Thanks to Coble, a bunch of understanding gentlemen at the Hilton, and the fact that only three of the elevators here face the outdoors, I have been able to navigate the two blocks of Montreal necessary for me to do the stuff I need to do.
I wish I were out doing other exciting things, seeing sites, meeting friendly people with French accents, but I promised myself that, if I went up the one escalator I had to go up, I would get some ice cream, come back here and call it a day. I don’t know what else to do, really. The panic is not subsiding and, in fact, I’m struggling to do stuff I can normally do without thinking twice, such as getting in closed in elevators.
So, yeah, it’s stupid, but I just can’t get ahead of it, so I’m just going to take it easy.
Anyway, my Haitian cab driver. He’d never heard the name “Betsy” before. He said that, in Haiti, they have the name “Bethy” and the name “Betty” but he had never heard “Betsy” and thought he might keep it for his daughter, should he have one.
He wants to retire when he’s 50. He has some land in Haiti and he wants to put up a condo on it and spend the summers in Montreal and the winters in Haiti. He told me that he estimates that there are less than 100 Haitians in Nashville and claims he met them all when down there once.
Apparently, I will be spending the next three days standing next to a guy who looks just like the PC from the Mac vs. PC commercials. It’s really all I can do not to pinch his cheeks.
Tiny Cat Pants 
Your cabbie sounds cute, too. But maybe the way to play this is to go out city-seeing and yummy-food-eating right after work, and get a bunch of good fun under your belt and into your stomach (to mix some metaphors pretty revoltingly), so that you’re happy and maybe calmer when you get back to the elevators. It might make them easier to face.
Your cabbie sounds cute, too. But maybe the way to play this is to go out city-seeing and yummy-food-eating right after work, and get a bunch of good fun under your belt and into your stomach (to mix some metaphors pretty revoltingly), so that you’re happy and maybe calmer when you get back to the elevators. It might make them easier to face.
I’m glad things are going better for you.
You talk to your cabbies? I’m thinking that maybe I could trade you elevator rides for talking-to-strangers, and we’d both be better off.
I wondering if the guy looked like the Mac guy, what you would have to keep from pinching…
Ice cream! Fixes just about everything, no?
Oh, a little unsolicited advice. It’s always the under-paid, under appreciated staff that makes or breaks your stay. Get to know a few of them. People like you right away, take advantage of that and show interest in what they do. People love to present. Let them. When you need something, they will usually come thru. I make it a point to to talk to as many employees as possible. Thats half the fun of travel, for me.
Hah, Mack… you sound like my grandparents. And my parents too. And my boyfriend.
It’s good advice, there. My main problem is acute social anxiety disorder (nothing like deciding you don’t really feel like eating because that would mean leaving your house or using the phone! Or, in my case, spending an entire semester subsisting on ramen (snuck during off-hours, naturally, lest you encounter anyone in the hall while preparing it) because there were too many people about and they could see you, particularly the cafeteria).
(Well, that, and a distinct dislike of certain forms of gregariousness. I like friendly people, but I cannot stand people who want to force me into conversation. I hate being cornered, bullied, or forced, and that fully extends to people who can’t take hints or who decide that I’m looking down and that they must therefore monopolize my day or physically obstruct me in order to change my behavior. My personality type seems to attract these people… either because they get a rise out of making me yell, or because they feel like the right reaction to not being engaged as much as they like is to Poke! Harder!)
Chocolate croissants in Montreal taste like heaven. I’ve eaten them at other places, but you just can’t find a bad one up there.
Maybe stick with chocolate & ice cream. But, if you want a beer, I’ve got two places for you. And, the second one could involve meeting some French-speaking guys.
Try Brutopia at 1219 Crescent Street. It’s in the heart of some fun stuff near Concordia. Yummy stuff they make there!
Also try L’Amere a Boire 2049 St. Denis (the name is a funny double entendre that I don’t rememeber). amazing beer, great food, in alnother wonderful part of town. And ask for Benoit. He’s a brewmaster there. We sat with him and his friends for about 8 hours one afternoon just chatting and drinking. My he was cute.
I bet your cab driver could help you out.