City adventures....

On Sunday... S. picked me up an hour late, and so instead of going photographing (no light, urgh), we spent the evening on our favorite street in Montreal. This street is called Saint-Denis, and it is located in what people call here the Latin Quarter, because of the UQAM, one of the two French-speaking universities here. Our first stop was a place called Juliette & Chocolat – and it was decadent. It's chocolate-lover heaven, purely and simply. And so she and I gossiped over a chocolate (dark, sour chocolate if you please) fruit dip, and some coffees. It's a long wait – but so worth it. After that, we went to the movies and saw a French comedy called "Le prix a payer" – something about men who are neglected by their wives in their conjugal duties, and their theories that they are merely being used for their wallets. It wasn't high art, but it was amusing, and I did like seeing the streets of my beloved Paris, and Gerard Lanvin was simply sublime (I hadn't seen him in a movie in oh, a decade, and he is still ravishing, though old.) And we concluded the evening over a pipe at a place called the Hookah Lounge, one of these places where the musical background slips from Portishead to Brassens, and where the sitting arrangements vaguely ressemble tents out of the 1001 nights. But it was fun – as it always is, and a nice change for me. I spent Saturday in relative solitude, and had no complaints about it – in fact, being locked up with my bath, my bubbles, Mozart's Requiem and a good book was just what I needed. But I was happy to go out on Sunday.

Notes about Halloween in Montreal

Montreal, on Halloween night, felt like it suddenly was a carnival. It wasn't unusual to pass by vampires, witches, devils, angles, Vikings, pirates, and other phantasmagoric figures. I noted, amongst others, several 1920 belles, a belly dancer (how could she? It was so cold today?), and a Cleopatra look alike. But my ultimate favorite was Edward Scissorhands, complete with raggedy metal appendixes at the end of his figures. I guess Montrealers are a kiddish bunch. Me? Not dressed up, not one bit – no, it was juste moi, with my torn jeans, and my corduroy jacket, and my hair up in a bun, and my glasses – apparently I looked like a seductive intellectual...