My favourite things to capture when traveling are the little details that belie the true life of a local. One may get a general sense of a city from the weather and architecture and language, but to travel and eat and shop like they do here is the most enriching experience.
I’m so lucky to be here.
The hotel manager is something of a bumbling old man who barely speaks a lick of English and wears a checkered sweater and cap even though it’s boiling outside. When I asked him for his name, he said, “Monsieur ________”. “And you”, he said, “are Mr. Laenin”?, as the room was booked under Karin’s name. I laughed and shook my head. “Better you with a girl than a boy with a boy”, he said, touching the tips of his index fingers to represent some nondescript relation he didn’t approve of. Even though it was a completely homophobic comment, his Parisian charm almost let him get away with it. Almost.
Every time I see him now, he asks me if she slept over last night. I think he assumes I came to Paris for some kind of booty call.
It hasn’t quite clicked in that I’m here yet. I was occupied with so much back home that this trip forever felt like it was far away, even when I was flying out the next day. It’s Ascension Day in France — a country made up mostly of Roman Catholics — so everyone has the day off and most shops are closed.
9:30pm and it’s still bright out.
During the day it’s close to 30°C, and the heat makes certain smells come out in Montmatre, reminiscent of Chinese marketplaces (though nowhere near as pungent). The temperature drops to a brisk temperature in the evening though, and one needs to carry a coat or sweater when traveling at night.
I find myself in Paris once again, this time for a video contract over the next 10 days. Karin approached me to work with her in creating several films around this beautiful city, and I have the pleasure of being involved with this amazing personal project of hers.
This is only the second time I’ve been at Basilique du Sacré-Cœur, and both times there’s been weed in the air. I even passed by a man trying to roll a joint while sitting on a park bench, his paper madly flapping in the wind. There must be something really trippy about the church.
I’m doing it better this time. More efficient, lighter luggage. Luckily, I’ve made this trip before and the experience is paying off. Pushing my limits last visit has given me the confidence to handle anything that may happen. I can retrace my steps without a map, remembering where I took what photos on which walks.
When you no longer work in an office, sometimes you don’t find out it’s a long weekend until the Friday of. My friends have also replaced their ritual barbecues with babies and play dates, so no invitations were sent out that may have notified me of the holiday.
A quiet moment among volleyball tournaments and beach goers in a calm area of the Lake Shore.
I wanted to get away cause I’ve been dreading any time alone. Loneliness hits me hardest when I’m sitting at home wondering what everyone else is doing. A road trip to Toronto was the best way I could avoid that. Unfortunately, the only people I can drop in on with such short notice happen to be five hundred kilometres away.
The truth is I never watch sunsets anymore. I’m usually too caught up in my projects cause I’m worried about being left with nothing but the thoughts I’ve trying to put in the back of my head. That’s why I don’t mind the five-hour drive at this time of year; it gives me an excuse to see what I never make time to do. When I leave at a quarter to seven, I hit the richest1 part of the sunset halfway through the 401. For a glorious stretch, there’s nothing concrete curves and crimson colours bleeding through the trees.
The “CN Tower” sushi platter, with tempura observation deck.
All I wanted was a quite time with the right company, no heavy plans or personalities. I’d be kicking myself for all the shots I missed cause I was too comfortable to pull out my camera, but I know that’s what those moments are about.
To lose yourself in the haze and summer heat finally upon us is to live like a child again without a worry or thought of anything beyond the next five minutes. Regression is embracing the itchy sweat breaking out on your face, as your fingertips mash the ice into slush in a white cream soda freezie.
Feeling lit, feeling light,
2 a.m., summer night.
I’m always fighting exhaustion on these trips cause I don’t get enough sleep. There’s too much to do. It’s a test of constitution to be driving in the darkness and city lights, wondering if I’m too tired to be driving, let alone navigating the infuriating construction and traffic of downtown Toronto. When I survive another day, it’s a reminder that not everything has to be perfect, that the world still turns no matter the state of my heart or mind.
Over a particularly heavy blend, I was asked what it would take for me to go all out, to say fuck it and lose control. It made me realize I’m already there, siding with indulgence over moderation, trying to break myself down so I can rebuild myself again. That’s why I always lose myself on those warm summer nights, when I tell myself I’ll be in bed by 10 every night, but the company keeps me up till 3.
Dexter is now too fat and lazy to fight off my cuddly advances.
I have such a mixed past with Toronto. It was such a chaotic time in my life when I lived there. I was cripplingly undeveloped, but that also meant I still had the innocence none of us ever return to once we hit adulthood. Much like those memories, this city will always be a part of me.
Now I’m back in Ottawa, returned to the little things that make it home like a familiar pillow and a cat’s particular purr. In my case, the exile is always self-imposed, a controlled escape, and I always wonder if anyone would care or miss me if I never came back.