There’s been many an occasion since last May when someone has brought up the city of Montreal in a casual conversation and I immediately start gushing, “OMGILOVEMONTREAL!!!!” And then I struggle to find the adequate words to describe just how much I love the city.

I almost feel traitorous to St. John’s about it all. St. John’s is a different ballgame entirely, and yet I feel like both cities can draw many parallels with its historic feel, vibrant dwellers, and fierce independence. It’s the people.

Matt and I had a conversation recently about how while we don’t know the names of many major politicians in the city, we can name and identity every eccentric character that walks the streets of downtown on a regular basis. The city is currently mourning the death of a downtown figure who constantly roamed the bars on the weekend, inquiring his signature “flowers for the lady?” and handing out flowers for men to give to their dates. It’s why I love this place.

I got that same feeling of “home” when I was in Montreal, and I was surprised. I’ve said it before: I’m no big city gal. I’m not impressed by skyscrapers or concrete blobs of government buildings. Public transit makes me squirmy. The funny thing is, I spent only four days in Montreal, but it was enough to convince me I have to live there at some point.

When people ask me why I love it, the only explanation I have is, “There’s a vibe.” An undercurrent of excitement, a pulse of happy people, and a “joie de vivre” I haven’t found anywhere else except maybe New York City.

And this is all just a long-winded way of introducing you to 10 reasons why Montreal is awesome.

1. Poutine, smoked meat, beer pubs, and Montreal bagels. Hangover cures of awesomeness (including the beer pubs).

2. The best subway system I’ve seen outside of London.

3. The historical district of Old Montreal, where artists paint in cobblestone alleyways and performers entertain for those dining on “terraces” around the square.

4. The nightlife of Crescent Street and Saint Laurent. Endless pubs, clubs and bars, many with outside decks.

5. Eye candy. I’ve never felt more attractive than when I did while in Montreal. I remember beautiful, suited men smiling at me in the street, and me thinking, “OMG is there something on my face?!” before realizing – nope – they were just being friendly. Ask me about Danny the soccer coach. Hubba hubba.

6. The Tam Tams at Mont Royal. Hippie fest. There’s a strong artsy community in Montreal, and it rocks.

7. The friendliness. From the enthusiastic security guide at the train station who pointed us in the right direction to the butcher who displayed his meat just for us in a store window so we could film it…Montrealers are just as friendly as Newfoundlanders, it seems.

8. Festivals, festivals, festivals. Whether it’s IglooFest in February or Jazz Fest in June, Montreal always has a reason to celebrate.

9. The French. I love hearing French being spoken, even if I can barely speak the language myself after 25 years of learning it. It’s not hard to get by with English, though, and there are a billion language learning programs.

10. The anonymity . One of the biggest drawing factors for me living in a big city for awhile is the anonymity factor, something I’ve never had here. Quel surprise!

And here’s a fun fish photo from the Biodome, just for you.

So, who has a room for me to rent in the big city?

After crossing Canada coast to coast and then backtracking to Banff on my Moose Network tour, I met with a few tourism folks for a quart of beer at the Banff Ave. Brewing Company. We talked about how in each city I visited, it didn’t take long to nail down its vibe and personality. In quick succession, I rattled off a few adjectives to describe each place.

Obviously my experiences are different from others: my huge friend-base in Toronto love the city, I didn’t; I loved Montreal and still ache to go back, but Joanna Haugen didn’t enjoy it at all. The point is each city’s first impressions stuck with me, and even though some cities were only a few hours of driving apart, their contrasts were incredible. I’m fascinated by how these places adapt those personas, and why they stick.

Happy in Halifax

So without further ado, here are my impressions (minus New Brunswick, since I didn’t spend time in any cities).

St. John’s

Historical, alive with culture, close-knit, incredibly isolated, surrounded by nature

Halifax

Young, upbeat university town, welcoming, diverse with its people, eastern hospitality

Charlottetown

“gentle island” works, family friendly, surprisingly fun nightlife, peaceful, place to escape

Montreal

Alive with beautiful people, open-minded, independent, upbeat, feels like home

Ottawa

Conservative, uptight, aesthetically pleasing, air of safety, Canada’s pride

Oh, Ottawa!

