The Vervets

An intriguing band name or in this case, three rather rambunctious monkeys in who’s company you would often find me most afternoons. I was one of the few that tolerated and grew to enjoy their less than tender grooming. Being a daily visitor to their world also meant that I soon gave up on having frequent showers, as I would invariable become filthy again once back in their company. I also learned quickly that it’s a ridiculous exercise to try and clean their water hole while they are still in the enclosure. It is possible to empty it, but they have so much fun playing around and on you that you’re soon covered in hundreds of muddy paw prints and when you try and refill the water hole, it is far from clean. Lesson learned.

They were also hyper attuned to the emotions of the people around them. Those that entered their enclosure with any ounce of fear would soon find themselves at the mercy of their aggressive taunting, hair pulling and biting. If you take it in your stride (harder than it sounds when one of the blighters bites you right on the end of your nose), you’ll be treated to more playful, considerate animals, happy to sit and groom every inch of you. Those with body piercings had been warned. I was even treated to having my recently scabbed baboon scratches picked clean for me. The massive blood stain that soon spread across the back of my shirt was less welcome.

But, every reward has a down side. Being one of the few people who could tolerate their antics, I was more often than not, one of the few that helped to catch them and put them inside the house every night so they wouldn’t freeze. The little blighters however, had other plans, making the task of catching them far from easy. With an ability to climb beyond arms reach, it would sometimes take three of us up to an hour to catch all of them, and rarely placidly. ‘Catch the Vervet’ was a task that no one enjoyed.

Doesn’t mean that I don’t miss the little buggers.

A far from average Monday

So, a normal Monday rolls in, my eyes crack open to the glorious sound of the lions roaring and I slowly squirm out of bed, hating that it’s still -3C outside (and inside). The set task for the day, to help Vickie (researcher) and Patrick to clean out the Wild Dog enclosure and repair the fence around where they have tried to dig their way out. Goody. The dogs are no-where in sight so the eight of us soon have the job done when a call from Frekkie comes through on the two way radio.

For most of the morning we have been aware of a column of smoke coming from the neighbouring farm about 20km away, but we all assumed they were performing burn backs on the thorn trees to clear their land. Frekkie reports that the wind had changed and these burn backs have gotten out of control and he rapidly requires all available hands to return to the farm house. We all rush back to the truck and head straight for the house. We grab what equipment we will need and pile in all the volunteers that are within reach and race off to the next farm. Mind you, most of us don’t really know what’s going on as Frekkie has drilled into us that when he wants us to do something, we do it without question and as fast as possible (even when it comes to the simple task of opening a gate for a car to pass through).

So, there we are, about half the volunteers crammed into various trucks and a number of staff from the farm. Our truck is one of the first to arrive and we come to an area that is low density flame but spreading rapidly. We all jump out, grab spades and ‘thumpers’ (strips of black rubber attached to sticks to beat out the flames), and spread along the line of burning shrub, burying and beating out the fire as we go. Singeing arm hair and burning exposed hands and arms to intense heat. Having controlled our small area, we jump back in the truck to meet up with the others. Along the way we beat several more of these small pockets of flame into submission.

Finding the others, things are a little chaotic. They’re all doing their bit but none of those in charge have let slip how bad the situation really is and what it is exactly we are trying to achieve. It’s about midday and we have all been working against the blazing fire for several hours. It’s hot and we’re all thirsty with only minimal water available as we all just hopped on the trucks and went. Our faces are streaked with ash and dust, small rivulets of blood covering most arms and legs where the ever clawing thorn trees have left their tender scratches.

In our less than glamorous state, about 10 of the volunteers pile into the back of Frekkie’s truck. In other words, we cram ourselves into the cage built into the tray of the 4x4 used for transporting the lions about. A cage in which we cannot open from the inside.

The truck is the third in the convoy with Vickie bringing up the rear in his red Toyota with the trailer bearing the water tank and fire hose. We’re racing along the dirt track with a fence to our right and the raging bush fire spreading rapidly towards us on the left. The flames are getting closer and closer to the road but being in the cage, none of us has any control over what is to happen and we have put our whole safety into the hands of Frekkie. To say we were a little worried is a colossal understatement.

