The Journey to Asianhood

It's 2.48am in the morning and I've been lying in my bed for the past hour doing nothing but watch K-Pop videos. Then, I was hit with a realisation not too dissimilar from getting figuratively slapped in the face with a wet fish. Not only has it been about an age since I last wrote a blog but also, a huge change in my life has occurred that should be given the chance to take centre stage and bow with pride. Therefore, I want my readers to be happy that I am dedicated enough to blog when I could be getting precious sleep (the real reason is that I will forget in the morning so don't feel guilty).

I'll try not beat around the bush (although from the title, I'm sure you can guess where I'm heading with this).When I came on exchange, I was expecting to embrace the Quebecoise culture (not the Canadian culture sadly, Quebec is virtually its own country). However, instead of eating snails or actively pursuing a career of permanently wearing berets, I have seized the opportunity to reject my Scottish roots and become something completely different.

Ladies and Gentlemen, it's time I came out from behind the Oriental screen (I tried googling Japanese closet and it never really worked, my analogies are getting worse).

I am Asian.

Okay, I'm not Asian but I want to be and since I have had the pleasure of making very good friends with people from Japan, South Korea, Thailand, Taiwan and China (I'm so multi-cultural now), I have taken the best parts of each culture and melded them together to become a 'Super-Mega Happy Asian'. I admit, it sounds bizarre but bare with me (and since when have I ever been normal).

Here below I will list the various areas of 'Asianhood' that I have adopted.

Photos

It seems I've been Asian for quite sometime because I am infamous for taking photos. I am the bane of my friend's lives because no matter where we go, my trusty camera is always ready, whether it is to catch a questionable facial expression or taking tourist photos in Bangor (It was my first time in Wales, give me a break).

Chopsticks

When I first sat around the table with my Asian friends for dinner and picked up my chopsticks and used them with the grace of a geisha (albeit a clumsy geisha), there were some gasps of surprise, shock that I could even hold them properly, let alone use them. Not one to shy away from basking in glory, I felt a sense of pride but ashamedly, I didn't tell them that not only can most people use them but my own sister has been using them since she was like nine. However, whilst my skills in 'chopstickery' are not particularly noteworthy, what is noteworthy is that I am now the proud owner of my own pair of bright pink chopsticks which I received for my 21st birthday. It was probably one of the best presents I've ever received. Ah, the simple things in life, who'd have known one could get so excited by eating utensils?

My very own pair of Chopsticks, I will be whipping these out at Yo Sushi!

Food

Obviously, a natural deviation from chopsticks would be the food you eat with them. I have always said this and I'll say it again. I could happily live on Asian food for the rest of my life. I can assure you that I all eat here is Teriyaki Chicken. It's 'phuking' awesome. Additionally, I've had Taiwanese cuisine, copious amounts of sushi made by my wonderful Japanese flatmate Nana, Thai noodles and Chinese dumplings. I swear, I will be the size of a sumo wrestler but I will be full of happiness. God, it's so good.

Samples from the Tai-Thai dinner

'So Sad'

The origins of 'So Sad' are blurry. I believe Nana said it first and it's something that has caught like WILDFIRE. It's hard to explain but I think that describing a situation as 'so sad' is a very Asian thing to say (I don't know how to describe it, I'm just natural Asian now). I say 'So sad' all the time. ALL THE TIME. Now, I even say it to people back home. And if the situation is not sad, it's 'so cute'. Even my language is changing.

Film and Television

Okay, I was already in the foray of Japanese films with my fandom concerning Deathnote and Battle Royale. However, after watching Deathnote with Nana, I found it a better experience. And, I watched a South Korean programme called 'Running Man' with Ka Ki which seemed to be like a gameshow. I had no idea what was going on if I'm honest but it was funny.

Karaoke

I consider doing Karaoke with Asians a rite of passage towards Asianhood. I mean, how many people can say they've done karaoke with Taiwanese, South Korean, Chinese and Japanese people? Additionally, karaoke is completely different experience with Asians (and sober). For one, they're actually all pretty good at it but they also take it serious, pouring raw emotion into their singing. There's no laughing either, it's a nice environment. I have to admit that I was surprised by the quality of songs that were sang. Even Keane's 'Somewhere Only We Know' was chosen. Unfortunately, however, I have a complete inability to choose a song that is not cheesy in some way. I chose 'Mamma Mia' and sang a duet with Rocio of 'Summer Nights'... Yeah.

KARAOKE.

Music

I've left the best till last. I have always had an ecletic music taste, it's true and with my love of Eurovision being proof that music does not need to be in my own language to enjoy it, it was only natural that I would develop a love for K-Pop. However, there is one band that I nigh-obsessed with and that band is called 'Super Junior'. It's a pop group made up of about 13 boys and their songs are so good.

Not only have I spent the last few evenings attempting to learn all of their names but I have also identified my favourites, Siwon and Khuhyun. Nom is all that is left to be said.

