Things they don't tell you... II

This time I would like to tell you what I have learned about United-Statians (I refuse to call them Americans), since I have become friends with a few of them here in Quebec. This is not a sweeping generalization, but rather I am stereotyping the ones I have met so far. I apologize.

1. Surprisingly, they aren't all total douchebag losers.

2. Not surprisingly, they have no clue where Saskatchewan is (ALL the Mexicans do, however. They take Canadian history in highschool apparently).

3. Most pretend to understand what winter is going to be like when it gets here. As it gets slowly colder, I realize very few have any idea.

4. When in public, they look around before quietly uttering "communism." Apparently fights break out if you bring it up there. Getting on top of a table and yelling "I love communism!" in Texas likely gets a similar response to yelling "Let's privatize everything!" in Regina.

5. I guess dudes don't dance in nightclubs in the states. They are shocked by the amount of guys hitting the d-floor here.

6. It seems like half the population of the US are vegetarians. I don't know any vegetarian from home, and now I know at least 3. All Americans. I think the Saskatchewan equivalent are "meatatarians."

7. They bitch about produce quality and price in our grocery stores. News flash: A type of apple tree that produces fresh, yummy fruit in -20ºC has yet to be discovered.

8. US-ians are shocked to discover that the "eh?" myth is true. They are also convinced we say "a-boot" and think we say "sorry" weird too.

9. Some American citizens realize that their education system intentionally develops ignorant jerks who assume the USA is the centre of the universe.

Last but not least....

10. They have way too much faith in Barack Obama.

---And they thought they had the first black Head of State...pff---

Sherbrooke 2009: The student life.

Well I finally have a full week of school in now. So I am back in the swing of student life, be it 3000 kilometres from home. The campus is cuter than a Hutterite with an iPhone. This time of year, the trees are a rainbow of colours, which is new to me. Saskatchewan's trees seem to defoliate quite boringly in comparison. The campus slopes downhill, so there is a magnificent stream that begins by running out of the library and then ends in a neat pond at the bottom of the hill. The photo above illustrates part of this neat stream; the glass building in the distance is the "Carrefour d'Information (library)" and the buildings on the left are part of my residence.

I also discovered that no matter where I am, I love to procrastinate. Except instead of creeping on Facebook and watching the Food Network all day, the procrastination takes the form of sleeping. I am sleeping around the clock everynight. Go to bed at midnight; get up at noon. I will blame the changing weather and my extremely uncomfortable bed. The lower quality of sleep means an increased quantity of time in the sack. Makes sense, no?

Living in the apartment style residences in Regina for 3 years, I got quite comfortable to having my own full kitchen. We have a massive, dirty, and ethnically stinky kitchen on our floor which serves about 60-70 other students. Moreover, meal plans are not an option on this campus. Thank goodness I have a fridge in my room! To avoid the kitchen and fast food joints, I originally was making sandwiches and eating produce everyday.

I really love rice, so I bought a 6-cup rice maker and a 10 lb. bag of basmati rice. I know, I sound like "that" asian roommate in residence. But I have got quite experimental with the machine indeed. One meal, I steamed some potatoes in there. The next day, I boiled pasta and fried some polish sausage all in the rice maker, combined them and added some pasta sauce to make a tasty treat.

---My 6-cup rice maker. If you pay more than $20 for one, you are getting financially raped.---

Tonight was the biggest experiment to date. I decided to cook a pound of hamburger in the machine to make burritos. I was a bit nervous. However with the lid on, the meat cooked just as quick as it would in a frying pan. I got my spices mixed in and I even warmed up the torilla shells using a the steam off the cooking beef. So tasty. Tomorrow I plan to make taco salad with the leftovers. Moral of the story: Everybody buy a rice cooker! They are taking the western world by storm! In a family-sized machine, you can cook a full chicken! Faster than a slow cooker!

---Here I am eating the first of 4 burritos out of the rice maker.---

Note to self: when cooking spicy foods and using garlic in your dorm room, close the closet door and open a window. My clothes smell like they belong to a Ukrainian vacationing in Cancun.