The flames are a motley swirl of intense autumn colours that are flicking menacingly towards us. A wall of heat and fire about 10m high, engulfing vegetation in the blink of an eye and leaving plumes of smoke to darken the bright azure sky. The fire is encroaching rapidly towards the line of cars and their 30 or more occupants. We are somewhat recklessly speeding along in the loose sand of the track and all vehicles bar Vickie make it past safely. We slow down and all look back at the red Toyota which is more than four car lengths behind us. Without warning, the wind picks up and hurls the flames at the road. There is still a small gap between raging inferno and track and Vickie guns it, back wheels spinning in the soft sand and fish tailing the rear of the truck and trailer. Everyone starts screaming, “Don’t do it Vickie!!”, “It’s too close!!”… “ESBEN!!!”

Wait! What?!! Esben?? Where??

What everyone else has seen but I have completely missed is the fact that Esben was clinging to the outside of Vickie’s truck… on the side facing the fire… As Vickie attempts to outrun the blaze, twice it beats down against the car, directly where Esben… had been. That’s right. One second he was there and the next, he’d disappeared behind the heat wave and a thick blanket of smoke. The screaming from the others intensifies as we watch, horror struck as Esben vanishes and Vickie’s car is engulfed by flame.

Somehow, the seconds pass achingly slow. We continue to stare, smoke and soot falling all around us, making it hard to breath. Miraculously Vickie makes it through, the rear of his truck ablaze. Having made it passed, he rushes out of the car and beats the flames out. We wait, and wait, beating on the truck for Frekkie to get back in the truck and move us out of the choking smoke. We feel so helpless. Esben has vanished and we are stuck in the cage without any choice but to sit and wait for Frekkie.

To our relief, an ash covered form emerges from the brush on our right. Stumbling slightly we all exclaim in relief, “Esben!!!”

He’d seen the flames and at the last moment jumped from the car and run behind the trailer and into the relative safety of the bush. Somehow he’d made his way through, but in the process he had severely burnt his back and arm. The skin blistering in two softball sized patches, one of which is clearly visible through his burnt shirt. He’s ushered into one of the cars and we finally move further down the road towards clearer air. We breathe it in and try and make sense of what has just happened. We bump along in the cage in silence, too stunned to say anything.

The day does not end there. Esben is sent back to the farm and with the remaining volunteers we are split in groups, each given a patch of the fire to tackle. There are six of us, including myself, who are dropped off about 5km down a side track and set the task of creating an area of burn back that will hopefully meet up with the current inferno and give it no more room to move.

We each take it in turn to collect large handfuls of dried grass, and using the grass, we carry a flame along in a line as far as possible, catching anything alight that we can, until the next person needs to take over and continues the line of fire. In this way, we covered ground fairly rapidly with our own mini inferno picking up strength behind us. With the wind in our favour it is gradually blown towards the main blaze.

Having gone as far as we can in the thickening thorn trees and waist high grass we return to the track where we are picked up again and taken over to any remaining small patches of the main fire that are still flaring up. We again get to work with our spades and ‘thumpers’ and make short work of the flames, old hands at it by now. We’re now working side by side with the bushmen that call the neighbouring farm home who seem quite impressed by the rapidity and effectiveness of our teamwork.

The last shrub is beat out and we finally look up and stretch our work-weary limbs. We’ve done it! We get a report from Frekkie that the main fire has burnt itself out against our various burn backs and the last few remaining patches of flames are being taken care of. We are giddy with relief. It’s three in the afternoon and we’ve been working non-stop for the last 5 hours, no food, all water gone. We are hot, soot covered, freed of our arm hair and very sore. We clamber back into the back of the truck (we are no longer in Frekkie’s cage) and speed our way back to the farm. We’re met half way by Vickie’s wife who has brought us bottles of water and fridge cooled apples. The sweetest and most delectable pieces of fruit I’ve ever tasted. They disappear almost as quickly as the flames had spread.

Slightly reenergised we bounce around more cheerfully in the truck till we return to the safety of the farm. Everyone is abuzz with news of the fire for the volunteers that had been unable to join us, and we were rewarded with good news about Esben and that his burns weren’t too severe.

Frekkie appears and in his magnanimity, tells us we can have the rest of the afternoon off. All three hours of it. Woo hoo!