Toronto

Busy, full of self-importance, the epicentre of Canada, opportunistic, place to be

Winnipeg

People living here have always been here, family-oriented, flat, artistic, hard to figure out

Winnipeg

Regina

Quiet, isolated, welcoming people, currently under construction, booming

Calgary

Full of young new grads, oil town, progressive, party place, folks in suits

Vancouver

Active people, outdoor lovers, hipsters, environmentally friendly, full of pride

Agree? Disagree? Weigh in.

Discovering the giant cedars was another one of those “HOLY SHIT” moments of mine and Cailin’s Cross Canada adventure. We saw the sign not long after crossing the border into British Columbia, pulled over, and started wandering into the woods.

We didn’t get far, just enough to snap some photos, but I love how the light filters through here.

I also like the feeling of being “short,” as most of my friends have a height deficiency and I’m the giant cedar among the saplings.

Have a great weekend!

Last year, I visited Prince Edward Island on a whim. Less than 24 hours to explore “the gentle island,” sample Cow’s ice-cream, take photos of Cavendish Beach, party in Charlottetown, swap spit with a young man on a picnic table outside my hostel, and visit Green Gables… the “setting” for the classic Anne of Green Gables series. I didn’t know anything about Anne or LM Montgomery. I watched a short clip about the author’s life, got a little teary eyed, and moved on to explore the house.

In the bookshop, I picked up the first book in the series. Anne of Green Gables. It was cheap, and I felt it was a “true” souvenir. I had tried reading the book years ago as a kid, but threw it aside after Anne declared her hatred for redheads. How dare she?

This past spring, I picked up where I left off. I dived in headfirst, and then there was no turning back. I devoured the book, I freaking consumed it and developed a friendship with Anne that I haven’t found in any other literary character. She became as real to me as my own friends, and her ongoing stubbornness about refusing friendship with Gilbert Blythe sometimes made me scream.

Fortunately, Maggie has been an avid Anne reader for years, and she graciously handed over the rest of the series to me. It took me a few months to get through them all, but I did it. I was with Anne and her family as they grew up, married off, suffered through a war, and embraced life on the island. I adored Jem, and Rilla, and the twins, even when their lives became the focus of the books rather than Anne’s. I have never been more compelled to book it to Prince Edward Island ASAP.

At the end of the series, with the most perfect ending you could possibly imagine, I closed the book and tried not to let Ange know I was sniffling in the passenger seat as we drove home from Twillingate. What a loss! My little island family no more. How would I go on?

The series is wildly popular, especially in Japan, and is a HUGELY influential factor in PEI’s booming tourism industry despite its small size. Maggie and I discussed our infatuation with the series, and how badly it makes us want to go back to that era where you were forced to raise babies and wear dresses with stockings and spend your evenings knitting blankets while gossiping with the town folk. Because it’s simple, yet everything was significantly harder. Imagine, having to take care of house and home, manually! Having to attend school without a laptop?! Churn your own BUTTER?!!! I would never be stuck in this weird quarter-life crisis, because my life would have been mapped out for me years ago.

Ain’t it just so wonderful?

Where could I do that? Where could I live in total oppression and without any technology whatsoever, for like, a week? In a Mennonite village, perhaps?

And naturally, Newfoundland has a counter-argument. I can’t embed the video, but it’ll kill you with laughter. KILL.

Have you met Anne?

Did I really drive across Canada? Did that really happen? Was I actually on the other side of the country? Hard to believe it all happened before summer, and now the days are winding down and my friends are all fleeing the city and my hands are feeling a little frozen today.

Yeah, typical cop-out photo post. I’ve been working 16-hour days and I think I’ll take tonight off to have some beers with some good friends. I picked up some full-time marketing work for about a month. So here I am on my lunch break bringing you a photo of Lake Louise, probably the most popular natural attraction in Canada. I had to wrestle with tourists for a good view, but I came out the winner. As usual.

Here’s a view of the emerald lake, complete with two red canoes.

Big travel plans to be announced soon, my friends!