Aside from eating and sleeping, I spend a lot of time tidying. I have decided that the smaller the space you live in, the easier it is to replicate the destruction of a tropical storm. So I am always sweeping, doing dishes, and just generally picking up after myself. Maybe if I wasn't such a messy person I wouldn't have to clean so much.

I need to figure out how I can cut down on the cleaning, cooking, and sleeping. You should all be very worried if I ever have time to party.

Things they don't tell you...

Well, I have been in Quebec for a few weeks now and, like with any trip, there have been a few surprises. Some exciting, some not so much. I thought I might take this time to share some of the surprises.

1. Remember Vico? Yeah, it still exists here. It isn't brand-name Vi-co, it is just what the Quebeckers call chocolate milk.

2. Smoking is a quite a bit cheaper here, averaging $9 or $10. Probably should have expected it though, because Lord knows the Francophones like their fags. The Americans I hang out with complain of because they are not 4 bucks a pack; I rejoice because my party smokes aren't fourteen bones a pop.

3. Goodhost iced tea is NOT available here. It breaks my heart. I have searched in every supermarket and grocery store, but apparently the iced tea is not a way of life in Quebec like it is in Saskatchewan. I have had to resort to drinking Kool-Aid, like some Mississippian on Sunday afternoon with a bucket of KFC. But I digress...

4. Cream Soda is not the standard pink or occasional brown here. Crush Cream Soda is all clear, like water or gin. That is stupid, personally. What parent wants a clear, sugary liquid in the house? Chances are it gets spilled everywhere by your 3 year old and it isn't til 2 weeks later, when your toe gets stuck by the dishwasher, that you realized you didn't clean it all up. Clear cream soda - harder to clean off linoleum, but easier to hide on carpet.

5. Cheddar cheese is white. And soft. Eww.

6. Curds. If you think about your average convenience store in Saskatchewan, what is always for sale near the til? Lighters, right? Well, in Quebec, the lighters are pushed over to make way for little individual-sized bags of curds. Yes, gooey, potentially squeaky but delicious curds. Even the book store on campus sells curds! (mind you, it also sells Pabst and wine coolers...) Now I knew they were crazy about poutine down here, but I never expected to see curds on the "don't forget" shelf next to the butane lighters and breath mints. So if you want an individual sack of curds as a souvenir, just let me know. Keep in mind the snobbiest Quebeckers refuse to eat curds more than a day old and they go really bad in about 3 or 4 days.

Well, this entry seems to have covered the basic culinary quirkiness of the province so I will leave you with that. Maybe next time I will share the quirkiness of the people themselves?

Sherbrooke 2009: Hello, walls.

I seemed to dive quite quickly into friendship with the people I made that first week in Sherbrooke. I came across the country with a fresh, open attitude about people, their beliefs, and the according personalities. I figured I should meet some people and maybe learn a thing or two.

So my second weekend in the province, and my first with any friends, we decided to make a trip to one of the oldest cities in North America: Quebec. Elena, Nathan, Michelle and I. We made this decision, but we had to make some plans first. We called EVERY hostel in the city, and they were all booked up. Then were realized we were going into the city on the Labour Day weekend. It was bound to be busy. We got smart and booked a motel room for 2 for $90 (cheaper than 4 hostel rooms) and found us a rental car for $105. We had it made!

We go to pick up the car, and realize we are getting a Dodge CHARGER! Step one: completely fulfilled. We got in the car, discovered a good radio station, found a Tim's for the coffee drinkers along the road, and made it into Quebec to our motel without a single hitch. Even the motel room was stellar, complete with a 27'' flat screen TV mounted on the wall. But it was time to hit the city.

Now that I am a professional public transit patron after spending a week in Sherbrooke, we made it to Old Quebec in no-time. We were told we would find the old city by "walking up some stairs" Hmm. Well I found some stairs, climbed them, and I felt like I was dropped into your stereotypical European village. Rickshaws, fiddle music, and the smell of delicious food intoxicated me like a bottle of dry gin and some sparkling lemonade. Narrow stone streets with colourful buildings and pleasant performers were overwhelmingly delightful.

