chapter 72: the greg johnson reality tour

1)Saskatchewan, reunion with friends, and a less scary picture of Regina than the one painted by Macleans magazine? Check.
2)Manitoba and a beery visit with former GN colleagues in Winnipeg? Check.
3)Ontario, long distances, speeding ticket (no longer down with OPP), expensive camping at Lake Superior, Toronto friends and business connections? Check.

I rolled into Canada's coolest city last Tuesday feeling pretty good. After picking up my pal Greg in Toronto, we jumped in Silken and made for la Belle Province and Montreal, leapfrogging the 13,000 kilometre barrier in the process. I hadn't been there in 20 years, and to fully OD on Montreal's cool, it helps to have a knowledgeable tour guide. Greg spent six years in Montreal going broke while partying too much and working too little, so he seemed like the perfect man for this challenging job.

I started calling it the Greg Johnson reality tour, and it's been as disgustingly, delighfully, drunkenly debaucherous as I could have hoped.

The living situation has been interesting to say the least. We stayed one night in a half-room in a tiny apartment while the regular tenant slept on a mattress in the living room. We've been at an empty fraternity house the rest of the time. And my bike got stolen. But I've seen a few of Montreal's hottest spots, basically been drunk and smoking (bad!) for five days straight, while eating things like poutine and huge smoked meat sandwiches. The city is what a doctor would prescribe for a patient with square-itis.

It's a whole different world than healthy-image conscious, rule obsessed, no fun Vancouver. You can buy beer at a corner store here. People eat poutine and fast food regularly. They go out practically every night. They drink way too much. They defiantly continue to disregard all sensible reasons to stop smoking. They litter. They park almost anywhere they want, and drivers will run you over if you step into the street without due care. They don't substitute work for having a life.

Nightlife is practically a career for a lot of people here. The streets are alive with good-looking, fashionable people from different age and income groups who stay out all night at stylish clubs. Then they go to the same cheap diners for all-day breakfast the next morning, looking much less stylish, much more haggard, and determined to do it all again. Montreal is like a sexy stranger who keeps you up and makes you wanna take chances with your health, rather than do the sensible thing and miss a night out.

After that, making the sensible choice doesn't seem to make much sense at all, does it?

Places I have slept:

-sandy beaches

-my tent at various camgrounds

-my car at a rest stop

-a hostel

-a gravelly driveway

-a luxury hotel

-a University dorm

-a mattress sized bedroom

-a frat house