Montreal, QC – Food Binds Us Together (3/18 – 3/20)
I wrote about my first night in Montreal with a good bit of nostalgia. I remember so much about my life there when things had been left untouched by Immigration Canada but life is no longer so simple.
I live on the road. I am a vagabond artist.
Yet coming home to Montreal was really coming home even though I lost the home I had left my heart in.
One of the things that is always special to me, particularly in Montreal, is the sharing of food. Dinner or any other meal in the States often gets brushed over as just another chore to keep going in life. From the first bite of curry Tuesday night to the exorbitant spread of breakfast Sunday morning each meal is a communal act. Each meal showed me that while so much has changed being with my friends has not. I was not a stranger at our table.
Wednesday
I arrived at Caffe Mariani in the late morning. I used to work here, pressing sandwiches, serving espresso and sweeping the floors. Now it’s back to sitting at the tables, with the occasional fist-bump with Max (one of the owners), laptop out and working away for hours. A panani, cup of coffee (endless), latte and slice of gourmet pizza later, oh and six hours as well, and I had accomplished the majority of what I needed to.
When the chef greets you when you come in, leaves once his shift is done, and then comes back later and says “you’re still here?”, you know you’ve been at a café for a little too long.
I packed up my laptop and met up with Christina to sit at Cat’s Corner while she taught. It’s always great to see my old home away from home in Montreal. Cat’s Corners community is exceptionally vibrant with many individuals putting a lot of volunteer time and effort into the business to maintain what grew from a one-man business into a full time two-room studio. It is the third place for many people, not work, not home, but another safe comfortable place.
After Christina finished teaching we went to Euro-Deli for spinach calzones and I helped Pat and Chris plan a class they will be teaching out in the West Island. I am a solid fan of regular calzones and this one was quite good even before they drenched it in meat sauce.
Les Bobards was our next stop. Really I was going because I wanted to see people and not to necessarily dance so much. The last time I had been at Les Bobards was particularly disappointing (the band was shit). They were better this time, still a little square and replicated from recordings but better. If only the floor could have gotten softer and the ventilation actually manageable.
Thursday
I woke early (by vagabond standards) and worked out a little before heading off for breakfast with Dominique. It is always nice to reconnect with people who I’ve been friends with for a long time even if I don’t get to see them often.
We met at Aux Dernier Humains off of St.-Denis south of Jean-Talon, a little café with a delicious breakfast menu. I ordered an omelette with brie, spinach and onion accompanied with a side of potatos and bread. Dominique also ordered an omelette and a few bites into hers she realized she had mine and I hers. With a quick switch we were back to order, chaos averted.
We traded stories of where we’d been recently, she had also been traveling through Europe recently, and it was nice to hear her plans for future travels. It’s nice to chat with someone who understands the life of a traveler without having to explain it, even if it isn’t on the road without a house to go back to.
As her and I wrapped up our brunch I got a phone call from Alana (who I was supposed to meet for dinner but had inadvertently double booked on). She was a bit stressed out and rather than put our dinner off I headed down to NDG to her apartment for early drinks and sushi.
We sat in her living room and chatted for most of the afternoon. Finished a bottle of wine, went out to pick up sushi across the street along with another bottle of wine and some ice cream for me. By the time I had to teach at Cat’s Corner I think I was about a bottle and a half in (rosé not red thankfully) and slightly buzzed.
I caught a quick Metro ride up to Cat’s Corner on St. Laurent (I had missed the bus by a maximum of 3 minutes) and strolled in about five minutes before I was supposed to teach. Way to go me.
The group I taught is a practice troupe directed by my friends Alain and Marie. We started by playing a hide-and-seek game where everyone starts touching you, then as you count to 10 they run and hide. You then have to call them out from their hiding spot by name (great way to learn names by the way). During the game you can close your eyes and recount to 10 and they have to rush back out, touch you and rehide. I thought it was quite fun and I managed to get all but one of the students.
You also cannot move from where you are standing when you are looking for them. An added challenge.
I prepped a short bit with Marie while Alain took over. Then taught the Slim & Slam inspired chunky swing out focusing on loose and relaxed body movement. It’s quite comical at points where I get them to embody muppets in their motions. It is one of my favorite classes to teach. By the end of the class they were swinging out down the line more clearly and you could feel there was more energy. They finished their practice running the routine they had been working on.
Friday
Old Port day.
Alana picked me up at Caffé Mariani where I was doing a little internet work (since Chris doesn’t have WiFi yet) and we headed down to Old Montreal to walk around.