The swarming streets of the old city was also overwhelming. Thousands upon thousands of people walking the streets, shoulder-to-shoulder. Regardless of how hectic it was, I decided that Quebec is far more friendly than Sherbrooke. Sherbrooke is beautiful and fun, but I didn't find any of those snobby people, all pretentious about speaking French, in Quebec. Maybe as a popular tourist destination, one has to be a bit more tolerant of others.

I'll stop being so verbose and wrap this up with my 3 favourite parts of the trip to the city:

1. The graffiti. Quebec was covered with graffiti. I noticed it a bit in Sherbrooke, but in Quebec, every fifty feet was another scribbling of "Quebec Libre!" (Free Quebec). The separatist forces are stronger than I imagined them to be in 2009. The PM tells us westerners he has patched up the whole "Quebec issue." Maybe not.

2. The walls. I was in disbelief when I was walking on the massive surroundings of the most important buildings in what was once the centre of New France.

3. Cirque de Soleil. We just happened to get off the bus at a stop downtown Saturday evening, to stumble upon a free C de S show. It was way cooler than I ever imagined it to be; a real moving experience.

Well that's it for now folks. Check back if you love me.

Sherbrooke 2009: What la Fak?

Well, good news, ladies and gentlemen: I did eventually get caught up on my sleep. The next bridge I had to cross was trying to make some friends. It was going to be tough, because my any friends I made would have to be willing to speak to me in English.

I was feeling particularly isolated in my 8x12 dorm room the first couple days. I could here franco-ruckus in the hallway frequently. I made a point of leaving to go shower or use the bathroom when I was convinced I wouldn't have to run into someone in the hallway. If I did stumble across someone else, I would give one of those awkward banana smiles, indicating I was not interesting in talking.

On Saturday, I decided to track down one of my fellow exchangees (Ashley from Oregon) that I had contacted by email a couple weeks earlier. Turns out (not by much surprise) that she was as lonely as I was. We met up and went for a little cruise around the campus. We then found another friend (Kathy from Miami) and the three of us caught the bus to the shopping mall. We managed to purchase a few essentials before we were kicked out of the mall at 5:00. The Americans were a bit shocked that a mall might close so early, but I was not surprised at all. Maybe this was a statement to consumer values?

It was on Saturday that I also learned the true value of alcohol. While touring the city, I found that the grocery stores and convenience stores all sell booze. My favourite part was the jumbo bottles of beer that they sell. One litre of your favourite beer, and all in varying strengths! As the photo depicts, 1L of Coors Light runs at $3.79, and something like 8.1% Labatt runs at about five bucks. One lesson I've learned: don't start off the night with the 8.1% Labatt.

Monday morning I got my classes picked for the semester. I am a little bit rattled that don't start classes until the 14th of Septemer. I only have 2 hours of class a day until Thanksgiving, but then I have 6 hours of class until the end of November. For those who never went to university, 6 hours of class in a single day may seem moderate. However, I think any university student will agree that 6 hours a day in a lecture hall is almost as bad as voting Conservative. Just imagine 6 hours a day, 5 days a week! Sweet Jesus. Oh well, I plan to be particularly studious this semester. I figure I came here to learn French, so I better learn it as best I can.

Monday evening is the reason I am here so early. I had to be here for the mandatory Soirée Bienvenue (welcome evening) for all of the exchange students. I thought it was going to be like an orientation of sorts to help us figure out campus and all of the administrative bullshit that I was completely confused about.

Nope.

Instead, it was a bunch of boring speeches which are exponentially boring when you understand one in ten words. But hey, I did get a free pint of beer and met some new friends: Nathan from San Diego, Elena from Portland, and Michele from Austin. And apparently our free alcoholic beverages loosened us all up a bit. We decided to strike up some conversation with some French kids* and then a few of us decided to try a night on the town. Elena seemed to know about this bar called la Fakulté, so we wondered on down there after 4 of us shared 3 jumbo Coors.