My love began during the aforementioned karaoke session when some bright and wonderful spark chose a song called 'Sorry Sorry'. I got home and googled it and immediately fell in love. I downloaded it off iTunes and repeated it on my iPod ever since. Then, last week, I discovered another song called 'Mr Simple' which has reached number 21 on my Top 25 Most Played list already. I'm not sure whether I am to feel ashamed or proud. And tonight, I have found another song that beats all of them, A-Cha. Already downloaded. The thing about Super Junior is that the majority of them are hot, they are insanely good at dancing and the songs are completely catchy. They could be about the taste of miso soup for all I know but they're still epic songs. Another honourable K-Pop mention would be Girl Generation.

YES.

'Sorry Sorry' Dance

This obsession with K-Pop has culminated in a phenomenon known as the 'Sorry Sorry' dance. Due to prolonged exposure of the 'Sorry Sorry' video, I became automatically synchronised with the dance at the chorus. It came to a head during the gala where we performed the dance to any song that matched the beat. Good times.

So yeah, I think I have put forward a compelling (and long) argument towards becoming an accepted denizen of 'Asianhood'. Having been told by many of my friends that I am more Asian than them, I am extremely confident that my application will be accepted.

Long live Asia (and Super Junior).

I will leave with one of their videos so you can all fall in love with them, just like I have. Additionally, please be sure to look up 'Sorry Sorry' and 'Mr Simple'. And if you want more, check out 'Gee' by Girls Generation. I feel like a K-Pop master.

What has happened to me?

OhmyGodSuperExplosionsandUnicornsandRainbowswithPies.

What I am about to account has never happened to me before but it is kind of awesome. And I felt the need to tell someone (or people).

Currently, in addition to the mountain of group work and assignments I have to write for HEC, Strathclyde decided to be a nice guy and give me a literature review to complete for tomorrow as well (Such a shite guy). The lowest point was opening an example of a good review and discovering it was over 2,500 words (it may be a paltry word count to you but to me, it still induces winces and tears). So this is not going to be just a simple all-night effort then? Well, I was wrong, in more ways than one.

Firstly, we got to choose the subject we did the literature review about. I cannot emphasise enough how much better it is to be able to write about something you actually have a degree of interest in rather than writing about some bullshit theory that I don't really understand anyway. Additionally, whilst we had to get the subject of our review evaluated, the lecturer who evaluated mine not only consented but said it was an 'interesting subject'. Woohoo, nothing like some faith from the lecturer to spur you on!

So, my subject? I don't want to go into too much detail but basically it's about the impact of violent video games on violent behaviour in children and young adults and how to market video games in this type of fear-mongering environment. And I've discovered it's a hugely interesting subject. So interesting in fact that I have been reading articles for the past five hours and yet, put no words on a page. This never happens to me, ever. I never feel the need to really get into the grit of a subject. I prefer to skim on the surface (usually taking quotations from the abstract. Don't tut at me, we've all done it).

For example, the last three hours have been spent reading about the tragic Columbine School Shootings, which despite being horrific and appalling in equal measure, is also a great source of interest, not only because one of the root causes is believed to be the influence of violent video games in the perpetrators lives but also, just because in general, it is interesting. Specifically, I've been reading the reddit posts from a survivor of Columbine and whilst it has little mention of video games (ironically enough, he now works in the video games industry) it has just been too damn interesting reading his posts and viewpoints. So much so that it is now 8pm and I was supposed to be finished by now. I'm barely halfway.

Therefore, when I saw a post from my lecturer that we could ask for extensions, I have rushed an email away. Not because I have been a lazy bastard and have only started it the night before (I started a few days ago actually) but because I actually want to my literature review justice. Not only because it could prove pretty darn useful for my dissertation next year (if I'm allowed to do one for marketing, developing story, may talk about it later) but because I'm having fun.

Having fun whilst writing an assignment? What even am I?

Sugar Shack: Another Québécoise Experience...

On Friday night, Nana, Aziza, Jungyoon (who convieniently lives next door) and I went to a 'Cabane á Sucre' or a 'Sugar Shack', about an hour outside of Montréal. Believe me, calling it a sugar shack is an understatement but more of that later.

In simple terms, a sugar shack is a front for producers of maple syrup. The 'harvesting' time for maple syrup, typically tends to be between March and April and so, whilst there is still plenty of maple syrup to go around, these producers tend to open sugar shacks during this period so both Montréalers and foreign visitors such as yours truly can sample the delectable delights of a traditional and sweet Quebec meal.

We all got into the coach and made our way there. You have no idea how cool it is to be going places on a coach again. It's like I've been transported back in time to school, where school trips used to induce excitement and happiness. I love having that feeling again. Anyway, we arrived at the sugar shack just as the sun was setting and it was pretty much exactly as I had imagined it. A shack. There was nothing particularly special about it and inside was pretty much your standard log cabin decor (or what I imagine to be a pretty standard log cabin, not that I am an expert in the interior design of log cabins, that might be Lawrence Llewellyn Bowen's field of expertise more than mine).

Yes, the icicles are real!

