Day Two

On the second day we left the small resort town of Lake George for the bright lights of Montreal. Except that S decided that she wanted to take a scenic drive along some byway before hitting the open road. What to do? The simplest answer is that old adage about enjoying the journey. However, if one's enjoyment of said journey is unduly hampered by going thirty five miles an hour past houses that yes, are probably in some unquantifiable sense, cute, that despite their admittedly appealing exteriors, themselves begin to take on a sort of sameness as does the lake after fifteen miles or so, such that, cries of, "isn't it beautiful" either lesson in number or become increasingly annoying. Ie, it gets more complicated. And really, to me, admittedly a point A to point B type of person, the question actually runs a bit deeper because I find myself weighing the merits of Montreal with that of the little scenic highway, and I, typically, find myself drawn to the unknown quantity of Montreal rather than the known quantity of little lakeside houses. And I think you have to make that sort of decision when you go about "enjoying the journey" because it necessarily diminishes the journey that you'll be going on in your destination spot. All of this to say, that despite the obvious charm of Bolton Landing, pitched roofs and flower pots decorating the porch as if posing for a Kinkaid, I was ready for Montreal sooner than S, and, as I was driving, we departed from the lake shore sooner rather than later.

I find myself encountering small little decisions like this every day. I sometimes spend minutes literally debating whether to open a book on my lunch break or whether I should just continue eating my sandwich in relative quiet thought. And I find myself in near panic mode trying to decipher the virtues of either, admittedly simple, activities, such that I typically wind up doing a rather half-assed job of both, spilling bits of jelly on the pages of my book and not really reading more than a couple of pages before I look up and wonder whether I should have been reading at all.

Much to my chagrin, what a nice word chagrin, our lady of the house was feeling ill, and we were not greeted by piano playing or a parrot. However, we were required to remove our shoes while going up the stairs, which had been painted like the keys on a piano. It's the sort of strangeness that is mildly charming in a foreign country at first, and you sort of nudge each other at the eccentricity, though by the third day it seems less a funny little habit and more the sort of annoying characteristic that you'd have resented much sooner back home.

S and I have a tendency to plan our trips a bit exhaustively. So, when we arrived and told the landlady that it was our first visit to Montreal she set about circling things on a map that we'd already discussed doing, which is to say, once again, I was not enjoying the journey of talking to this little French speaking woman but was wondering instead how soon we could actually get to our day. All the while I smile over her shoulder and nod politely because that is the type of person I am, secretly resentful.

We visited the Musee De Beaux arts in a flurry. I've learned that first days of vacations tend to be a bit of a let down because you are so tired from the travel. Thus, you might look at a Van Gough or Renoir for about three seconds before scanning the sidewalks out the window hoping to catch sight of someone dispensing snow cones, which proves yet again that our baser needs always must be met first. Snow cone then great art. My favorite painting turns out to be something a bit obscure that depicts a strong man being devoured by a lion as he tries to tear a tree in half for his last great feat of strength. The painting itself was very evocative, and I love the story, which seemed a good mirror of what it means to be human as well as the necessary fall from grace, even for the strongest.

Then we ate some smoothies and looked at contemporary art. We found the museum pretty tame and were disappointed. We decided that we go to see contemporary art to be sort of wowed by the strangeness/creepiness of it, and though the museum made some attempts, a lot of it just turned out to be colors on canvasses. Come on contemporary art, I want to see weird videos played on a loop with people doing calisthenics for an hour. Oh wait, that was there. But still, only a few treasures like that. Then we took a nap at the Jazz festival, Jazz, which turns out to be a great kind of music to nap to and then we take in dinner on the hip Saint-Denis at some interesting Vegan place. All in all, not bad for a first day in Montreal.

"I sit astride life like a bad rider on a horse. I only owe it to the horse's good nature that I am not thrown off at this very moment."
Wittgenstein