best worst trip to Canada

"This has got to be the best worst trip to Canada ever." We're staring in disbelief at a fountain that is lacking its most important feature - water. It was at least 10 degrees below zero, nevermind the wind chill outside, and we had been wandering aimlessly in a maze of underground malls for at least an hour. A fountain that shoots five stories in the air?! Who doesn't want to see that?

There was nothing else to do but take a picture of April with the dormant fountain.

The amount of things that had gone wrong - and would continue to go astray - was laughable. We had already managed to go to the wrong museum (Which wasn’t even open yet), were given incorrect information, and thus paid to see a movie about the origins of Montreal when we were expecting sea animals. The birth of a nation is fascinating, but cannot compete with smiling dolphins and frolicking waterfowl. It just can't. But that's fine really, it was only one little thing. That, and the cold. And by cold, I mean the radio warned not to go out with any exposed flesh. Mmm, tasty. But we were determined - until the barren fountain mocked us so cruelly. Only to be followed by the ATM refusing April's card three times.

Undeterred, we headed towards Rue St. Catherine (which happens to be an incredibly long street) to locate a sex shop for some giggles. I think sex shops are hysterical, personally. Any dull night in Amsterdam (ok, those don't really exist, but for the sake of argument), we head over to the Red Light District and consider the pros and cons of penis shaped pasta and pineapple flavored lube. I wanted to share this important cultural experience with the month, and so we were off.

...right into the ghetto. Graffiti sprawled across alleyways and convenience stores. There were bars on the windows, debris littering the front stoops. The bus stop signs were nearly destroyed - it was time to haul ass. I love being a foreigner, but being a foreigner in the wrong neighborhood is another level. To our relief, we made it to Rue St. Catherine. Dusk was quickly approaching as we power walked against the icy wind. Several blocks passed with no sign of S&M gear or gaudy window displays. Last time I was in Montreal, I could see a sex show from my hotel window. There was no hope. So, we got on a bus. The kid across from us was wearing two different sneakers. We couldn't figure out from the bus driver how much we owed together, or separate, or at all. At the metro station, he waved us off the bus and told us to pay inside. Riiiiiiiiiiight. Now that’s cheap travel at its best.

By the time we made it back to our hotel, we were thoroughly frozen and pretty exhausted. I have failed to mention thus far that our hotel turned out to be in the middle of Chinatown, complete with a koi pond in the lobby, two pagodas on the roof, and a completely “feng shui”ed layout. They spent a million dollars to move the entrance, to provide optimal energy flow. We picnicked on French champagne and cheese curds (that’s a meeting of our two cultures, I obviously being the champagne), had a rousing singalong to “I would do anything for love” and then promptly passed out before 10pm.

Sunday morning bore promise. The temperature had risen 20 degrees. We snagged free tea from the housekeeping cart. The muffins were delicious. Hope was in the air. We were determined that today would be successful.

We found the ocean. Well, we found the imax film “Wild Ocean” that we had originally set out for 24 hours prior. We were the only nonkids/parents in the place, and I insisted on wearing my 3D glasses as long as possible. The film was breathtaking, following the sardine migration along the southeastern coast of Africa. I smiled at a dolphin before recalling that he was, in fact not actually in front of me and thus could not appreciate my sign of friendliness. Success number one. Things were looking up. Next stop: the gay village.

“I can see rainbows!” I ran up the metro stairs toward the bright array of colors. There was no need to worry, there was rainbows everywhere, including on top of the metro station. It was a little too early for most the stores to be open, so we just frolicked and took ridiculous pictures while on-lookers peered suspiciously in our general direction. We then dined on incredibly good – and cheap – Chinese food, during which we drank about 4 pots of tea, which is a great idea right before driving long distances.

Filled with culinary goodness, we declared Sunday a total success. And I’ll leave it at that, because the trip home was not so much of a winning situation.