Turns out la Fak (as it is happily referred to) is not a pub like we expected, but more like a shaking student nightclub. I was able to order some some drinks with my remedial language skills.: "deux Coors en fût, s'il vous plait... combien?... CINQ dollars!?!" With the ridiculously cheap booze not only in the grocery stores, but the night clubs as well, I will have to watch myself. Puking on oneself is not cool.

After dancing to the exact same tunes I would back at the Moosehead and learning a new French word or two from the locals, we toddled back up to campus and I tucked myself in. I started my trip out very lonely, but now it looked like it might not be so bad.

* French people are people from France. The Québecois do not like to be called French.

Sherbrooke 2009: The moving part.

Well if everyone is not aware, I have taken myself to the Université de Sherbrooke in Sherbrooke, Quebec, for a semester. I am taking an Intensive French Language Course.  I have decided to document my time in La Belle Province on this, my family-friendly titled blog, "Tits on the Radio."  This edition captures the departure and travelling to Sherbrooke.  

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After saying my goodbyes to friends in Regina, I headed off to the airport in Regina with my mom. When it was time for me to go through security, my dear mother began to cry and tell me she was proud of me. Well, that maybe caused me to get a bit moist in the eyes myself. I walked away and knew that I would not be back until December. But it was a pretty good feeling.

I got on the plane in Regina and realized pretty quick it was not going to be pleasant. It maybe sat sixty people and I could tell that the seats were especially narrow. Sure enough, I got sat beside one of those douche-bags who thinks he can make claim to both of the armrests. You know what I am talking about, right? He gave me a look of "don't even try to be friendly," so I just cuddled up to the awkwardly curved window and tried to ignore him. All I could think was "thank the Lord above this is the short leg of the trip."

Eighty fun-filled minutes later, I was in Calgary airport. All I wanted was somewhere I could take a leak. I prowled all the way to the other end of the corridor to find that bathrooms were right back where I came from. Heading towards the bathroom door a quickening pace, blinded by the urge, I entered the facilities. First thing I notice is a lack of urinals, thinking they might be 'round some corner at the back or something. But the second (and most awkward) thing I notice are two thirty-something ladies staring at me through the mirror. Shamefully, I retired towards the door and got the hell out of there. But the case of the missing urinals was solved - I had simply entered the wrong bathroom.

After simultaneously standing and urinating in the bathroom next door (we gents can do that), I moved to the next item on my list of priorities: find a place to stretch out and get some shut-eye. My neighbour on the plane had my nerves wracked enough that sleeping was going to be a bit uncomfortable beside him. Therefore, I was drowsy. After I found a particularly long airport bench to lay down on, I was ready to nap. A man who had spent a bit too much time in the Chili's bar had other ideas. He sat at the bench next to me and decided to strike up a drunken conversation with a younger lady who was fairly unwilling to talk to him. Talk of your loud! He was roaring like John Cole on the horn at 7 AM. I didn't get to nap, but I did learn that he hadn't drank in 2 years and he could not handle the alcohol. Apparently the appeal of drinking alone in an airport Chili's in Calgary was more than he could resist.

Well I eventually was back on the airplane to head for Montréal. This time I was much happier, with an aisle seat and a comfy leather chair. And Air Canada has those convenient personal LCD screens that you can watch. I watched a recording of the CBC National news and found a "Motown Greatest Hits" album on that machine to listen to. I dozed off somewhere during "Please Mr. Postman" and was awoke by the shouting "STOP!" of Diana Ross about an hour later. The rest of the flight was as uneventful, but I was getting increasing nervous about my arrival in Montréal.

