This is part two. Part two includes beautiful things like:
1. Trois-Rivieres
2. Victoriaville
3. Dancing
4. Veganism and the quest for less
5. A day of survival
6. Montreal, round one
7. Musée
Trois Rivieres is 20 minutes from Nicolet and on the way to Nicolet from Montreal in early December we dropped off the TR group at their new home, an apartment above a chinese restaurant. They were previously in Saskatchewan and know how to raise a little hell. We like them. We like their challenges.
Within two weeks of settling in they challenged us to a friendly snowball fight on an idle Saturday, dinner included. It was a great game, not much on the bloodthirsty side of things but competition is healthy at any level. They had to leave early as road conditions were rough and Katima-vans are widely known for their dainty ways of (not) plowing through snow and ice. It's a marvel more of us aren't killed from these things.
We knew their challenges would persist.. they figured they were evenly matched; however, we knew our wit and fitness would outsmart and outrun them.
For New Year's day our program leaders got on the phone and organized a cluster shin dig. In a sort of my-mom-will-call-your-mom way we all knew what was happening, and it was happening in our house.
The Trois-Rivieres group had the seasonally appropriate and brilliantly festive idea to have a Junkyard Wars style competition - a homemade toboggan race. We had preparatory time and a loose set of rules, and although neither of our groups knew our third allied force from a hole in the ground we suspected they may have a certain amount of jazz up their sleeves.
Victoriaville. A group so loud they are quiet, so dynamic they are bored of each other, so exuberant and wild they emulate self confidence and unity, bound together through what may be described as either destiny or the miracle of randomity, we met them on New Year's eve day and they proved more than worthy of stoking our fires. They also had an average height of 5 foot 10".
We spent the day as 30 rambunctious kids in a house of moderate size, playing games, making delicious food, and when outdoors, showing them around our petite ville. They fit in nicely.
I'm doing this thing where I upload photos. It seems to be going nicely.
Continuing..
New Year's Eve we had some good, clean fun at home with a dance party and sparkling apple juice. Until 12. Then we were free reign until curfew, the time of which I'm not going to unveil because I feel like being difficult and secretive. Also, I'm a tad embarrassed. About half our group in total went to Vestige (a bar we've taken to calling The Flinstone Bar, as a direct result of the interior appearance and cave-dweller-like bar goers) and shook up the dance floor. We had zero competition, because young people in Nicolet don't know how to move off their Flinstone stools.
All too soon it was over and our house was a mess and there were unclaimed possessions and articles of clothing *cough, Sébastien* from people we'd known for a little under 24 hours. If that day were a movie I would have given it lots of stars and seen it at least twice in theatres. Happy New Year, cluster.
Over the next few days we did a haphazard style resolution meeting, throwing out ideas whenever time struck acceptable. There were two girls from Victoriaville who became vegan in the past few months and of course our meal plans for the party had had to accommodate them. A few days after New Year's our group decided we should give the dusty bat in the corner a swing. None of us have ever been strictly vegetarian, let alone vegan, and as this adventure we're on constantly entertains the ideas of becoming more adaptable and trying new things, we agreed to try vegetarianism for a week. We're on day 5 tomorrow and it's been nothing short of unnoticeable, understandably enough. Sam and Dalandrea have done an excellent job making delicious food, sans viande. We haven't been giving each other daily vegetarian tips or statistics or anything but we've all refrained from consuming meat this week. Food for thought.
Yummy bean soup in the making.
What's your take on Survivor? Yea, you know the one I mean.. that television show that's been around forever that your parents disapprove of; about people who live on some mythical island who have to do things to stay on this apparently very desirable piece of land, and watch their backs in case they get "voted" off. I think I just told you my take on it, but I'm going to give you a better version to form opinions on now.
I guess I'll call it..
Survivor Katimavik.... extremely original and creative name there Petra..
Names aside! This day was a gongshow, quite literally.
First I awaken to a distant sound of clanging. I assume it to be a part of my dream, the plot of which I obviously cannot remember anymore. I fall back asleep only to have my door busted in the next moment and take into recognition a metal kitchen bowl. Oh no. Soon there are three more pots and the distant clanging noise becomes a very loud and present clanging noise which is accompanied by Dalandrea's early morning screech of words I was not alert enough to grasp the meaning of.