We were shown into a room where there were large tables set out and we all settled down to enjoy this meal. The process is simply sit down and a waitress will bring you your food (and you can ask for as many helpings as you want). As we had all starved ourselves for this promised meal of majestic quality (and quantity), the bread sitting on the table looked too inviting and we all practically wolfed it down in mere seconds. Alexandre, one of the organisers, told us not to eat too much bread because we would need room for later. Obviously, Alexandre had underestimated the power of my stomach because I can not describe the level of hunger I was feeling.

The first course came out, which was a nice and gentle Pea soup to get the ball rolling. However, after one sip, something was not quite right about it. I couldn't really put my finger on it but continued to eat it anyway (refer back to previous paragraph about starvation for more clarification). It was only when I hit the bottom of the bowl that I realised that maple syrup had been added to the recipe. Now, I have a sweet tooth (obviously) but c'mon, really? After the soup was finished (and I did finish it, I am not quitter), there was a small amount of time between the soup being cleared away and the main course, we decided to have a peek at some of the condiments on offer. Now, usually, I'm not a huge fan of pickles but as the ravenous part of my personality came out to play, I decided to try one. I am not even lying when I say that the pickles were pickled in maple syrup. However, there was a lovely chutney that deserves a mention because even though that had maple syrup in it, it was good. Pickles in maple syrup however, are not acceptable.

Finally, after what had seemed like an age, the main meal came out. It was almost like an English breakfast with scrambled eggs, smoked sausage, ham, baked beans and potatoes. Except, of course, everything has maple syrup in it. I'm not even lying, if you were unaware of the fact you were diabetic, you would have definitely known after this meal. It was crazy. Even the baked beans were in maple syrup... And then pudding. Need I talk about pudding? Cake with maple syrup or Maple syrup tart? My heart was racing faster than a fat man in a cake shop (ironic really). Probably the craziest part of the meal though was when Nana discovered the odd but rather tasty combination of Pork scratchings drizzled with maple syrup (yeah, we were pretty much all having heart attacks at this point).

English breakfast or Quebec Tradition? Only one way to find out...

Once the plates were all cleared away, the table was strewn like a battlefield. Everywhere I turned, I could see defeat in all of my friend's eyes. Food had beaten us all once again. And then, some soul announced that they were serving maple syrup taffy outside on ice. Well, didn't we all just stand up and make our way outside? Yes, yes we did and I don't regret a thing.

We made our way around to the back of the cabin where there were troughs filled with snow. Then this guy poured boiled maple syrup over the snow where it cooled just enough so that it became a sort of sticky, pliable consistency, which when rolled with a lolly pop stick, could be consumed easily. Long story short, it tasted awesome. And the guy kept coming round with this jug whilst we were being educated on how maple syrup was made (I can't lie, I wasn't really concentrating). I think the worst part was that I heard someone lamenting how they had had two whilst I was popping my fourth into my mouth (no regrets).

Showing how it's done!

After a small tour of the workshop and a group photo, it was decided that we would all get back onto the bus and make our way back to Montréal.

There's two things about this experience I would like to point out. One, it is probably the only time and opportunity I will have to ever visit a sugar shack as it is very ingrained in the Quebec culture and not necessarily obvious to outsiders. Plus the fact I hope I never come back here in March or April. And two, I did not fall over at all (which is what usually happens during trips with HEChange). Hooray!

The Home Run

Right Now: 'The Vortex' - Hadouken!

"Day 83 in the big Montreal House". These very words terrify me. I can't even believe it's possible that those many days have gone by since I first set foot in Montreal. And it's been a period of time where there has been a lot of highs and of course, with any new experience, a few lows too.

I cannot lie, exchange life hasn't always a bed of roses. There were the infestations of mice and recently, ants that I've had to contend with, which doubled with my other flatmates 'rocky' relationship with our landlady (she loves me, she gave me a Chinese pear) has not helped. Then, there's of course the weather, which really is nothing short of abysmal, especially when about 12 inches of snow decides to dump all over Montreal at the end of March. It's rather unacceptable. And of course, the most obvious factor is the constant longing to see my best friends and family again. I think, you could travel the entire world, experience and see the most wonderful things the globe has to offer and yet, I don't think there is anywhere quite like home (even East Kilbride, even East Kilbride). It's a deep-rooted connection that can't be broken, you can hear it calling you back and there comes a time when you just can't fight it anymore.

However, and this is a big 'However'. I am now getting to the stage where I'm so settled into a routine here that it almost feels like home. I realised it today when I walked 'home' from university and I didn't have to think about which way to go or which path to take. I just did it automatically and when the experience has entered your sub conscience, it starts to hit you that this place maybe means slightly more to you than you first thought. I enjoy being able to wake up when I want to, choosing when to eat, what to eat, when to shop, where to go out for dinner... The freedom of choice is literally limitless and that for me, is something which is priceless. I have also had great opportunities to travel, the highlight being meeting my family in New York City. It was a dream to go there and usually, when you people say 'OhmyGosh, New York is the best place ever' you wonder, can it really be that good? Well, I can tell you honestly it is. Boston was also a very beautiful place and somewhere I really think I would enjoy living permanently. Finally and the most important thing is, I have met some truly lovely people here who I hope I can be friends with for life. At first, I found it difficult because I missed a lot of fresher's week due to illness and other factors. I admit, I felt out of the loop for a long time. But gradually, you build on it and you meet new people. I mean, if I had to put it in simple terms, sixteen people came out for my birthday and I've known them around two and a half months. Last year, about fourteen people came out for my birthday and I've known them for years. It's nice to know that wherever I go in Asia, I will always have a friend there and I hope these people they will always have a friend in Scotland too.

