europe, and there’s a bigger trend to rolling up pant cuffs. I debated ways to start conversation to find out, when he ordered a sandwich from the passing trolley, and confirmed my belief…but I couldn’t place the accent (he’d said a whole 5 words, which made it more difficult). I later offered a Lion bar (a chocolate bar made by Nestle which, while it may exist in Canada, I have yet to see it, and which I had brought from France) in part looking for reaction to the brand. Anyway, he accepted it, and offered me half of his sandwich, which I didn’t take, instead taking the opportunity to find out where he was from; Portugal. He asked a bit about places to go, and cities to see on his trip (he had actually planned on going from Toronto to New York, but discovered at the train station that he didn’t have the required documents to travel to the US…ah…yes. All of Europe can open it’s borders to citizens and travellers, but Canada and the US can’t open that one big one).

Anyway, at the train station we parted ways, and I headed off in search of Dave, who was only a few minutes late (better than 3 hours, eh Dave? hehehe…just messing with ya). We went for breakfast (although it was now past 1:00, and I’d been up for hours) at a restaurant whose name I forget. I had aMAZing french toast made with cinnamon brioche (note to self), but spent most of the meal trying to restrain my laughter at the Quebecois accent. It really is as bizarre (once you’re used to a French accent) as French people say it is. It sounds comical; almost as though they don’t really talk that way, but they are all making fun of someone that does. There are only certain words that I can successfully imitate the accent with (to the delight of my French friends and students) and I have now been able to add “un grand jus d’orange” to that list (thanks Dave!). It was a relatively uneventful couple of days, due to weather not fit for a vacation, that kept me hanging out at Dave’s while he was at work, and freezing my butt off when we did manage to do a little tour of Old Montreal.

Ok, so if this had been written for the public domain, I would have been a bit nicer, but since I find my own reaction to the accent amusing, I’m going to leave it. Since then I have readjusted, and would give anything to here a good French Canadian accent a little more often

During this time I’d had a fair bit of trouble getting in touch with Ben, and when I was finally able to head up to see him, time was tight. We had time for dinner and a rented movie, and that was it. He was up early for work, and I was leaving mid-morning for the bus (also highly over-priced) to Ottawa. This lack of car thing was really limiting my time with friends, and I was getting a little frustrated (ahhhh the things we take for granted).