Samesun Backpacker Lodges run throughout western Canada, specifically Vancouver, Banff, Kelowna, Silver Star and Revelstoke. They’re the places to go to meet people on the road, and other than the time I walked into my hostel room to witness a couple tumbling around in their bed, my time spent staying at their locations in Vancouver, Kelowna and Banff was pretty rad.

But really, the staff made it great. In Kelowna, they charged us something like $6 for a vegetarian BBQ meal or $10 for meat, then served it all up buffet style. So John the French dude who liked to live as frugally as possible managed to heap his plate with sweet potatoes, salad and other goods THREE TIMES. No one said a thing, except for one of the other Moose Network people who whispered, “Damn, that’s a good meal for $6.”

Then, I decided to request a private room at the Samesun in Vancouver, and offered for Corbin to split the cost with me since we were basically married and the staff of each hostel kept putting us in private rooms anyway. At the front desk, I told the worker my needs and Corbin piped up in the background, “Yeah, we’re bangin’.”

This is my photo revenge for Corbin's shenanigans.

The worker didn’t even bat an eyelash, she just threw up her hands and said, “Hey, what you do in your room is your own business.”

Then upon check-in at the Samesun in Vancouver, the front-desk worker and I had a grand ‘ol chit-chat and I decided I liked him quite a bit. I planned on spending the evening catching up on laundry, and was proud of myself for packing little Tide detergent packets for such a purpose. Fifteen minutes later I stood in front of my water-filled washing machine with the contents of the Tide packet already emptied into the basin, breaking out in a nervous sweat because I had just spotted the label, “DO NOT USE IN WASHING MACHINES.” The detergent was for hand-washing only.

I didn’t know what to do. I took out my laundry, put it in the dryer, and walked away. But goddamn, my guilt consumed me. I paced back and forth, and finally went back to the front-desk worker with my confession. What a fool! How they mocked me!

Actually, they were super cool about it and totally grateful I came to them in the first place. There was no other option but to let the washer run its course, and I’m happy to say the world did not end. Quel surprise!

New hostel friends!

The Vancouver location also became the location of choice for all us TBEXers, even those who weren’t staying there. Cheap nightly specials and AWESOME jugs of booze were rather inviting. It’s also the location where somebody (ahem, Dave Dean) started a rumour about me shitting in my purse. It circulated the Twitterverse in a frenzy.

I did not shit in my purse.

Thanks, Samesun, for the cheap booze and awesome service! Now open some hostels on the east coast, eh?

I was sent to Gaultois to check out the newly established Gaultois Inn and to explore one of the more isolated areas in the Coast of Bays. Yes, more isolated. After driving four hours on the TCH West, turning off down the Bay d’Espoir highway for another 127 kilometres without a gas stop, then driving another 60 minutes before reaching the ferry…I arrived in Gaultois, where there are no roads and people navigate the area by ATV.

By the way, it’s pronounced “Gall-tis,” not “Gall-twoi.” Just to clarify.

The Inn’s website describes Gaultois as a place of “authentic outport culture.” The word “authentic” usually sends travel writers screaming, but in this case, it’s true. On the ferry surrounded by good-natured elderly ladies complaining about their aches and pains (but eagerly answering all my questions about the insanely cheap $1.50 ticket price), I was swept up in homesickness and nostalgia. I missed my Nanny. I missed my home. I missed wood stoves and banana bread and old accordion music.

Ange and I didn’t know where the inn was. One of the ladies told us to follow her, as she lived right next to it. I told her that one of my best friends, Leon, grew up in Gaultois. She pointed at the house where he was raised.

Just like that, all I had to do was mention a first name.

UNICORNS!!!

We were greeted at the inn by Souren, who knew who I was upon arrival and happily escorted us to the room. He turned out to be the inn’s chef, in addition to playing role of the innkeeper…and the bartender. Ange, with an ear for absence of accent, immediately picked up on the fact that he was from Toronto.

We asked if there was WiFi.

“No, sorry! The network is full,” Souren replied. I don’t even know what that means.

I didn’t expect such a fancy meal of shrimp linguini in the middle of the Gaultois. The garlic bread sticks in my mind. You know, like the kind of toast you roast over an open fire on a handcrafted piece of wire? Like that.