So, now it's the home run. I have 53 days left to make this exchange the best experience of my life so far. And with events such as Toronto and Niagara Falls and Spring coming, I don't think it will difficult! 

NB: As some of you may have seen, I recently became a blogger for Fireball Liqueur Official UK. My  first blog hasn't been published yet but I'm really excited! I'm not sure how this is going to affect the frequency of this blog (which you know, is pretty much non-existant anyway) but I really want to try keeping them both going. So, I would really appreciate it if I could see the same level of support for my Fireball blog as I do for this one (plus you might actually win goodies and you'll be getting a guaranteed blog from me twice a month).

Thanks dear readers!

What exactly is the 'Harlem Shake'? One Woman's Battle for Knowledge...

Right Now: 'Best It's Gonna Get Vs. Tainted' - Celldweller

As you may have been noticing on your newsfeeds, there is a new dance craze circulating the internet called 'The Harlem Shake'. Now, I have seen quite a few videos of numerous groups of people attempting their own version and I have to admit, it's funny! However, I have been confronted with the fact that for the first time in my life, I do not know anything about the origins of this viral dance epidemic and therefore, I have decided today that instead of studying for my exam on Sunday (It's multiple choice, Bite Me!), I will instead uncover the mysteries surrounding this craze and hopefully educate those who, like me, are in a permanent stage of confusion around this thing that 'seems cool'.

Step One: To Wikipedia!

My journey to infinite knowledge begins with Wikipedia (obviously). Whenever society is faced with the unknown, the first thing we turn to is a our good, free friend, Wikipedia. If Wikipedia was a person, he'd be the guy who'd let you borrow some sugar, who'd help push your car in the snow, who would offer you the last biscuit on the plate. The 'Good Guy Greg' of the internet, if you will. 

I have typed 'Harlem Shake' into Wikipedia and I have been greeted by three different pages. I was not aware that the 'Harlem Shake' had so much depth, so much history. Already, I can feel this is going to take some time. The first page is dedicated to the dance, which seems to be like a good place to start. Apparently, the 'Harlem Shake' originated in 1981 in... You guessed it, Harlem! It was based on an Ethiopian dance called the 'Eskista'. The 'self purported  creator of this dance, 'Al B' (which is a very lazy nickname) seems to be a bit too lively on the party scene, as he is quoted saying that the dance 'comes from the ancient Egyptians' and describes it as 'what the mummies used to do'.  Now, I'm not an expert on Ancient Egyptian history but I find it hard to believe that long-dead, saturated corpses could spontaneously 'get their groove on' and I don't think any evidence of this has been painted in hieroglyphics (unless that was the curse that killed Howard Carter and Lord Carnavan)...

Anyway, this 'Al B' nonsense is annoying me and I'm no closer to finding out what the virality of the 'Harlem Shake' is all about. I have fallen for the student trap that is Wikipedia once again. It's like my kryptonite. Therefore, it's time to try a different method of gathering information. 

Step Two: Yahoo! Answers

I love Yahoo! Answers. I'm not sure if that means I'm a sad human being or not but I find it useful (and amusing too). Sometimes. My question was simple: 'What is the Harlem Shake?' Here are some of the answers I received.

Helpful? I think not. Also, I find the top contributor's post the most terrifying. She's like fifty? What would her children say?  I'm horrified but I'm also digressing. So, according to the good (and rather strange) denizens of Yahoo! Answers, it's basically just a silly little dance where people go crazy (and get naked). Hmm, okay but how did it get so popular all of a sudden? (I think I'm onto a bigger philosophical discovery than Aristotle)

Step Three: YouTube

Perhaps it would have been wise to begin with YouTube but I'm a gatherer of knowledge, a hunter of wisdom. I want all the facts before I commit to something (even if the facts are from either a website that anyone can edit or a community where satirical answers reign supreme). Through sleuthing, I discovered that the original video was from an account called TheSunnyCoastState. Here it is in all its glory.

And now, I finally get it. 'Harlem Shake' is just another craze and a hilarious one at that. It involves one person in a room full of people dancing to the song. When the bass drops, everyone joins in. And that's the 'Harlem Shake'. The best part is that there doesn't need to be a point in it, everyone needs a little bit of crazy in their lives. It's popularity is marked by the fact that everyone can get involved, no matter where you come from. Gangnam Style was last year's fad but is this year's ultimate craze the 'Harlem Shake'? Only time will tell.

Tomorrow, HEC Montreal are holding their own official homage to the 'Harlem Shake' in the cafeteria. I feel the only way for me to truly become one with the 'Harlem Shake' is to experience it for myself. Watch this space.

My Montréal Bucket List

I really like bucket lists. The reason being that they always give you something to look forward to or something to try. Basically, my bucket list serves the purpose of keeping me grounded but above all, makes life just a little bit more interesting.

