CanadaQuebecMontérégieLongueuilParc Walter-Stewart45°31’58” N 73°33’23” W
July 10, 2019 in Canada ⋅ ⛅ 27 °C
Bagelfrühstück im Backpackers, Fahrt zum Parc de la Gatineau, Wanderung um den Pink Lake. 'Chipmonk' heißt Streifenhörnchen. Davon gibt es hier einige. Diese Wanderung ist zum ersten Mal so, wie man sich Kanada vorstellt: Schöne Fotomotive, was die Natur anbetrifft, glasklares Wasser. Nur die Berge fehlen noch. Auf der Wanderung haben wir in den fast zwei Stunden viele Leute getroffen - das war ein wenig so wie am Schlachtensee in Berlin, nur eben in anderen Dimensionen (also natürlich viel größerer See und weniger Leute als in Berlin, aber familiär - alle sind dort, um Natur zu erleben, Tiere zu beobachten, das verbindet, man ist nett zueinander, ist man hier sowieso, was echt guttut...).
Gegen 17 Uhr Weiterfahrt nach Montréal. Leider verstehen die Navidame unseres Autos und ich uns nicht immer so gut, und da ich ja auf die Straße achte und Dirk und Ella eher den Bildschirm des Navis im Auge haben und sehen, wenn ich nicht so ganz richtig abgebogen bin, führt das manchmal zu sehr lustigen Situationen im Auto. Die Fahrt nach Montréal war jedoch sehr anstrengend und ich habe gemerkt, wie deutsch ich doch bin, was das Autofahren anbetrifft. Also ich finde es schon ziemlich gut, wenn sich beim Autofahren alle an die gängigen Regeln halten. Nun kenne ich natürlich vor allem die deutschen Verkehrsregeln und da gilt es, dass man nicht rechts überholt. Eine sinnvolle Regel, wie ich finde. Diese Regel scheint es in Kanada nicht zu geben. Auf der Autobahn ist das anstrengend und beim Einfädeln in den Verkehr auf einer dreispurigen Straße mit zweispurigem Zubringer in einer Großstadt überhaupt nicht lustig. Autofahren in Montréal macht zumindest mir nicht wirklich viel Spaß. Trotzdem sind die Leute auch im Auto rücksichtsvoll und es gibt nicht viele Drängler. Die maximale Geschwindigkeit auf der Autobahn ist 100 km/h, wobei die meisten bis 120 km/h fahren, was dazu führt, dass man mit demselben Tempo auf drei Spuren nebeneinander herfährt - schon merkwürdig, das Ganze.
Abends gegen 20 Uhr waren wir im Hotel Mini in Montréal, im wahrscheinlich kleinsten Hotelzimmer der ganzen Stadt - zwei Doppelstockbetten auf kleinstem Raum und sehr warm, aber sehr zentral gelegen. Gleich hinter dem Hotel ist die Rue Sainte Cathérine, die Ausgehmeile des Viertels, die wir noch besucht haben und auf dem Bürgersteig sitzend bei Live-Musik Nachos auf mexikanische Art zum Abendbrot hatten.Read more
CanadaQuebecMontérégieLongueuilParc Walter-Stewart45°31’58” N 73°33’23” W December 2 in Canada ⋅ ☁️ -1 °C
I woke up at 6am, rolled around and stretched before heading into the kitchen to make my coffee. Warm brew in mug, I walked into the living room and the view outside the balcony window in the dim morning light caught my eye. A first dusting of snow, down Rue Dufresne. A little sparkle ran through my being.
It made me think of Bonn, January 1st 2017, waking up to the dusting of snow in Judith's backyard. Running downstairs in her ugg boots to jump around and play in the white powder, looking up to see her on the balcony screaming at me, "Not the Ugg boots!!"
I thought too of standing in line for a bus in Zurich, amidst a chaos of passengers wanting to get their bags in the bus first, a whole heap of commotion, when ever so gently the white flakes of snow began to fall all around me. I felt like I was in a pocket of stillness, connected to the sky above me, as people fussed and made a racket.