It’s been a while since I’ve been in the Old Port and it’s no where near as cozy in the cold months as it is in summer. The little alley streets are abandoned where in the summer they are filled with a variety of artists and vendors. The wind whips off the river and we definitely avoided the waterfront for that specific reason.
Our first attempt for brunch was an Alana favorite, Jardin Nelson. However, being a garden restaurant it was still closed. Yet I had to get a picture since it was obviously named after me.
Instead we ended up at a creperie where the service took a good hour to get us our table d’hote (never expect blazing fast service at a real restaurant in Montreal). Our soup came quickly to start us off alongside our drinks yet the waitress never returned to fill our water glasses. Disappointing slightly. Also, it was amazing how much the waitresses voice carried through the restaurant, it was that low, full Quebecois voice. Quite remarkable.
We then wandered through Marché Bonsecours, full of hand crafted art and a nice looking art cafe, before taking the Mini back to NDG for a latté at Shaika (an old haunt for me).
To wrap up my excellent streak of meals with friends I had a dinner plan organized with a number of old friends from Cat’s Corner and Swing Connexion who I used to dance with, teach with, or compete with. Eric & Caro, Syl & Adrian, Alain & Jenn, and Marie-Joseé
We were all to meet at Cafe Republic. Once I had exited the Metro and made it to St. Laurent I called Syl to ask where it was and as I was on the phone asking where it was a guy passing me overheard and told me to follow him. He was going there for dinner and would be happy to show me. It is great when people give you a moment of help, even for something so simple.
I have to say service on this Friday was particularly poor. I had ordered a rack of lamb rare and it came out nearly well. Although the waitress took it back and I had a new one cooked for me, it was a hassle to have to wait an extra ten minutes or fifteen minutes while everyone else quickly finished off their meal. On top of that, to flag the waitress for a desert menu, water, or even the cheques I had to get her attention each time. There was rarely a time when she visited the table of her own accord.
Despite the poor service, the friends made up for it. It was as if nothing had changed since I had left and it was dinner as normal. Conversation roamed from the newest indie band favorites touring through Montreal (thanks Adrian) to baby talk (half of my friends in Montreal are pregnant) to dancing. It’s nice to not feel like a stranger when you come home, even if it isn’t really your home anymore.
We grabbed our coats, tipped lightly, and headed out for Cat’s down the street.
Alain Fragman DJed the first set. I got to participate in a global shim-sham for Frankie at Cat’s Corner and a picture wishing him love from Montreal. It’s the third one I think I’ve been in so far.
Eric DJed the first half of the second set and I took over to finish out the night. I do enjoy DJing and I don’t do it too often, I’m more occupied with dancing and teaching these days, but I’m getting back into it.
Look for me behind the booth a bit more often.
Vagabonding Calendar
I’ve added a Calendar page to Vagabond Cafe so you can see where I’m headed next.
Check it out and see where I’m headed and when.
Seattle, WA – How To Roll In (2/15)
I caught a flight into Seattle on Sunday the 15th of February. I have heard a lot about Virgin America and their branding has been exceptional to promote a different way to fly. A way to fly that is fun and enjoyable again, an experience that is special. They do this by promoting that they have power on flights as well as integrated media centers in all of the seats and even WiFi.
All the branding and promotion is great until you get on the plane and realize that power is only available in First class or Business class, that the WiFi is $7 to access, and that the integrated media centers are handicapped entertainment centers with mostly pay-per-view options. I personally would prefer my ticket to cost an extra $15-20 to have free WiFi and premium media access. Otherwise I most likely won’t fork out the 7$ for WiFi on a flight and most definitely will not pay up to $10 just to watch a movie on my flight.
Slight rant out of the way.
My sister and Drew picked me up from the airport and we headed to the U District for dinner at Cedar’s. An indian restaurant with proper chai (as my sister calls it) in an endless cup. I think I would go just for the endless cup of chai, not to mention the cute waitress who kept making eyes. On top of those two things the food was delicious and as any good indian food should be: filling.
Dropped my things at their apartment on Capitol Hill and we all walked down to the Century Ballroom on Pine and Broadway. It was the end of the Seattle Balboa Festival and I happened to be in town for an amazing four-piece band on its last night. They continued their walk and I headed upstairs, paid the $18 cover (well worth it), and settled in to watch for a moment. Friends who I’ve known for years meandered in and I got many an excellent dance to the killer All-Star Band.
