LAISSE LES ALLER

"C'est une de ces journées où tu as juste envie de pleurer, sans savoir pourquoi, sans explications logiques. Comme si tu pleurais simplement pour ceux qui n'y arrives plus ou pour ces personnes qui meurent sans une larme pour eux. Peut-être même est-ce seulement que tu partages la douleur d'autres que toi, des gens que tu ne connais pas, ne connaîtra jamais.

Ton cœur palpite comme un fou, tes yeux s'embrouillent, la gorge te brûle. Tu pensais que tu serais mieux seule, mais maintenant que c'est ta réalité, tout ce dont tu aurais envie c'est qu'on te serre fort, très fort. Et pourtant, quand on t'approches, quand on te touches, tout est statique.

On dit que les gens déprimés rient plus fort que les autres."

RESTLESS

How do I feel?


Restless nights,
let me go to sleep,
let me rest my head,
stop it from spinning.

Everything spins and
nothing moves - All at once.

Then, in this bed, in this room, I can't sleep.
I just want to be left alone,
and held tight - All at once.

How do I feel...

A DAY IN HALIBURTON

It wasn't all that chilly, but anywhere the sun didn't show its blissful and warm rays the wind made us shiver. And so there we were, like penguins, bundled up together where the sunshine was still visible on the dock. The last warm weekend of the summer and I was finally enjoying it like its meant to be.

That afternoon, we left the cottage behind and took the boat and canoe to a tiny piece of land they call Ghost Island. Appropriately named as this island was nothing more than a few meters long and was barely noticeable. Long enough, though, to lie down on its flat rocks in the sun, go rock skipping and have an inukshuk building contest. I don't recall if there was a winner though mine was the biggest of them. As we left the island, I could still see it standing tall with its tiny feather on top. Though there was an engine on our modest vessel, none of us knew how to use it. Now that I think about it, it wouldn't have made a big difference as it was in such a state of disrepair. The two others in the canoe got back before us and we spent a good amount of time trying to take the engine out of the water. We did succeed, eventually.

Later on, the bravest of us jumped in the freezing water of the lake as the others kept busy preparing the supper. The food was excellent and with my stomach pleasantly full I lied down on one of the beds as they were getting ready to play games. One of them played guitar and I closed my eyes for a while, listening to him.

The cottage was located near the shore, rustic and kept to a bare minimum, which I loved. It was down a hill, surrounded by trees in such a way that the sun could barely make it through, making it cold inside. Something that, I thought, must have been perfect during summer time. It had a nice wood stove and once we started the fire at dawn the warmth of it quickly made it cozy and relaxing. We did have a bonfire outside later that night where we shared stories and marshmallows. It was barely midnight when I left them to go back inside. Truthfully, I was a little sick and all I wanted at that moment was to bundle up in blankets and have my feet warmed up by the heat of the fire. I hadn't slept so peacefully in months.

When I woke up the next morning, I was amazed by the fact that out of 7 people none of us snored. Slowly, we woke up. Slowly, we rekindled the fire. As I did the dishes from last evening, one of us made coffee as someone else prepared breakfast. Soon, the entire cottage was filled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and crepes.

Three of us went on our own little adventure later that day. I was at the front of the canoe, paddling away with a huge smile on my face and most definitely glad we left the boat and its unreliable engine behind. We stepped off the canoe momentarily to drink a beer and dip our feet in the lake. It didn't last long, yet it seemed like it washed away most of my troubles with so much ease.

We left early that afternoon, just after lunch and a nap. We stopped for ice cream on the drive back, with a spectacular sunset on the background and a bloody moon later on.

Though my time there was short, I appreciated every second of it. 
I hope I'll get to go back there someday.

SAN FRANCISCO, JULY 2015

''I left my heart in San Francisco''

- John Lee Hooker, Frisco blues

Guillaume

Famous Painted Ladies

I didn't really plan on going there. One second I was in Toronto, indecisive, the next morning I was on a plane to San Francisco. There were a few signs, I must say. That song, for one; it kept playing after every safety demonstration while working the 705. Every movie I saw seemed to be happening there also. It just made sense to me to follow my desire to leave for a few days and to make this my destination. I didn't have a plan B.

I wanted to travel cheap, therefore I rented a bed in a dorm. Luckily for me, the bed I rented was the last one available, as everything got booked until the end of the month. Another sign, I thought. I always had a good sense of orientation, therefore arriving at the airport and trying to find my way around wasn't a terrifying task. I managed to find a bus on ground level, which wasn't indicated anywhere, and traveled downtown San Francisco for a mere $2,50.