I have also become self-conscious that instead of blogging about the cool things I do in Montréal, all I do is consistently moan about life and all the little things that upset the natural order of things. Therefore, in a bid  to sound less depressing like Kurt Cobain and more happy like Ellen DeGeneres, with the kind assistance of my flatmates, I have made the below bucket list of things to do in Montréal before I leave in May. 

1. St Joseph's Oratory
2. The Notre Dame Basilica
3. Igloofest
4. The Snow Festival
5. La Banquise (For REAL Poutine)
6. Real Montréal - Style Bagels
7. Attend a Hockey Match
8. Visit Beaudry Metro Station (Cool Architecture)
9. Visit Old Port during the day
10. Visit the Grand Prix Circuit
11. Pilgrimage to the Bioware Studios (for my inner gamer geek)
12. Schwartz (Smoked Meat Restaurant)
13. Olympic Park and Tower
14. Biodome
15. Museum Visits
16. Beavertails Pastries
17. Juliet + Chocolat
18. High Lights Festival

An Open Letter to the Denizens of Facebook Who Are Moaning About The Weather...

(Please Note: This blog was written in an attempt to procrastinate. I'm waiting for the American Horror Story Finale at 10pm but don't really wish to read the case study for tomorrow's class either)

Dear Facebook Friends from Scotland

Once upon a time, I was like you. Once upon a time, I would have considered a temperature of -1°C unbearable. Once upon a time, six inches of snow would have resulted in a mandatory period of hibernation. Once upon a time, I would have moaned about the weather consistently.

However, my eyes have been opened and to quote the great Johnny Nash song, 'I can see clearly now that the "snow" has gone'. You see, whilst you are all whining about a minuscule layer of frost on the path, I have to walk on pure ice. Every step I take is a matter of either life or having to use my health insurance. Shall I talk about the snow? Well, I've been here nearly four weeks and there has always been snow. It's like grass now. The worst thing is that nowadays, I pray for snow. I pray for snow because it is easier to walk on than ice. I hate snow. 

Don't get me wrong, I love this city so far. The culture is great and there are so many things to see and do. The people are very friendly (even the bus drivers say 'Hi', I'm not used to that) and HEC is probably the nicest university I've ever been to, let alone study in. However, when I chose North America for exchange, I was hoping for a climate more 'Florida' than 'Siberia'. I don't wish to sound ungrateful (even though I'm probably coming across ungrateful anyway), just hold in there, I'm going to say something nice now!

Yet, despite all this, Montreal just shrugs it off and gets on with life. 30cm of snow? Well, you better get your snowshoes on because neither work or university is closed and you're expected in. Buses and Trains? Always running and are still reliable. The thing is, people here have balls. They don't let anything get in their stride, they don't make excuses and they don't moan. It's admirable. I admit, the latter is something I'm still struggling with. I'm the moaniest person I know and not a day goes by without me remarking how cold it is (I say remarking, I mean ranting). So, I guess I'm hoping that if I can take anything from this experience, it's that I learn to 'man up' about the Scottish weather.

To show you what I mean, here are a few exhibits I wish to show to the 'court'.

Exbitit A: Snow Level

Okay, so I'm not going to lie to you, this was taken a short time after the 'freak snowstorm' hit Montreal. This amount of snow is a rare occurrence but still, SNOW.

Exhibit B: Clothing Layers

This is a hideous picture, it should come with a disclaimer about going blind but for the sake of fairness, I am allowing it to be published. This picture was taken today, when I had a pair of leggings, jeans, two tops, two scarves, large fleece, winter jacket, hat and earmuffs on. And I was still cold. Why? It was -26°C. 

Exhibit C: Paths

I can deal with most things here. Snow is okay now. But pure ice on the path? No. I've fallen over twice and both times wasn't pretty. I walk slower than the elderly here and that is shameful. But I'm so frightened of breaking my legs.

So, I guess the point of this open letter was to tell my Scottish friends who feel the constant need to moan about the weather TO MAN THE FUCK UP AND GET A GRIP. PEOPLE HAVE TO DEAL WITH FAR WORSE. EVEN FAR WORSE THAN WHAT I'M DEALING WITH. STOP BEING PUSSIES AND GET ON WITH IT. 

'Ahem' have a nice day!

Amy :)

P.S. Yesterday, my Auntie's gorgeous Golden Retriever, Robbie, sadly passed away. I know he was only a dog and perhaps some people don't appreciate how upsetting this can be to people but I was gutted to hear about his death (and cried on FaceTime, I'm not even ashamed). He was such a nice-natured dog, with his dopey wee eyes and inability to climb stairs without a push. We will always have the memories, such as when he jumped on my parent's bed on Christmas Day when we looked after him. So, God love you Robbie Dog, you will be sadly missed!

Welcome To My New Life.

Okay, I can hear all the complaints for not blogging all the way from Canada, so pipe down! I apologise for being pretty silent on the blog front in the last week or so but the reason is quite simple: I've been ill and pretty much done nothing. See, Canada didn't like me to begin with so I think it tried to kill me off. However, I persevered and now, I have a health bar at about 90%.