The dance wrapped up and we headed downstairs to Oddfellows, a relatively new gastro-pub in the same building, for a drink and some food. A couple beers later and the bar was closing up at 2am and I had been chatting with Kelly and Brien for a while. Kelly and I decided it was time to go get some Dicks. Dicks is a Capitol Hill standard for those after-bar cravings of greasy food. Sadly, they close right when the bars do, at 2am. So we missed our window of dirty food. Instead we hit QFC for pre-packaged sandwiches and chips and headed up to Kelly’s apartment around the corner.
It’s been a while since Kelly and I have hung out and as we munched our slightly stale sandwiches she kept wine flowing until we had finished a bottle and a half of wine and we realized it was six in the morning. At this point I was nearly a whole bottle of wine and two beers in on about three hours of sleep after a day of travel. In no shape to walk fifteen minutes uphill for the first time in the wee hours of the morning to my sisters apartment, I shot her a quick text and Kelly and I passed out.
That is the way to roll into a city. Exceptional dinner with family, a cute waitress to pour me tea, an amazing band and dancing, and then conversation and wine with an old friends that lasts until the sun comes up.
It’s how we should all be greeted when we get to a city.
Buy Carl a Cup of Coffee
That’s right. I’m asking if you’re up for buying me a cup of coffee as I travel.
Life on the road is just as often hard and lonely as it is wonderful and full of friends.
If you enjoy reading about my travels and want to show your support tag this PayPal link (or the cup of coffee to the right) and drop in a couple dollars.
I don’t have a regular job and yet am making my traveling work to my benefit by teaching as I go along. If you know I’m coming to your scene you can help put the word out for privates or help me organize a workshop class or two.
Montreal, QC – Coming Home Homeless (4/17)
This post is out of order, but it is current, I’ll probably start doing this in an attempt to 
keep up with my travels while recalling where I’ve been before.
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time— , Little Gidding
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I have been expelled from a country, slept in a 6′x10′ room on an air mattress, and lived out of a suitcase but I have never felt homeless until I came home.
Just thinking about coming home to Montreal has caused me to well up with emotion and tears, actually doing it has left me empty (in a state of shock).
I took the train up from Albany today; eight hours from Albany to Montreal, a three and a half hour drive (four if the border is slow). I realized the dedication it would take to get on that train and ride it all the way to NYC and back for only a short visit (that ride is more like 12 hours).
I used to live in Montreal. My life was here. I had friends, family, love, two cats. Then it was taken away. I sank. But a part of me stayed here, resided in the upstairs with the two cats and the cups of tea. It stayed after all I thought I wanted here was gone. It stayed until someone else moved in and I became unwelcome. Suddenly my heart no longer has a home.
I closed the door to the apartment and put my boots on in the stairwell. Chris had already gone to bed, work woke her early. I stepped outside. Snow congealed into dirty patches of ice lingered along the edges. Montreal’s stereotypical curved 2nd floor walkup stairs brought me to rue St. Phillipe.
I walked along the street, boots thudding away through my heels, past the snow removal sign (mardi et jeudi) to rue Notre-Dame. I have walked this street before. Not so long ago yet separated by a series of shattered lives.
I passed the dingy pizza shop at the corner of St. Marguerite opposite the greasy dejeuner where an omelette comes with a slice of american slapped to it. The old IGA storefront, still empty. The Cremerie adjoining Caffe Mariani where I used to spend days sipping on espresso and eating gourmet pizza until they had me making my own drinks and serving customers. The patio where I sat in the sun when I came home for the first time almost a year ago. All that light and no sight. The park where we watched the pigeons chase each other in heat. And then I was there at the corner.
I passed it and stood in front of the studio. Too dark to see the emptiness inside.
Back to the corner and down my street. No car in the back lot. Then I could see the lights on where my things still are. I passed them, they weren’t mine anymore. And I was there. The door where my keys would no longer fit. A T.V. is on and a light in the entryway and kitchen, that much I can tell just from knowing it. But that’s it. I walk past and then turn around. Across the street. I lean against the snow removal sign, tip my hat down and let memories fill me.
It is late spring, Adrian and Sylwia join us for brunch in the garden. There is mango and cheese and crepes and powdered sugar. The apple tree is shedding its blossoms.
It is sunday. There is the blue teapot amongst aluminum trays of chicken curry, shrimp dumplings and peanut sauce. It is a lazy day inside.
I am cold and sick. It is late and we’ve been driving into the night. I am shivering and pale. There is a hot bath already waiting for me. It is home.
There is a ring of silver wire with a purple stone beaded onto it.
San Francisco, CA – The Last Week (2/9 – 2/15)
When I showed up in San Francisco it was beautiful, the dreamy California weather that the movies show. The start of my second week shattered that pristine movie facade and it would decide to rain the moment I made a move to step outside. Without fail.