African Wild Dogs, Hungry Lions, Scars and Paintball.

What a sense of humour the Africans have. Turns out Ashley was fine, the whole thing being some sort of twisted practical joke. To this day the African Wild Dogs still freak me out, even Tom, the pup that was being raised along with Jerry, a domestic dog puppy.

But even on discovering this fact, our days were far from dull. Every day, each of the four groups of volunteers had a set of animals that they fed and cared for while on the farm. Being a part of Group One, we had the pleasure of hand feeding the teenage lions. Our first encounter of this kind involved feeding them whole springbok heads. Delicious! Nothing like entering an enclosure with five, almost fully grown, hungry lions, carrying five meaty antelope heads. Luckily, and it was mostly luck, we only had one incident with them the entire time that I was there, where two of the lions didn’t climb on the platform to be fed, but instead chose to run at myself and another volunteer that were holding their donkey steaks for the day, ripping the meat straight from our hands. Talk about getting the heart racing! I’ve never been so close to having my hand shredded by razor sharp lion claws before. Though, in saying that, I did have one of those claws imbedded into my calf two weeks later. Was my own fault really, the lioness had become too comfortable with my petting and had stretched out her paw in pleasure. My leg happened to be in the way as she did this and I had to then retract her claw from said leg. Not too much blood and unfortunately no ‘impressive’ scar followed. Dennis on the other hand, had more intimate encounter with all five furry playmates...

Speaking of scars, I found that the majority of my injuries were inflicted, not by the animals, but by the farming equipment, fences and gates, and the many thorny acacia trees and spiny shrubbery. Though the baboons did try to even the score on more than one occasion. The holes in my shirt and the shredded pant leg of my shorts can attest to that. But what girl doesn’t enjoy a good excuse to buy new clothes? Me of course, but that’s beside the point.

Ok, the point... umm… there isn’t one so I’ll just tell you about the paintball match that we had. Using slingshots out in the ‘scrap yard’ where Klippy the giraffe called his home, a manic battled raged. The Aim: For one team to steal the tyre from the opposing team and get it back to their base. Easier said than done my friends, given that it was a tractor tyre and required three people to carry it! There were many honourable and not so honourable deaths that day, but the beauty of paintball is that given enough time to recover, you come back to life! Huzah! And after four or five rounds (about an hour) of 50 plus people yelling and screaming, rolling in the dirt and sliding behind trees to avoid those lethal balls of paint, Paul and I finally managed to carry and roll the damn tyre 100m back to our fort and finally claim an exhausting victory!! *Does a little jig*

But of course, that not nearly being enough, and having plenty of paintballs left, we pretty much had a free for all for the next hour or so, diving in and out of ditches as a blur of pink and orange orbs flew through the air, often hitting their target, whether it be foe or ally, it need not matter. Talk about an enthusiastic way of getting sand into every conceivable crevice. Not to mention the fact that we had a two story tall giraffe to contend with that was a little on the aggressive side. Running from tree to tree was your best bet given that the branches blocked his path. Feeding time however, was a different matter. He became as placid as a kitten.

Ok, so I’ve successfully brought you up to speed on the third day of my stay, only 25 days to go!

Day Four: The battle of the raging bush fire…

First day...

It’s interesting to go back through my diary entries to see what I wrote about my experiences at Harnas. My first night staying in the volunteer village I noted that I came across two oryx in the dark, standing only a few meters away, their eyes spookily reflecting in my torch light. I remember how both freaked out and excited I was by this encounter. It’s strange that by the end of my four weeks on the farm, an oryx was no more exciting then coming across a roo in the bush.

The volunteer village itself was about a kilometre from the farm central and was located in an area that had hundreds of antelope, meercats, ostrich, warthogs and giraffe roaming about. We were kind of in the buffer zone between the farm with the smaller animals (eg, vervets, teenage lions, baby baboons, jackals and bat-eared foxes) and the ‘Lifeline’. An area used as a temporary release site for some of the other animals, including hyenas and a single cheetah called Pride. Beyond the volunteer village and the guest challets were several massive enclosures that held numerous adult male lions (close enough that their roars coaxed us to sleep every night, and were the first thing to be heard as the sun rose every morning), 50 or more cheetahs, hundreds of baboons, wild African dogs, hyenas, and vervet monkeys. The farm was huge to say the least, but not nearly big enough given the large number of animals they cared for and the many new arrivals they took in every few weeks. At any given moment they could receive a call to go and pick up anything from abandoned cheetah cubs, to a lion harassing livestock. There was never a dull moment.