So, in a bid to satiate all of your appetites and jump back on the wagon, I've cheated by not blogging in a traditional sense (mwahaha) and instead, made a video starring me as myself and my flat. I hope you enjoy my dulcet, albeit slightly wheezy tones.

There is such a thing as a free lunch...

Apart from pain and heartache, the worst feeling in the world is hearing your alarm go off in the morning. The same, familiar beep always induces a painful groan at having to abandon the warmth of your bed and actually 'do stuff'. What's worse is that if you use a song that you like as your alarm, you eventually associate it with the negative painfulness of waking up and you begin to hate the song. To this day, I cannot listen to 'Sahara' by Nightwish without feeling physically sick.

Luckily, I didn't sleep through the alarm on Thursday morning as I usually do and woke at 7am. I put some toast in the toaster before realising that the university were providing it today and gleefully put it back in the cupboard (another day's lunch, woo hoo)! We all got ready and headed to the university which is about a ten minute walk (or fifteen minutes for slow walkers like me...) and got to the steps of HEC Montreal and ventured inside. We asked at reception where we were due to go and was directed to go up the stairs to the cafeteria. It's hard to describe how I felt when I saw inside for the first time but I was quite overwhelmed with how beautiful it is. It's so modern, sleek, clean, white, fresh and ... cool. Cool is probably the perfect word to describe it. We were told to register at a desk and we were given a sticker with our name and home country on it before being directed to the breakfast table. I have to say, I was very impressed, it was like a Hilton Breakfast (which I am now very accustomed to and can vouch they are awesome). Settling for a Croissant and what looked like Pain au Chocolat, I sat with my flatmates. 

After about half an hour we were directed into the 'Amphitheatre' (loving all the posh rooms already) and were introduced to International Exchange Office personnel, who were all very nice, friendly and warm. They gave us a lecture on Montreal, how to survive Winter (hibernation isn't an option apparently, damn) and a basic introduction into life here. We were then directed to the cafeteria again and waited for lunch to be served (my purse was rejoicing). Lunch was amazing, nice sandwiches, pasta, houmous... I can tell you all right now that Strathclyde would never prepare a spread like that. The Danish Whirls were also pretty awesome. Whilst collecting our lunch, we were given our 'Fresher's Week' wristbands, which would give us access to pretty much every activity under the sun (or snow, whatever). 

After lunch, we explored a bit more of the building and discovered that there are no room numbers in HEC, rather they are all named after local businesses, who probably sponsor them (quite clever I think). For example, there was Scotia Banque, KPMG, Xerox Canada etc. (None of these I have heard of, of course). The rooms look amazing inside as well, comfy chairs, big screens. It really does make Strathclyde look like a rubbish heap and even though I may crave for home, I doubt I will look forward to returning to the Strathclyde campus (or starting a dissertation for that matter).

After delaying the inevitable, we finally joined the back of the registration queue to pay for our health insurance. I'm not even exaggerating when I say the queue didn't move for an hour and then we had to go and show our passport to someone and that took about twenty minutes too. However, as soon as it was done, we decided to show Ludovica where the supermarket was and help her get some stuff. The paths were really slippy that day and I was taking my time but also lagging behind (normal Amy speed really). We eventually made it to the supermarket, albeit, the scenic route and I was celebrating having made it. Until I put my foot off the kerb and slipped on a bit of ice. It was weird, as I was falling backwards, I had enough time to think 'Oh no' before I landed. Luckily, I landed on my bum and my bones were still intact. This is a win for me. Never have I been so happy to carry excess weight! However, I made a decision there and then to avoid shortcuts and follow all paths. It's weird, you lose your confidence a wee bit but you have to get back out there. 

We walked to Pharmaprix, a sort of Boots and I looked for painkillers, having been blessed with the foresight that I was going to have a very sore arse in the morning. However, at $10 for a packet of Tylenol  I preferred suffering the pain. I'm not sure why they don't do 39p packets of Paracetamol here, the prices here are just ridiculous. We then waited at Fido for about an hour before going to the shops. By the time we got home, it was about seven and we needed to leave the house at quarter to eight to go to the first bar of  Fresher's Week. I managed to wolf down some left over pasta from the day before (I am so into the leftover food movement, it's glorious) and put a bit of slap on before heading to HEC. We then had to walk to the bar, which was for me, a hard slog of a walk and we passed Decelles, the other building which I have the misfortune of having a class at 8.30am on a Tuesday. We then went to Bar Tabasco, which turned out to be a ten minute walk from our apartment. We had gone in a circle. Lovely.

Bar Tabasco was great. The drink prices were not too shabby and I got the opportunity to speak to a lot of my fellow exchange students, in a relaxed environment, where we could head each other speak. We then walked home after a few hours and went to bed early, to be up and ready for another amazeballs lecture (yay).

Tea in a Saucepan is how we roll...