So, instead of fighting it I occupied myself with other matters. Writing, playing Rock Band on Manu’s amazing drum kit, catching up on T.V. shows and helping Manu hack his iPhone and newly acquired AppleTV. XBMC and Boxee are such great extensions of hardware like the AppleTV and XBox that it is disappointing of hardware creators how much disdain they show for people who just want to be able to do with their hardware what they want to without restriction once they’ve purchased it.
Wednesday I went out to Cat’s Corner, a dance held at the Savanna Jazz Club with a live band. I used to work for Cat’s Corner in Montreal so it was nice to see its sister venue in San Francisco. The venue reminded me of Swing 46 in NYC but less Broadway dinner establishment. It had a gritty dark edge to it, a bar worn from thousands of patrons, and signed photos of various musicians who had performed there scattered on the walls. The band was middling. Not particularly good but with the occasional tune that swung decently.
Thursday I made my way down to the Presidio to hangout with Erin, a friend from Detroit who had moved up from LA to San Francisco recently. She works at Starbucks and totally rocked my Starbucks experience with a triple soy latté on the house. When she finished her shift we wandered over to a small sushi restaurant nearby.
I’ve been meeting so many people lately who are going through large transitional states in their life. Learning to forge our own path in life rather than affixing ourselves to a path laid out for us or that so many others follow is a challenge for all of us. Erin and I talked about this for a while and how in the past year or two we’ve both been through a lot of large changes in our lives and that the coming time is still a liminal state. We’re on the threshold of a scary new part of our lives.
We hopped the bus back to her apartment and relaxed with the Big Lebowski till the 9:20 Special later that evening. Marty Klempner was in town teaching as part of the Frankie Manning weekend that was upcoming and he was spinning tunes for the first half of the night. Unlike my prior evening at the 9:20 I really enjoyed the music, lots of Fats Waller.
Friday I had a private to teach in Berkeley so I hopped the BART out of the city and arrived to meet Brian in downtown Berkeley. We drove over to a friends place and worked on solo jazz movement for a while. We broke down the shim sham and cleaned up the various motions and I showed him some stylistic variations that he could incorporate into his solo dance.
We grabbed food at Smart Alec’s, a local eatery that students frequent, and when I ordered a smoothie the girl behind the counter looked at me like I was crazy since it was apparently too cold outside to order an iced beverage. Then headed over to the ____ to watch Manu interview Frankie as part of the weekend.
Frankie Manning is celebrating his 95th birthday this coming May and over a thousand attendees are celebrating in New York City for a week thanks to the wonderful organization of so many people, yet there will be over a thousand attendees. There is no way anyone is going to get a few minutes of Frankie’s time to answer a question. That was one of the best things about the Frankie weekend in San Francisco. I sat ten feet from Frankie and got to ask him a question which her answered. Hearing his stories is always enchanting and it’s been since Lindyfest ‘08 that I saw him last. It was spectacular to have that interaction with the father of the dance I love so much.
After the interview Frankie retired to a back room and Lavay Smith and the Skillet Lickers played the dance. Well, they played eventually. It took over an hour for the chairs to get put away, the band to get setup, the sound checks and everything complete. Really poorly organized. As for the music itself the songs were patently long, we determined an average of eight minutes per tune, with each of the musicians taking extended solos without much consideration for the dancers.
I would say I’ve been spoiled with bands like the Cangelosi Cards and the Boilermakers who love to play for dancers and understand the dynamic of the room but I shouldn’t feel spoiled. That should be the standard. If you hire a band to play a dance, they should be good enough to know the room, to know the audience, even if you have to explain it to them.
Saturday I went out for lunch with Manu and Karen to Pacific Catch, a little galley restaurant, only a few blocks from the Starbucks where Erin works. With an asian and mexican mixed menu, I chose a wasabi rice bowl with Ahi Tuna. Exceptionally fresh and seared, the tuna was exactly what I craved, and the wasabi had a nice kick. I’m going to mention once again Manu’s exceptional generosity throughout my stay, taking me out for lunch on this occasion as well as others.
I swung by and gave Erin a hug on my way back to the car, thankful I did since we didn’t get to meet up again later.
That night was the Shiny Stockings Ball out in Oakland. Held in a large ballroom with a full big band orchestra and many of the attendees dressed up it was a true Saturday night dance. The band had that nice full sound that only an orchestra can have with a smoother feel that you might hear in later Count Basie, less hot jazz and more swing jazz. We had a shim sham with Frankie to celebrate him, a trend that is sweeping across the globe with communities filming their shim shams and posting them for all to see.