The temperatures are going to be around zero or below this week, steadily making their descent towards the end of the year. It's a bizarre thought, that for the next 4 months it will be perpetually cold.
These last couple of months have been racing by. My life currently consists of studying Thai Massage, working 3 days a week at OM, meal prepping finding time for yoga, finishing up the YTT, completing my Deep Tissue course and experimenting with different ways to move my body in this apartment. I'm trying to relieve some of this tension, trying to build strength and flexibility. I can safely say I've never carried quite this much tension in my life though. Waking up with a sore lower back, shoulders locked, it's all a bit new to me. I'm experiencing the symptoms of city living. It's too much, the body wasn't designed to live like this, and I certainly wasn't made for it.
It's a strange little season of life I feel. I reflected earlier on how I've been feeling limited in various ways here. I don't have the time or the money right now to take on something like horse riding at that riding therapy centre I found, or taking dance lessons as well as renting the studio for hooping, or going dancing/clubbing. I find myself daydreaming (with the help of my new favourite show Heartland) about being out in wide open nature, riding horses, being free of all the pressures of compressed human society.
And yet, I had a word with myself in the kitchen, did I come to Montreal to feel sorry for myself? Or to spend my days wishing I was somewhere else? Kahure. I came here to learn, and I am indeed learning. I notice every day how my practice of massage therapy grows, how my practice in general evolves, in terms of movement, in terms of study, applying myself, broadening my capacity to learn effectively again. All whilst navigating the deeply hidden turmoils I find contained within me still, about Steven, about family, about my identity. I think I've been avoiding big feelings, moments that shake up my worldview, that bring my entire being with full force into this moment. My brain feels stuffy, cloudy much of the time.
I cherish my growing friendship with Kim. Speaking with her is like a channel of light and understanding from one kindred spirit to another. I'm so grateful for our conversations and ability to share so much in terms of the work we do, and where we want to take it.
I confess I do stress, about my relationship with Dylan. I wonder at times about how it will affect me in terms of the work I know I need to bring to life. As I write this I realise, the point, the point! is that no one, no man, no anything should be able to come between myself and my purpose. Right now he's not even here, and how could I subtly blame him for anything that holds me back. That's all me. All me. That is my challenge at the minute, to show up with heart, with honesty, in all aspects of my life. And that self-compassion, particularly as I see my summer looks fading into the winter layers.
And yet, nothing changes how I yearn for the ocean, for the open sky, for the sunsets and green forests of home. I also yearn for the feeling of lightness and strength, dancing flow in my body, and a sense of being truly connected to the here and now.Read more
CanadaQuebecMontérégieLongueuilParc Walter-Stewart45°31’58” N 73°33’23” W October 23 in Canada ⋅ ☁️ 23 °C
It's been on my mind for a while to go deeper in the next post I write, reflecting more on the internal landscape of my experience so far here in the Paris of North America.
Ponderings and observations in particular about what spirituality really means to me, and what I've been thinking about that's important to me recently.
The thoughts for this post began a while ago, while I was staying at the studio on Rue Berri. It had been a rainy day, and I was feeling the blues up there in the south tower of the "ilotapparts" building, so naturally I comforted myself with cigarettes, and making up excuses for when I wanted to make the journey down the elevator to go and smoke one on the terrace. I took my headphones with me to listen to a voice message, and made my way into the dingy stairwell which was the only dry area on the terrace. From there I could see out onto the back alley behind the Berru-UQAM metro entrance, where there was a community garden, and in the background the layers of the city stretched.
I had just sat down in the pigeon-shit infested stairwell, mostly out of the rain but not quite out of the wind, and I noticed a group of three people down on the street huddled on cardboard under very narrow eaves of a building. They seemed quite happy all things considered, I noticed them laughing and appeared to be a close group of friends.