For us new arrivals, our first day involved an obligatory induction lecture about the farm, the animals, and it’s ethos about educating the volunteers in more than just wildlife husbandry, but also self-exploration and discovery based on the companionship that we would soon develop with the animals and with each other (there were about 40 volunteers from around the world staying on the farm). This highly inspirational talk was soon interrupted though when Frekkie (the volunteer coordinator) received a call over the two way radio asking if he’d seen a particular volunteer who hadn’t shown up yet for the morning chores.  He said that he had sent her to the wild dog enclosure to check on them.

‘On her own?!’ the response came.
‘Yeah’, Frekkie nonchalantly replied. ‘Has she not returned yet?’
‘She doesn’t know that she’s not supposed to go in there on her own!’
Exasperated Frekkie replies, ‘I didn’t ask her to go in there. She was just supposed to check on them.’

Meanwhile we the newbys are all looking back and forth between each other, wondering if this was really happening.

‘We’ll send Esben (student doing an internship on the farm) to check on her’
‘Right-o, let me know if you find her’

Frekkie tries to return to the induction and discussing the importance of communication as if nothing has happened. We’re all sitting around seriously questioning whether this guy is for real. Static soon blares out of the radio with Patrick (another coordinator) shouting that they’ve found her. She was in the enclosure and it doesn’t look good.

‘Should we radio for the medi-copter?’ the barely concealed paniced voice asks.
‘Get the stretcher and bring her to the farm house’ Frekkie calmly responds. ‘We’ll decide from there’.

Frekkie ushers all of the new volunteers out of the open bar area and onto the grass in front of the building. He wanted us to see what happens to volunteers that don’t follow instructions. We’re all seriously freaked out and wondering what the hell was going on, this guy was acting far too cooly for what has blatantly just happened. Then, there they were, four guys running across the grass towards the house, a limp, blood streaked body lying in the stretcher between them, an IV hanging from her arm…

…Oh… my... god!!!

My brain stands still for several heart beats, before I realise that Frekkie is herding us back into the bar area, saying something about Ashley (the limp body)… that she should have known better and that this should all be a lesson to us to never go inside the wild dog enclosure on our own. Was he for real? The life of a volunteer hangs in the balance and he’s claiming it was her own fault? I was struck mute while a few of the others around me were whispering furiously to each other… Was this what we had signed up for? To be led by a guy that was clearly out of his mind?

The radio crackles again with Patrick’s relieved voice coming through, ‘She’s come to. We’ve managed to stop the worst of the bleeding. It looks like she’ll be ok.’
‘Good. Now send a few of the others to make sure that the dog pack is ok.’ Is Frekkie’s curt response.
‘Roger’

And so, as if he has been informed of nothing more than what’s on the menu for lunch, Frekkie continues with the induction seminar. Most of what he says passes straight through me as an irrevocable fear of the African wild dogs blossoms within me.  I have to survive four weeks of this people. FOUR… WEEKS!

Namibia, from the beginning…

A diverted flight through Jo’burg sees me land in Windhoek (Vind-hook), the capital of Namibia. A country with a populace of 2 million but a 52% rate of unemployment. The hour long drive from the airport to Cardboard Box Backpackers is filled with large, flat open scrubland more akin to the Australian outback than I would have thought, with sparse brush, red earth and endlessly straight tarmac roads, devoid of anything but wilderness.

Time passes and I am soon lounging by the pool, contemplating what to do for my evening meal, brave the streets or take on the hostel’s kitchen and bar service? I sit for some two hours in which time a Brit has come and sat by me, which we later discover is the same person I have been emailing in regards to this Enkosini Adventure Program I am soon to be embarking upon. She too is a volunteer with the program and we soon find another that will be joining us. The three of us proceed to sample the local beer and having been strongly discouraged from venturing out of the compound of the hostel, we boldly attempt our hand at the local braii (bbq), which consists of kudoo steak and springbok boerewurst. Mmm… chewy… yet surprisingly delicious.

