Montreal

Over the Fourth of July, I pulled a really un-American move. I left the US and went to Canada.

Some friends and I traveled an hour and a half by plane to Montreal. It isn't as European as I'd heard it would be, but regardless, it was a good getaway to another country in which English isn't the dominant language.

We really had no agenda, but we saw fireworks on the Fourth, thanks to the International Fireworks Competition. Thanks, Australia!

We discovered the neighborhoods, and ate a lot and drank a lot of coffee. And shopped. More about that later.

Plus, we strolled around Parc du Mont Royal and stumbled upon their Sunday drummers circle. Reminded me of the movie, The Visitor (which you should see.)

Then we got lost in a Labyrinth, with a bunch of 12-year-olds and it was fantastic.

And in the middle of Old Montreal, a street performer entertained the crowd for our loonies and toonies.

And of course, we (er, Jes and Sarah) tried Poutine, Montreal's delicacy of French fries covered in gravy and cheese curds. As you can see, Jamie wasn't loving it.

So, everything about Canada was great, right? Well, except, for the journey back. See, on my way back, I forgot I had mace in my bag. Yup, that good ol' mace—bought for me by my grandmother—has made it through nearly every single security check in the past two years, so I totally forgot I had it. (That's disconcerting, yeah?) But who gets randomly searched at the border? Moi. (See that? That was French.) So they go through my bag and find the mace. Long story short, I was berated by six big Canadian policeman about having it, and apparently if I called it "dog repellent" instead of having it for personal defense, I would have been ok. But mace is not only not kosher to fly with (duh—totally my fault, I get it) but it's also just plain illegal in Canada. So I was essentially breaking the law.

Then, they start asking for all my information, and to see an ID with my current address. But I don't have an ID with my current address—I shamefully still have an Iowa ID. (That was, um, four or five addresses ago.) So I had to explain where I've lived, and then they yelled at me about that, too. (I'm now a proud owner of a New York driver's license. I'll be getting called for jury duty soon, I'm sure.)

About 30 minutes later, lots of speaking in French, and a debate on how to say "editor" in French, they let me go. Phew. But, I might not ever be allowed back in Canada. Sad. Glad I enjoyed it while I was there!

So, lesson learned: Don't bring mace to Canada and you'll be fine.