When I finished my cigarette I realised I was being called to from down there on the street. The group of three were standing below the stairwell and the guy was asking me how I got up to where I was. At first I felt a little wary, but just looking into their eyes told me they were no threat to me. I told them it's the terrace of an apartment building, and the guy looked surprised as I answered. With a smile he asked, "Are you from the UK?" I laughed and told him New Zealand.
They told me they just needed a spot to get out of the rain for a while. I felt the conditioned part of me saying, they're dangerous, what if you get caught letting them in, what if they don't leave? But the human instinct in me said absolutely, give them what shelter you have to give. So I went downstairs and opened the emergency door for them. The group was the guy, who I learned was half-Jamaican, half-English, and two women who were Cree, from Northern Quebec.
I found myself sitting with them in the stairwell, having easy chats as they took a load off finally out of the miserable weather outside. They offered me a drink from their impressive selection of spirits, which I politely declined. I enjoyed chatting with the women, getting to know a bit about being Cree in Quebec. It was wonderful to share with them that my cousin is in fact Cree, from Manitoba.
After feeling so lonely in the morning in this modern, clean cut apartment building, here I was in a mucky stairwell, having such a nice time with these people. I felt reminded of a spark, a bright streak within my personality of always finding myself in strange but wonderful situations, with new people, never feeling afraid of what might happen, holding my own and being rewarded for it with lovely and authentic connections.
Something had caught their attention in the street. A guy wearing a pink hoodie was stumbling along the street towards the stairwell, hands shoved deeply in his pockets. We couldn't see his face. The Jamaican guy said, "Damn who the fuck is that, look at him walking so suss down there."
Two seconds later he yelled out, "Kevin!!" And the little pink figure stopped and turned to look sharply up at us. Of course his name was Kevin.
So the newest addition to the stairwell clumsily made his way up, barely making it through a sentence he attempted, and I was genuinely concerned watching him take each step. He was very inebriated. But once again, I knew intuitively, harmless. Just a really fucked up dude called Kevin.
We all got to talking about music, and I told them about my song. Jamaica chucked it on his phone and the opening seconds that I know so well started playing in that cosy stairwell. Jamaica looked super excited and looked at Kevin saying, "Ohh man who does this sound like?!" Without missing a beat, Kevin just said, "Nelly" and I lost it laughing. He gave a very stoned laugh in return and after about a minute of listening to it, Jamaica decided he was going to be selfish and listen to it on his headphones instead.
Eventually I felt ready to head back upstairs. I was so glad to have met them, especially the Cree women. I found myself thinking of what I could give them, when I got back upstairs. I got some muesli bars together, some ointment for their sore feet from walking for days, and a power bank to charge phones. When I made it back to the stairwell they were gone. It was quite something to recognise what a gift they'd been to me that day.
Beyond that, sharing my music that way, felt like the thing that really mattered. It makes me happy knowing they've got that with them wherever.
So my reflections. I felt ashamed at my woeful loneliness from earlier, in the luxurious studio that had everything I could possibly need. It certainly brought a much needed dose of perspective. And yet, it wasn't like a 'look at those poor people and how little they have and how much I have' kind of moment. It was, 'look at those friends having a laugh and a drink together, helping each other get by through the toughest shit, and being open to hang out with someone like me, from up there in the apartment block' kind of realisation.
The essence of me would rather have the essence of what they have, the simplicity, the friendship, the making up each day as you go along, though of course I do not envy the circumstances, and am wildly grateful for the lifestyle I can afford. But it showed me what I miss, being in a place like that alone. As productive as I can be, and I do enjoy solitude, they brought a lightning bolt of raw authenticity into my life when I really needed the reminder.
I thought so much about the poison of social conditioning, that teaches you to be afraid of people with less advantage. Beyond that, the social conditioning that gets a hold of you to look and act and dress a certain way, and the hippie in me strays further from grasp as I unconsciously behave. I think that's part of why I smoke. It keeps me connected to this part of me. A bit of a conundrum this one is.Read more
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Parc Walter-Stewart
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