For the uninitiated, Enkosini is just one of a few leaching companies that have latched onto the incredible wildlife program known as Harnas. One can volunteer with them for 2 weeks to a year, working hands on with (occasionally tame) African wildlife. I would be at their mercy for the next 4 weeks along with 20 or 30 other lucky souls, some of whom (please ignore the note of jealousy), had been there for 2 months already.

After a leisurely 4 hour wait the next morning, twenty-four 18 to 30 something year olds finally head out on the 6 hour drive that would get us to the farm in the north east of the country. A tiny dot on the surface of the planet that is so far in the middle of no-where that it doesn’t even have a postal address. This would be our home for the next 28 days, an oasis mostly devoid of outside influences. Thanks to our drivers taking full advantage of “Africa Time” we arrive in the Volunteer village several hours later than expected, that is, near nightfall. None of that really mattered though, as we were here. A place of many possibilities, clichéd yet still inspirational speeches, unforgettable people, unbelievable experiences and yes, I will say it, life changing moments, both man-made and animal induced. Being chased by a warthog for example, or freaking out the cleaning staff when I inform them that one of the adult, male baboons have escaped…

Durban, South Africa

Durban, a city with many juxtapositions. A shopping mall with marble floors and towering colesium-esq pillars that is bursting with supposed opulence, located only a few miles away from a sprawling township with a wandering cow on nearly every corner. The mind boggles.

I arrived within the fading days of winter that were warmer than many countries hottest summers. I’m lounging on the couch with the sound of hadida birds calling from the jacaranda tree just beyond the window on the second floor apartment belonging to friend from back home. He has spent more than 6 months in this ‘secure’ compound with its security gates and barred windows, and is going through the safety procedures that he illuminates all new arrivals with. It’s a matter of staying safe, being aware of your surroundings and taking necessary precautions at ALL times, outside the apartment and inside.

Taking that all into consideration and adopting a slightly altered perspective, life can somewhat go on as per usual. The four of us, my host, his two flat mates and myself, partake in many activities and see many sights within the seven days of my stay.

The events that stand out for me:

• Witnessing first-hand the awesomeness and majesty of a local choir practising for an upcoming show

• Sharing in a braii at a mutual friend’s engagement party with the dancing and merriment that ensued

• Enjoying pancakes at The View located in the Valley of a Thousand Hills (with a local vervet monkey keeping guard over our car)

• Viewing several and varied, locally created films at the Durban International film festival

• Meeting Sabelo and witnessing his amazing creative flare take shape before my very eyes as he painted a stunning African landscape within the space of half an hour.

• Meeting the amazing people that my host has become acquainted with during his time in Durban, where he has helped to establish a base from which inspirational youth peer educators are created in the fight against the spread of HIV Aids.

• Falling in love with the incredible local cuisine including babotie, millipup and malvapoeding

• Traipsing across the sandy Durban beaches after spending many hours perusing the souvenir stalls that litter the pavements along the coast (and buying many a trinket along the way)

• Playing shotgun over who’s turn it was to climb through the boot of the car to unlock the doors (thanks to the door locks having been broken as a result of an attempted break-in)

• And participating in a Vuk Africa tour with my host. Getting the chance to meet or guide Sebo, learning a smattering of Zulu, Ngiaphila (I am well), participating in a spiritual dance with a Sangoma (southern witch doctor) and dining at Mama Msizi’s house amongst the rolling hills within the township of Kwa Zulu Natal.

I was also amazed by the absolute redness of the setting sun as it descends through the smoke haze, which is always synonymous with pictures of Africa. There is also the surprisingly familiar smell of fire smoke that blankets the valley, which instantly transported me back to my childhood days of living Zimbabwe. Having very few memories of my time there I was quite surprised how familiar that smell was for me.

Overall, many memories were created that won’t easily be forgotten, and I owe most of it to the graciousness of my host, Paul. Thanks for everything. I only hope that all that Aromat that you fed me won’t kill me later in life ^-^ (given that it’s 80% MSG).