The weather was nothing but lovely during the 4 days I was there. Though the sun was hot, the hills and tall buildings were creating wind tunnels, making it almost chilly to walk without a jacket or a vest. I didn't have any problems finding my hostel, walking through the unfamiliar streets, the rush of excitement showing in all my movements. I got there around 11, 3 hours before my check in time. Fortunately for me, they had a storage room where we could leave our bags and go wander the city, which I did. I walked all the way down to the wharf where I sat at a coffee shop. While sipping on a refreshing and most welcomed iced coffee, I started talking with an old man who confessed he moved here from Chicago years ago, only to be able to ride is dear Harley more than 3 months a year. Though the conversation went for at least 10 minutes, we never introduced ourselves and I left with that exquisite feeling that this man shared a few memories with me exactly for that reason. It's easy to confess to a stranger; Free therapist-to-go.

The excitement slowly diminished and made place to hunger and the need for a shower so I headed back to the hostel. That second rudimentary need fulfilled, I made my way out once again in hopes to find a nice local restaurant. I obviously chose the wrong way as there was nothing around me but apartment buildings, churches and small convenience stores. I changed my plan and decided to go to a grocery store and make myself supper directly at the hostel, as most hostels have a kitchen for the use of travelers. In the lobby, I saw lists pinned on the wall with different free organised activities. Without thinking, I signed my name on the "pub crawl night" and decided I'd take a nap after supper before meeting time, which was 9 pm.

To be continued [...]

CHILE, JANUARY 2013

Valdivia, Chile

Vina Del Mare, Chile

As much as I loved Chile,

as much as I felt a bit out of place. When the first feeling you have when you get to a new destination (after the excitement) is the feeling that you got ripped off by the taxi driver, it's not all that much what I call a good start. We did our research and after an argument in really poor Spanish we managed to pay almost what we thought to be the right amount.

Nonetheless, we arrived at the hostel with nothing but smiles on our faces and no plans as to what to do with our time there. John sat in the lobby as I was going through pamphlets. One of them caught my eye. Roughly, it was a 10 day trip either north or south and although we had to pay for the expenses and amenities, the guide was responsible to find and reserve the hostels and activities. Since we didn't have much time there (the trip cut short because of John's change of plan), no knowledge of the country and strongly emphasized by the fact that we didn't speak the language either, we opted for that option. When I called to get on the bus which was going south, it had already left and was staying overnight in Pichilemu. I asked them if there was any way we could be picked up somewhere and offered to travel to Chillàn, their next stop, before they made it there. They agreed. With a plan in mind we went for drinks with 2 other fellow adventurers met at Andes hostel and shared wine near the plaza de Armas.

With no cellphones, nothing but a time and a place, we left early the next morning for the bus terminal and managed to get to Chilliàn. Miraculously, once there, the Pachamama bus found us and that's where our adventure really began.

We were 9 of us if I recall correctly. Though I don't remember all the names, some of them stuck with me like Rodriguo, our guide, and Jill, a girl from California who I wish I was still talking to today. 

The memories are vague. I remember Pucòn and Villarica, the volcano that we climbed, the drinks on top of a building after that exhausting day, the BBQ at the hostel where there was only one knife for 20 of us. I remember the cheap wine, the stray dogs and the smells, Valdivia and the sea lions, Puerto Moutt and the alpaca sweaters when it was 20 degrees outside. The little restaurant where we ate, all squeezed together on a pic nic table, and where a man sang for us. The cascades saltos Del Laja, the cold water, the rocks and the laughs, the hot springs. Frutillar and the German architecture, Balduzzi vineyard where I had way too much wine, Santiago when Rodriguo took us to his own home for a night. Vina del Mare... The Ocean. 

I got my camera stolen somewhere between the time we left la casa Roja Hostel and Rodriguo's place, on the train. A real shame that someone would take away something that means nothing to them and everything to the victim. It left a bitter taste in the mouth, I still managed to take a few pictures with my phone afterwards, which is better than nothing.

It was a great experience but... next time I'll go I'll make sure I speaking Spanish. 

STE-LUCIA/SPRING 2015

For my 26th birthday, it was Ste-Lucia with my best friend for 7 days.

Her, me and Pina Coladas.

Enough said.

BIRD'S EYE VIEW/ÎLES-DE-LA-MADELEINE

DÉJA VU

I remember the first time I got dazzled by the spectacular view of cherry trees blooming in the spring. Blossoms filled the air with their delicate scent and there were flowers, flowers as far as the eye could see. My little house, next to an orchard, was a blessing. I could enjoy the show in the comfort of my living room, or doing the dishes, looking through the small window above the sink.
It was peaceful.

