June showers bring June flowers

Location: MONTREAL, QUEBEC, CANADA

When I first arrived in the house, my landlord gave me a detailed tour. He showed me my room, the kitchen, my bathroom, and the community washing room. He told me about turning on the fan over the oven so it would not overheat. He demonstrated the proper technique for opening the irritable washing machine, without flooding the room. He instructed me to turn on the bathroom fan when I showered so the room wouldn’t be humid. However, he failed to mention that the added moisture would contribute to a significant fungal bloom alongside the toilet.

While putting up my towel this afternoon, I noticed a darkened ring around the toilet base. Thinking it might be a shadow, I ran my toe through it. A clean line appeared, uncovering the wooden floor beneath and simultaneously covering my toe with a black film. Interested, yet slightly disgusted, I peered over the toilet searching for an origin, and discovered the fungal bloom tucked neatly into the base of my toilet.

In my last post, I raved about the organic food market on my block. You may be pondering whether I am now growing and fertilizing my own sustenance to simply avoid crossing the intersection. Please cease and desist. This is not the case. I may be unaware of some Canadian cultural norm, but my experience has taught me to not eat in the bathroom nor consume anything that resides within the bathroom.

Faced with a rapidly cultivating problem, I Googled “mushrooms growing in my bathroom” and was surprised to find a plethora of posts regarding similar predicaments. I wondered if perhaps I had been the culprit. Had I forgotten to turn on the fan one day? Did water drip from my towel, which hangs slightly above the burgeoning garden? Had there even been enough time for this mushroom bundle to flourish since I moved in?

Few online comment boards are reliable and I read advice ranging from calling the Health Department to setting the 'shrooms on fire to pouring bleach on the roots. I opted for the more passive aggressive approach and told my landlord. After all, he forgot that detail in the walk-through. 

Identifying Features

Location: MONTREAL, QUEBEC, CANADA

When I left this morning, I left for the absolute unknown. Did I need a visa? Who are my roommates besides just names in an email from a Craigslist posting? Would English be suffice or should I have studied harder in French class? From my nervous mannerisms, you could’ve presumed I was apprehensively traveling to a war-torn nation or third-world country. Not so.

Different cities. Different continents. Same first initials. Bienvenue à Montréal!

Unlike Munich, I had serious reservations about my latest internship in Montreal. For weeks, I couldn’t understand my apprehension regarding my stay with our seemingly docile Brothers to the North. For all intents and purposes, Canada is the United States. While the borders strictly divide the two, both countries speak English with the same accents, dress similarly, and have common cultures. Even my internship, with the International Civil Aviation Organization, was more closely related to my studies and I had confidence in my educational preparedness. Yet, the intimidation remained.

When I travel, I search for cultural assimilation. I learn snippets of the local language, accept most reasonable food offerings, walk aimlessly around the city solo and lost in thoughts, partake in cultural celebrations, and occasionally venture into the nightlife. But in Montreal, I found myself looking for recognizable American influences, hoping to grasp onto something comforting. A Subway shop on the corner. The occasional spoken or written English. Someone else dressed in winter wear, despite it being Canada’s summer.

While I found these identifying features, I simultaneously realized I was denying myself the chance to actually assimilate. I had failed to notice the potentially comforting features Canada can offer.

For instance, the townhomes are my favorite aspect of Plateau Mont-Royal. They are a veritable hybrid between a brownstone and je ne sais quoi. The most striking features are their entrances. Each one is uniquely different -- different intricate staircases, different colors, different ornamentation,  etc. But each with a pretty little square foot garden and the first of Spring’s blooms. So chic, so subtlety beautiful.

  

Additionally, there are few places more comfortable to me than an outdoor café. While in Germany, it was too cold for outdoor anything, but I found refuge from work and my roommate at Café Dulcé. The cappuccinos, blueberry muffins, and cream-laden desserts heavily contributed to my 15 pound weight gain over the three months. But each drink was truly magical. 

On my second day in Montreal, I adventurously ordered an amazing concoction of mocha coffee poured over an orange peel, smothered with whipped cream, and topped with chocolate shavings and orange peel shreds at Brûlerie St Denis. I haven’t the slightest reason for the inclusion of oranges, but it sounded exotic and the coffee and caffeine did the job. I finished my coffee and settled back into writing when I obtained the company of a dragon fly. Apparently, it didn’t think I had finished completely and munched on the few chocolate sprinkles in my coffee. 

And as I embraced the characteristics, I felt my self-consciousness subside. In reality, if I don’t speak, the only differentiations identifying me as an American are my short-cropped hair and timidity when crossing the streets. Montrealers walk authoritatively across intersections, trusting fellow Montrealers to not flatten them like a fresh crêpe. I have not acquired this trust quite yet.

I do, however, live about a block and a half from an organic grocery store, which requires me to cross a very short, but very busy intersection. There is probably little, if anything, more comforting to a vegan living in a foreign country than an organic food market, and it earns my patronage and willingness to risk life and limb regularly.

With nearly a full month left in Montreal, I will have many more opportunities to explore and find my comfort. And as I sat sipping my coffee, I promised myself that instead of spending time locked away in my apartment, I will actively seek assimilation, communication à la française, and a tasty vegan crêpe. Minus the dragonfly, of course.