My favorite part of the night was near the end as people wrapped up Bromley and I had an impromptu tap off. Trading steps and trying to one up each other with high flying steps or tight rhythms. I’ve got more practicing to do but I held my own even though his rhythms were far tighter and clean than mine. Next time Gadget! Next time!
San Francisco, CA – 9:20, Surprises and Teaching (2/4 – 2/8)
I stayed down in San Mateo with Carla & Rye for a few more days until I headed back to the city for The 9:20 Special where I would be switching to Manu’s place.
The 9:20 is held in a gorgeous ballroom off of Divisadero close to the Presidio. For physical spaces, San Francisco has excellent dance venues, yet the music can sometimes be lacking with late-swing tunes from the 50s on that fail to carry that chunk and rhythm that makes me want to swing out. Too much ballad or melody with singers or musicians soloing without a driving shuffle to back them up.
Manu lives in SoMa (SF equivalent of SoHo apparently) which is short for South of Market Street. It’s home to many nightclubs, restaurants, shiny loft apartments, and some high-tech headquarters including Twitter, CNET and and Wired. Manu works for CNET and his fiancé, Karen, is a doctor at a nearby hospital and their apartment was wonderfully decorated (and adorned with the finest of tech gadgetry). I had to fight on many an occasion to tear myself away from the top line Rock Band drumkit and flat screen TV.
Saturday my close friend Shawn Rae, who had flown up for an interview, was in San Francisco. He had friends in the area from college and we all convened on La Taqueria. While mexican restaurants are every other corner it seems in the Mission district, La Taqueria is famous for its food with accolades from Zagat, Yelp and much more. The place is unassuming yet the line that snakes through the restaurant is a sure sign the place is popular. One carnitas burrito later and I was convinced (probably the best burrito I’ve ever had) I’d be coming back here the next time I was in San Francisco.
We said our goodbyes to his friends from college and proceeded to Tartines, a french bakery on Guerrero, to meet up with students he knew from Middlebury College. Having spent four years of my life in Montreal, I have a thing for french cafés and bakeries and I rarely find one that matches the quality I can find in Montreal, no less the pleasure of dining at one in France. Tartines is the real deal. The croissants were not overly sweet or dry as is often the case, my latte came smooth and ready in a bowl, and I was thoroughly pleased. Even more entertaining, my name was on the doorstep.
We finished off all of our delicious food and wandered over to the Castro district, which Shawn Rae’s two friends wanted to visit and he encouraged us all to go. One of the boys even mentioned that this was the most rainbow colored flags he’d seen in all of his life and it made him exceptionally happy.
We wandered into a gay bookstore and the two boys and Shawn Rae wandered the racks while I perused a copy of Bitch magazine and discovered Gina’s name tucked away amongst the contributors who helped to save the magazine from folding. It’s a great magazine and I recommend it highly.
Being the addict I am, we then stopped in at a small coffee shop and I picked up an Americano, and we wandered through the Castro district chatting and taking pictures. Here is one of the famous Castro theatre (from a distance).
I had to bail on Shawn Rae early as I was heading to a surprise birthday party for Carla. Carla, thinking it was a game night at a friends, picked me up and we headed down to San Mateo to get Rye. Rye had already clued me into the bait-and-switch and had me as the notifier for the hiding guests. I failed to understand that we would be getting off of one highway and onto a second so I notified them about twenty minutes early, thus leaving the party members in the dark waiting for our arrival. It, however, turned out to be a great success and Carla was stunned enough to reel when people jumped from their hiding spots.
It was a great social gathering which soon became a game night anyways. We played a couple rounds of Pit, a commodity style card game where the goal is to collect all eight (or nine in the traditional game) of a card before anyone else does, before moving on to Taboo. I’ve never played Taboo before and it was highly entertaining when the first two cards I read from I accidentally covered the main word and was using the taboo words as my guideline for what to say. Taboo fail. All in all a good time.
Sunday, Carla arranged for me to teach a solo jazz routine up at City College. I spent the majority of the day choreographing before class. I forget how much work solo jazz can be and I was sweaty and tired before I even got to class. A class room full of eager students fills you with energy as a teacher thankfully. I taught around 28 or 30 students the first half of a song I’ve been really digging on lately by Don Redman All Stars called See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil.
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I taught this again recently and hope to continue developing the choreography and to complete the song. So if I’m coming to your city keep an eye out for it, I’m looking to teach it to whomever wants to learn and get feedback as well.