Once I got to Montréal and grabbed my baggage, my next challenge would be the public transit system, which would get me from the airport to the hostel where my bus to Sherbrooke was meeting me. Luckily, the lady at the "?" booth was able to tell me what buses to take and where to get on the Metro (the subway). I was still contemplating just getting a taxi to minimize my fears. The $35.00 cab fare to downtown was not as plausible in my mind as the $2.75 for up to two hours of transit use, so I found the bus I needed. I texted a few friends back home about my fear of getting lost in Montréal, so if my body was found in the St. Lawrence River, it would not be a complete shock to everyone. Anyways, three buses, an amazing experience on the Metro (wow- cleaner and faster than I imagined), and a three minute walk to the hostel, I got myself to where I needed to be without catching a single STD.  It is nearing noon and I have still only slept the length of half a Motown compilation album.  I was frightfully dreary.

Turns out I was one of only two Anglos on the charter bus of exchange students headed to study at l'Université de Sherbrooke.  I stuck out like a sore thumb; people avoided sitting with me because I was obviously going to be tough to talk to.  The bus got to Sherbrooke, I found my room, made my bed, and collapsed.  I slept from about 3 until 10 PM, then I sat on my computer for a couple hours before going to bed again until noon the next day.  

Travelling had played me out.  Screw sight seeing; I have 4 months and I needed my rest.

Family Trip IV: The Hoov

After we spent a few days keeping it real on Pender Island, a decision was made to hit up the main land. A trip to Vancouver, if you will. The day was not quite as satisfying as the trip to Victoria. Like a 6th grade teacher, I have put together a report card for the day. A grade of ‘C’ means that portion of the day met expectations.

Ferry Ride. Although it was a painfully early start to the day, the two-and-a-quarter hour ride seemed fairly short and enjoyable. When we got on the ferry, the receptionist from the clinic remembered who I was and was more than chatty. Great, great people, I tell you. This ferry is a bit bigger than one connecting Vancouver Island to Pender, so there were a couple T.V.’s, a gift shop, and a restaurant onboard. Plus the ability to get away from your family when you are at wit’s end makes the trip easier than, well... I’ll let you finish that analogy. C+.

Taxi Ride. Our cabbie was not very interesting and apparently it costs 80 bones to get a lift to downtown Vancouver from the ferry terminal. Why don’t they just bend ya over? D.

Hop-on, Hop-off City Bus Tour. Basically, you can get on and off this bus tour as you please, and buses come to every stop every 45 minutes so you can hop back on. Too bad 2/3’s of the stops were hotels. Doubly crappy was the recorded “tour” we received while the bus driver rammed his was through the downtown. It certainly made me appreciate our tour of Victoria. D-.

Stanley Park and Vancouver Aquarium. First hop-off of the bus tour. I have drove through Stanley Park before, and I was aware it was one of the largest urban parks in North America. Navigating through the park seemed easy by vehicle; on foot, not so much. We spent 10 minutes trying to find mother a bathroom and then we magically happened to stumble across the aquarium. The aquarium was just real, real nice and it was unfortunate the fucking bus tour caused us to rush through. I did have enough time to learn that an otter could one day be my best friend. C.

Capilano Suspension Bridge and Park. I had been here before as well, so I put it into our itinerary for the rest of the family’s sake. I think I enjoyed it more than the other 3. Mom hadn’t dressed properly for the day and was frozen by this point, so she was a bit of a Debbie Downer. Dad (haha) was scared shitless on the suspension bridge; I haven’t seen him like that since a gondola ride we took the in Rockies about 12 years ago. It is a nice piece bit of rainforest that I would never tire to visit. A.

Taxi Ride. This time, our cabbie was rocking out to some 70s love-making music. He was quite interested in what farming was all about and how a town of 300 people operates. He was the funniest Somalian I have ever met. A+.

Ferry Ride. I couldn't fall asleep. Some woman nudged me just as I was dozing off to help her figure out the password for her iPod. Bitch. F.

Advice for all those going to tour Vancouver for the first time: DON'T do the bus tour. Instead, check out Gas Town and Capilano on your own. If time permits, stop by Stanley Park. Overall rating for the day: C. No better than I expected.

P.S. If in the slim chance Dr. Stephen Kenny is reading this, I saw you coming out of the bathroom at the Vancouver Aquarium.