Nor did I expect a random man to burst into the dining area demanding to know where he could find some squid, and then another man standing up to stay he wanted some squid as well, and then everyone discussing squid for some time.

I asked the waitress if there were a convenience store nearby. There were two: one next door, and another “up Bottom,” aka in the next town over. It so absurdly made sense!

The Inn itself is a novelty. Jane Pitfield, the owner, was formerly the councillor of Toronto. She came down here and bought up property at ridiculously low prices, including an old captain’s quarters for $10,000 (five bedrooms, now Pitfield’s home). She recruited Souren to come live there for awhile, to take over the kitchen and get some experience as head chef.

Take a second to envision what it must be like to move from a city of millions—filled with concerts and parties and traffic and skyscrapers—to a tiny former whaling town where the population can almost be counted on one hand and you have to wait for supplies to come by ferry.

Who is this badass?!!

While Pitfield wasn’t around, Ange and I did get to know Souren. He admits he didn’t know what to do with himself when he first arrived, and people didn’t know how to take an outsider with the dangerous intentions of butchering fish and serving up gourmet. But on our final day, as Souren led us down to the wharf to catch the ferry, he paused to talk to every single person he met, young and old alike. He even helped the lady carting her mail in a wheelbarrow up the boardwalk.

There’s your picture of Newfoundland community again.

His highlight, of course, was being given a whole blue shark to play with. And eat, presumably.

Did not know there were sharks in our waters, by the way.

And that, my friends, is that real, honest-to-goodness authentic outport experience we all want in Newfoundland…except perhaps with “brown food” rather than gourmet.

Four days with Writers at Woody Point, and I’m more inspired than I’ve been my whole life.

As Canadian travel journalist Lucy Izon said one evening while taking the water taxi to Woody Point, there’s a sense of community here. Like Banff, I’m so awed by the overwhelming hospitality from everyone; I exhausted myself yesterday saying “hello” to everyone while hiking the Tablelands. People strike up conversation with me like they’ve known me my whole life. I’ve been sharing meals and a few drinks every evening with some folks I’ve just met but feel like I’ve known forever.

With views like this, it's hard not to be inspired.

Then there are the writers. I’ve been out of touch with the writers since I graduated from Memorial University, but the writing group has stayed entirely tight-knit. The same talented voices show up year after year, and the results are beautiful. Shelagh Rogers and Jeanne Beker have fallen in love with the west coast of Newfoundland and its slow, steady lifestyle. Jim Bryson paused during his acoustic performance last night to say, “I’ve never been to a place where I tell people where I’m staying by describing the colour of my house.”

Some local art

I admit, I was sceptical about this festival at first. Really, a whole four-day event based on the reading of literature and sharing artwork? Goddamned hippies. But right from the moment Ed Riche opened on Thursday evening with “Reality is for people who can’t handle fiction” (describes a travel blogger, no?), I was hooked. I held onto every word, from every author, and my attention has yet to waver. These people are good.

Even the artistic performance by singer/songwriter Christine Fellows and artist Shary Boyle was enthralling. Using a projector, shadows, colour and an impressive range of artwork, Boyle interpreted Fellows’ own music with a sort of story. I didn’t know live art could be so entertaining.

Kathleen Winter, a former writing professor of mine, sat next to me during one of the performances. She was there to read from her new book Annabelle, and I couldn’t resist reminding her of my presence. It’s been years, but she was actually the first professor I’ve ever had encourage me to pursue travel writing. I’ve never felt prouder to tell someone I followed through with my plans and was there on behalf of Newfoundland and Labrador tourism.

Richard Wagamese had the entire audience holding its breath as he recited from his new book of poems. And Wayne Johnston! Dear god. The man is hilarious. Never had I imagined a story about scattering his mother’s ashes in a lake could be so funny. Never have I been so happy to sit in such close proximity to one of my icons.

You can't really tell here, but Wayne Johnston does indeed have a face.

Other than music and literature, I’ve been cruising fjords, hiking “desert” landscapes, driving around mountains, and feasting on seafood. I’ve been waking up every morning at 7 a.m. to get outdoors and enjoy the land. Gros Morne is good for the mind and body.

Now I have the painful task of deciding which books to buy. I guess those goddamned hippies are alright.