The Ridiculous Heat of Washington DC

An uneventful flight and a metro ride later sees me greeted by my vivacious cousin "Wooly-Jack" (aka Jacqueline or Jax), her gorgeous brood of three, Henry, Lucy and Charlie and an astoundingly solid wall of humidity. Heat I can deal with, but 90% humidity is a ridiculous assault on the body. I feel I've landed in the deep south, especially given the whitewashed houses with their picket fences, the constant sound of cicadas and the generally astounding green, lushness of the burbs that I have transported myself in to.

My first night I am easily lulled to sleep by the pitter-patter sound of raindrops on the roof. The largest earthquake that DC has ever experienced occurs at 5 that morning and doesn't even cause me to stir. Hows that for being dead to the world.

Diving into the 102`F heat and moisture I make my way to DC central to tackle the smorgasbord of free museums available for exploration. Being the book nerd that I am, I swim to the Library of Congress first. In so doing, I discover that the library itself is inaccessible to the public but the museum provides astounding coliseum-esq architecture to gawk at...

... a display of Carl Jung's Red Book, and innumerable underground passages that one can choose to get lost in. Seeing as I had already used about 2hrs wondering the multitude of bookless rooms, I decided getting lost wasn't really an option so instead I decided to befriend a squirrel...

... while admiring the Capital Building and its retinue of security guards before exploring the stark depths of the Holocaust Museum.

Feeling all educated out I jump on the metro and return back to the house with the three kids all under the age of 5. We play and frolic and that weekend, Jax (with her hubby Jeff crammed into the boot), myself and the three kids take on the Building Museum in town. Several hours are consumed with me building cubbies for the kids to climb in and promptly destroy, laughing all the while at their antics. Who knew that kids could be so cute in the midst of destruction. Here's Henry in all his glory...

Later in the week I brave the crowds to spend an entire day meandering the multitude of displays in the Natural History Museum. My new claims to fame include touching a rock from Mars...

... and laying my eyes on one very curious pink fairy armadillo (the size of a hamster)...

I was also highly excited by the fact that they had a pangolin on display (one of my favourite animals that I have only ever seen in documentaries).

The whole place was rather overwhelming really, with dinosaurs gallour, precious gems, innumerable stuffed animals, ancient Egyptian artefacts, a plethora of rocks from space, and a live and fully functioning bee hive (to name a few).

But moving along, one evening finds me releasing my inner child and promptly leaping about the front yard at 11 o'clock at night, trying to catch green luminescent fireflies. Feeling like an idiot but unable to remove the smile from my face when I successfully capture one, I proffer my spoils to Jeff who has been watching me in my lunacy, shaking his head in amusement. I then free the creature of my amusement to return to the air-conditioned sanctuary of the house to find I have been massacred by a dozen mosquitos. This being a daily occurrence since arriving I am unperturbed.

Other things of note while staying in DC include Jax's mouth watering cooking (I still owe you a cheesecake Jax!) and my new addiction to american mustard in a ham, cheese and tomato sandwich. I'm not gonna taste that for a while. Unfortunately the end of the week draws near and I make my final preparations for the more exotic and anxiety provoking leg of my world travels, my flight to South Africa. I procure a first aid kit, some warm gloves and begin taking my 7 weeks worth of malaria medication. Thus follows a sleepless night of worry before I depart on a 17 hour flight to Durban via Dakar of all places.

Montreal - The Tam Tams, Homeless Men and Festival Fun!

Forgive the long pause between entries but sufficient prompts from my mother has convinced me to finally return to my neglected blog.

We return now to my time in the wonderfully magical city of Montreal where the people speak another language appallingly, wear an eclectic array of clothing, and can often be seen either cycling or rollerbladding down the street. These are definitely my kind of people :)

After my unfortunately horrendous first night in the city I manage to book myself into a hostel that definitely has aircon. My first day sees me joining a group of fellow travellers from the hostel, along with our French-Canadian guide, Louis, and heading off to Parc Mount-Royal to witness the acoustically and visually astounding Tam Tams. For the uninitiated the Tam Tams are a massive gathering of the most eclectic bunch of people that swarm together in their thousands every Sunday to play and listen to spontaneous african drumming, as well as to enjoy the sunshine, play frisbee, hacky-sack, juggle, dance and occasionally stumble around in a bit of a haze of wonderment. A sense of free-spirit-ness kinda pervades over everything, including for the law enforcement that patrol the area that often let things slide for the sake of the Tam Tams. There really isn't anything else quite like it.