Still today I live close to cherry trees, but this time the term "peaceful" takes a whole different meaning. Though the Park is right on the other side of the street, there's a 10 minute walk and hundreds of people between me and the pretty blossoms. Everyone is waiting for their turn under the shade of the branches covered with white and pink. Everyone is dressed as they are going to Sunday church; their clothes are nice and tidy, their hair done, their teeth white, and they all take poses beside the quiet and tall models.

After 4 years of living in a big city I've learnt to share my precious loneliness with others. They don't talk but they are there, constantly in my sight, constantly reminding me that I am never really alone. It doesn't bother me so much anymore.

As I walked back I could see some of the girls barefooted. I guess there's just so much your feet can endure in heels.

A constant smile was following me during my little adventure, different thoughts also, all peaceful. The gloomy faces of Toronto streets disappeared, transformed by the quietness of the Park, the smell of the wild flowers and the new carpet of green grass after a long winter.

How I miss British Colombia.

THE MUSEUM

North American Harvard MK. IV

 "Are you with the school?", she asked.
"No, I'm with "him"", I answered, supposing she knew who I was talking about. I smiled and proceeded to go grab the cup of coffee I just paid for.

I sat down not too far from a table where a bunch of old men were sitting, talking about planes, proudly wearing sweaters and jackets with logos that I couldn't properly identify but supposed it was either reprensenting veterans or the museum, or both. One of them was mumbling so much that I thought he was speaking chinese at first. Though I didn't truly listen to what they were saying as it would have been a bit impolite, the sound of their voices was soothing and I let my thoughts drift away as I looked at, I would shortly discover, a DC-3 that has flown the equivalent of 492 times around the world in mileage.

There is definitly something beyond description about the museum. Though I have an extremely limited knowledge about the evolution of aviation through the years or even the war in general, I can't help myself but to be in complete admiration about it. Walking in there, surrounded by such beautiful machines, designed and re-designed constantly, so much thoughts and efforts, so much devotion for a dream came true; Men can fly. There is much, much more to it than I can see, but I feel it through others, like him, and to my eyes there is nothing more beautiful than this; Passion.

It reminds me of the first time I went to work. As I was walking towards my little airplane, a Dash-8 100, I remember thinking how beautiful it was and how big of a smile I had. The weirdest part being that I don't even know how to fly but it surely doesn't stop me from loving it. Even during the training I was the only one of the group to walk around, touch the aircrafts and ask a thousand questions about them. Maybe one day... I will fly too.

Now, I am sitting here with a coffee but there are no old men telling stories, there are no conqueror of the skies surrounding me, the smell of oil and engines is gone and I am wondering if I will ever go back there again.

UN GRAIN DE RIZ

Il y a eu de la musique, puis plus rien. La seule chose qui semble revenir constamment, ce sont ces crampes au bas de mon ventre pour me rappeler à la réalité. Je pense au petit grain de riz et ça me fait mal. Je réalise que je suis seule et que c'est ma faute si je le suis. Tout est ma faute. Moi et mon incapacité à gérer ce qui me traverse, ce qui me bouleverse.

J'ai murmuré "pardon",
Et j'ai enfin pu pleurer.

MAISON TEMPORAIRE

Si certains se demandaient à quoi ressemble mon chez moi dans le moment, voilà. Ma chambre, mon nid douillet entre deux vols. J'ignore combien de temps je resterai dans celle-ci, j'ai déménagé 5 fois en 3 ans et je ne serais pas surpris de devoir refaire mes valises, encore. Je ne vois pas de menaces à l'horizon ou de changements de plans soudain, mes colocataires sont plaisantes et je ne me fais pas voler ma nourriture... Qui sait.

J'ai trouvé cette chambre in extremis, après m'être fait mettre dehors de la maison où j'habitais précédemment, de février à octobre. Je suis la seule à blâmer malheureusement. J'ai vraiment cru que tout irait bien, qu'on s'entendrait bien lui et moi, qu'on trouverait bien un moyen de faire marcher les choses. L'optimiste en moi s'est fait remettre à sa place quelque part en Septembre, quand il m'a mit dehors parce que j'étais amoureuse de quelqu'un qui n'était pas lui. Au bout du compte les changements qui sont arrivés, quoique précipitamment, étaient pour le mieux.

Maintenant j'ai l'âme en paix, c'est ce qui compte.

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