Wednesday arrived with a 'clatterboom' as I heard my landlady's shrill voice at 9am, heralding the arrival of our Chinese flatmate, Ka Ki (or Katrina). All I can say is that I'm glad Aziza was up and about otherwise they would have been standing behind that door for a long time. An interesting thing that I should point out which I have noticed both at Strathclyde last year and in Montreal is that students coming from China often choose English-sounding names as monikers during their studies. As cool as this is, I also feel slightly sorry that Chinese people feel the need to choose names that people find easier to pronounce. For example, I would hate to simplify my name, it's my name and everyone should know it (I'm not sure why I'm going on a bizarre tangent here, I'm tired).

Anyway, I hurriedly pulled on my clothes, not wanting to meet my new flatmate in nothing but pyjamas and tried in vain to mould my hair into an acceptable style. We introduced ourselves and spoke to her for a while. She had had an insane 18-hour journey from Hong Kong and was very jet-lagged, poor thing. Leaving Ka Ki to adjust and settle in, I went into the kitchen to prepare a seemingly simple breakfast of toast. Except the fact that the toaster is broken and you have to physically hold the toast down whilst it cooks. I mean, Jesus wept and that's all I have to say on the matter.

However, at around 11am, the landlady very kindly offered to drive us around the block and show us the local landmarks. Firstly she took us to the shopping centre near us, which is probably similar to a retail park. Inside, there was a supermarket, Metro, which I would describe as the equivalent of Morrison's, a shop very similar to B&M and 'Dollarama', a one-dollar shop and possibly my favourite shop here so far (I am a genuinely poor student now, after all). The landlady very kindly waited whilst we did some shopping and then drove us back home, which was great considering how heavy our bags were, via HEC Montreal, which was the first time I had seen it in reality. I have to say, It's quite an impressive building, if not slightly ugly. Although, as my cousin said, it was 'probably sexy in the nineties'.

After we were dropped back home, I fluttered around, trying to make sense of my biggest enemy since the rope frame at the gym, the American-style washing machine. I believe that the washing machine is its own entity, has its own mind and has one goal and one goal only, the goal being to confuse every single international student who uses it. There are so many dials on this thing... I didn't even know where to begin. By a random act of divine intervention or magic, I managed to get some things washed but they didn't turn out very well (although, it might be because the detergent is from Dollarama, go figure).

It's always after you've been shopping that you realise you have forgotten something and I realised that I needed to get another pillow. I have a King-Size bed in Montreal (which I'm not used to, I still use only one side of it, although I intend to learn the spread eagle position momentarily) and I only had one pillow. Not only do I have four at home (don't gasp at me, they are flat and firm, not these big, soft fluffy monstrosities) but the bed just doesn't look right with one pillow. So, I decided to be a big girl and venture out on my own, back to the retail park. I was quite proud of myself for undertaking this expedition, mainly because if I fell and injured myself, I would probably be left to die in the snow (like what happens to climbers on Mount Everest).

I made it to the retail park unscathed and headed to SUPERMAX (the B&M) and found a pillow for $8, which I thought was pretty good. The other thing I needed was a king size sheet because the double one I bought would not fit, no matter how many times I pulled and stretched it. The cheapest one they had was $35 so I think I can live with the double sheet not quite fitting the whole bed for the moment (I've taken student living to extremes). Then, I headed to Dollarama, which is genuinely amazing, bought a few bits and pieces before buying milk at Metro and making my way home. And I made it back alive. Put it this way, if it was socially acceptable to high five yourself, I would have, I was so proud of myself.

Then, I Facetimed my family and it was genuinely great to see them all. It's probably the best part of my day. But then as soon as I sign off, I get a wee bit teary-eyed and start to miss them. Sometimes, I wish they'd just put my sister's iPhone on the sofa, in front of the TV and then I could be with them for a few hours, sort of like a robot. But that would be silly (but possible, I think it could work, wishful thinking...) I'm not sure if these bouts of homesickness are going to pass or not but I hope so. Sometimes, I think I'm being silly because I see my flatmates and they don't seem as homesick as me. Bleurgh!

Around about 8pm, Nana, our Japanese flatmate arrived with her two friends to move some of her stuff into the apartment. When I say 'some' stuff, I mean it looked like she had robbed a shop because she had about fifteen different bags with different things in them. I thought the apartment might explode. Once her friends had helped her move in, we all sat down and had a wee chat (and her friends had a well-deserved rest) before they all went to the bar. It seems I'm not as hardcore as I like to think I am because I didn't go. About an hour later, Ludovica, the last flatmate arrived with friends of her family and she settled in, before going to bed, exhausted from a day's flying. Whilst she was getting a tour, Aziza, Ka Ki and me decided it was a good idea to have a cup of tea and retrieved the kettle. All was well until we looked inside the kettle and discovered it was as black as night. Yuck. So, we settled for the next best thing, a saucepan. Lovely. The best part was that as we were huddled around this saucepan waiting for the water to boil, the landlady described our kitchen to Ludovica as 'well-equipped'. Uh huh.

However, the tea was a success and after a nice wee chat and a laugh, we decided to go to bed because some bright spark at HEC Montreal thought that everyone would like to come for a welcome meeting at 8.30am. Nom.

New Year, New Me...