It was 8 am on a Saturday. Cool.
Not cool enough.
Our first challenge is for breakfast and is called "Morning Swim".. mettre sur votre maillot de bain..
Picture 8 semi-naked teenagers standing on each others toes in the early morning sun of a quaint little French town somewhere in Quebec.
NOW MAKE IT A REALITY. Because that's what we did!
The last member of the two groups to stay standing on the ice won their group a top quality breakfast. My losing group (no shame, ladies and gents) was given one orange between four of us and some rice crispies. Good morning, weekend.
For the rest of the day one would have found us at our usual riverside field playing chuck the penguin (an adaptation of chuck the chicken.. anyone?) a toboggan race to fill a bowl with water, playing sled dog - pulling group members up a hill, a dizzy izzy obstacle course, and an ice sculpting contest. My team brought home the gold in the end, and our stylish medals were forged from foil of tin to recognize our devotion to surviving.
Okay, so it obviously wasn't as scripted or fake-risky as real Survivor, but I think we give the word a way better name. Plus, we'd look so much better on TV, and our group dynamics rock out loud compared to theirs. Our team name - the bilinguals. I was thrilled to be included in said group name.
Which brings me, quite happily I might add, to Montreal.
Day one, wake up early, hop in twelve passenger van on loan from other group, fall asleep on partners shoulder, wake up, sing a few songs, arrive in Montreal.
Step two. Cloudy. Not going to see much from Mount Royal viewpoint. Next thing on the list, sledding.
We spent several hours tugging inner tubes up a hill and twirling down the little chutes. When we tired of such enjoyable child's play we went for a wander down the road until we stumbled upon the beautiful Basilica.
Hello Basilica.
Hello Massive Organ.
These photos certainly don't do it any justice but it was an amazing place to be in, each footstep echoing and the lines of beautiful wooden pews empty, save a few visitors like us.
That evening we went out for dinner as a group to a restaurant called Nil Bleu, to try Ethiopian food. (No, I'm not being sarcastic.)
Despite common belief, there is actually food in Ethiopia. Their diet appears to consist of mainly meat and legumes, with little fruits or vegetables as one might assume the soil in Ethiopian is not fertile enough for the growing of crops. It was a great time - we ate with our hands and the food was served on platters for four with a flat bread/tortilla as a utensil.
We spent the evening in Julian's brother's art gallery office, most of us only to sleep. Martin took several of us off on a hunt for a shisha bar which, it turns out, was right back near the restaurant we ate at.. only a stretch of about 4 km. We made it in time to turn around and search for a coffee shop.. not enough time to enjoy shisha as it should be was our deal breaker, though it was great to walk around and see the shops.
This outfit was made from bullet canisters. All the info was about the war in Iraq, it was my favourite.
After that we had one last stop, this time in Old Montreal. Down by the docks is Point-a-Calliere, and the museum there is amazing. I've now been there twice; my parents took me and my brother there 7 years ago when we were visiting friends. The entire museum is underground and actually goes under the street. It shows the foundations of early Montreal and all the history behind the native settlers vs the new world pioneers.
Little Nicolet welcomed us home with a light sugar coat of snow and the reminder that we had to return to work the next day. Bringing me to my last point is the musée, where I spent every weekday learning more french and touching more artifacts I don't understand the value of. I'll be sad when my turn for house manager comes because I enjoy being at the museum very much.
Last week Jessie, Sophie and I tried out Mandala at the museum. The word Mandala is derived from Sanskrit and means "circle". In both Hinduism and Buddhism Mandala is practiced and has spiritual and ritual purpose, as either a form of meditation or as sandpainting to focus attention on importance religious aspects. In tongue of North American man, we really enjoyed making circles and shapes with different coloured sand by using little metal funnels.
Apres le weekend.. Montreal round two and a tribute to...
I like quotes.
Don't wait. The time will never be just right.Napoleon Hill
Petra
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