From this rather entertaining day out, my evening evolves into a very enlightening night out. Keep in mind that this particular night also happens to coincide with the Soccer World Cup final. After my day in the park I finally get a chance to book into the hostel and on entering my new room I meet 'Claire', the only other occupant of the room for the night. It turns out she is only there for the night before she flys up to Quebec to act as a sign-language interpreter for a university conference. Finding out that we were both famished we decided to hit the town to find what delicacies could be found. Stumbling upon a quaint three story, balcony-be-decked italian restaurant, we climb the stairs and make ourselves comfortable on the uppermost tier, overlooking the rest of the lively city street. Innumerable cars pass below us honking horns and waving spanish (?) flags, celebrating their countries latest world cup win as we tuck into delectable pasta and an optimistically sized jug of sangria. Minute after minute passes by as I learn more and more about the curious world of a sign-language interpreter based in Toronto. The one thing that I'm kicking myself during all of my travels is the fact that I never got her email address (or remember her actual name) to find out how the conference went. Certainly isn't an occupation that one comes across that often.

But moving right along, the next day I tackled the metro system again (amazing structure built more than three stories below ground) in order to search out and destroy the infamous Montreal bagel. It was kind of a let down really, but the fact that I befriended a homeless man by the name of Jean-Louis, more than made up for it. I was having a bit of a break in a park when Jean-Louis walks up to me and joins me on my bench, slightly rough around the edges but with a big smile on his face. He starts asking me questions about myself and the conversation slowly turns into a quite stimulating philosophical discussion about life and the universe. Certainly an unexpected turn of events but more than welcome and indeed perspective changing. I think it would be good for all of us to meet a Jean-Louis at least once.

Moving on from there I return to the hostel and happen to come across a music magazine lying on one of the couches. The whole thing is in french but I flick through the pages and come across an article about Passion Pit. I see at the bottom of the page that they actually have a concert on that night in Montreal. Feeling slightly excited I jump online and find that there are still tickets available so now giddy with anticipation I purchase a ticket. By the time I get to the venue the whole show has sold out and the venue is packed, standing room only. I squeeze my way in and bounce away with the crowd of strangers to a band that is more indie than pop, but certainly entertaining with their skin tight animal print leggings. Another brilliant night out in Montreal was absorbed into my bloodstream.

The next day a ramble about 'old Montreal' and wined my way through criss-crossing, ivy strewn suburban streets, snapping away at the intriguing local architecture...

In need of evening entertainment and finding out that the... wait for it... The Montreal Comedy Festival is on in town (one of the festivals, alongside Edinburgh Comedy Fest. that I've always wanted see), I go ahead and book tickets to see a foursome called "Uncalled For". As an act that was a part of the fringe fest my expectations weren't too high, but after watching their show 'Hypnogogic Logic' I fork out another 15 quid to see their next two shows that night. They were abso-friggen hilarious!!! Obscure in the purest of senses with a huge smattering of ad lib madness and physical exertion, their mind bending humour left me with my sides aching.

The night also introduced me to Marilyn, the ticket seller (I was in the theatre for more than 4hrs with plenty of time to kill between shows). She was a friend of the guys from Uncalled For and hooked me up with brilliant fan photo... (the guy on the left was a visiting american comedian that wanted to join in on the fun).

...plus a lift back to the hostel and an open invitation to sleep on her couch the next time I was in the city :) Sweet!

My supposed final day in Montreal found me traveling to the outskirts to locate a sloth at the Biodome. I rock up to this crazily designed building only to discover that the one day that they are closed for the summer happens to be today. Grr-reeere-*unintelligble grumbelings*

Not wanting to waste the gorgeous sunny day I had a picnic lunch in Parc Mont-Royal watching the crazy squirrels, listening to a free bagpipe practice and admiring the motley crew of people zipping through the park. Sadly, the day is coming to a close so I say my farewells to the staff at the hostel and make my way to the airport, only to find that I've missed my flight by 20min and the next flight isn't till tomorrow. Far from phased, I rebook my ticket and then make arrangements to spend one final night at the hostel, the staff greeting me back with a conciliatory cookie. Yay!

This time, my attempt to catch my flight to Washington DC sees me sitting at the airport 4hrs early. See, she does learn.