Despite going to bed at 4am after getting back from Old Port, I was bright-eyed and bushy tailed at 9.30am and set about packing my case in preparation for moving into my new apartment later that day. It felt great not having to live out of a suitcase anymore but I was really nervous and I felt sad that I was leaving the safe, cotton-wool environment that I had experienced with my cousin and Benoit. It was like a bird flying from the nest, setting out on its own. And I was worried about whether my flatmates would like me or not. Stressing about everything, no different from reality really.

We had lunch and chilled for a few hours. Luckily, because my cousin and Benoit are so nice, they took one of my cases each and all I had to carry was my rucksack and shopping bags. I felt a bit like a Princess, truth be told. And lazy.

We had to take two buses and traipse through enough snow to bury an Eskimo but we eventually made it to Avenue de Kent, my home for the next four months. The street overlooks a park, which although covered in snow, would probably look lovely in Summer. We made it to the apartment and were greeted by the landlady, who took us upstairs and showed me my room. Usually, when you see pictures of an apartment on the internet, you can't tell if your room is going to be like that but I was pleasantly surprised. My room is lovely and very spacious (not something I'm used to).

Then, I met my first lovely flatmate, Aziza, who is from Milan, Italy with Egyptian origins (quite exotic)! We spoke to the landlady for a little while before she started 'cleaning' again. (I think her standards of cleaning are very different to Aziza and my standards of cleaning). I was then very rude to my new flat mate and left for a few hours to have New Year's Day pizza round my cousin's, courtesy of Pizza Pizza. The cool thing about this company is that as soon as you order online, there is a 20-minute countdown timer and if your order is not ready in 20 minutes, you get it for free! Sadly, that didn't happen to us. However, the better news is that the pizza was amazing and so were the chicken nuggets (Omnomnom).

Then, Michael and I got the two buses back to my apartment and arrived at my humble abode where we bid farewell. It was sad seeing the only familiar face in Montreal leave me but I mustered up my stiff British upper lip and carried on to the front door, which I couldn't open and had to get Aziza to open it instead. What a fail.

How the Brave New World Arrives...

I have to say, I find myself strange but usually, I really can take or leave New Year. I always find it a sad time of year, whether its looking back and saying 'Goodbye' to a really amazing year or remembering the events that happened to make a year not so great. Additionally, I cannot put my hands up and say I've ever been truly 'blootered' at New Year before either. And it's not through lack of trying. For example, if we look at Exhibit A, this is a picture of my alcohol from two years ago.

A valiant effort, I think you will agree

I only had half a half bottle of Vodka left over from that and I felt nothing more than tipsy, what a let down. But this is not to say I don't enjoy New Year. I love going up to Inverness for the celebrations and I was sad that I couldn't take part in the revelry this year. 2012 was sort of a 'meh' year for me, mainly because nothing really exciting happened. Sure, I had a great time in Wales and Norfolk but missing T in the Park was disappointing, no matter how much mud there was. So, I have endeavoured to make 2013 the greatest year ever (especially seeing as we didn't die in the apocalypse).

On Monday, we went through our normal routine, which I'm sure you are all familiar with by now and decided to go to the supermarket that was down the road from my cousin's. As it turns out, this was my first taste of fending for myself as I was given the reins to do some shopping of my own. My bill eventually came to about $50 and that was just for the bare minimum of basics. Butter, cheese slices, ham, bread, shampoo, conditioner, bubble bath, pringles (which were the cheapest crisps, believe me) besides others. I could cry but I can't afford the tissues to wipe the tears away.

We then headed back to the apartment and chilled for a few hours before getting ready to go out. At 7pm, we rang out respective mothers and fathers who were both spending New Year with each other to wish them a 'Happy New Year'. It was quite strange, ringing them from the past when they were already in 2013. Not that they cared anyway, I think most of them were pretty sozzled! We then caught the bus to the Old Port where we were going to spend New Year. We had booked a table at a Mexican restaurant for half eight and was given the set menu. I can't even describe how yummy the food was. For starter, we had a plate of traditional Mexican food, such as Nachos, Guacamole, Salsa, Black Beans... Oh my, I was in food heaven and that was before my enchilada came. Om nom nom. All washed down with a few Pina Coladas. And the best part about that was the fact that neither my cousin or Benoit liked cherries so I got those as well (part of your five a day, glaces cherries...).

However, The best part about the restaurant was the entertainment. Halfway through our meal, a two-man Mariachi band went round each table and played a song for each table. When he got to my table, he asked if I had any requests. In hindsight, I should have requested 'Gangnam Style' but I think Santana was about as modern as it got with this band and stated I had no preference. It didn't matter though because they were amazing and they made my night.

After the meal, we headed down to the Old Port where the street party was just getting underway. There was a lot of hustle and bustle and the Old Port definitely wins the most prettiest part of the city award. There are just so many old, pretty and grand buildings, it's all very impressive. We made it onto the main street, where a live band were playing songs by artists such as One Direction, which although aren't my favourite (and that's an understatement), it got the mood going. We then crossed the road to the waterway and were given a pair of what looked like retro 3D glasses. It wasn't until we put them on, we realised that they had a kaleidoscope effect on lights. And they were amazing. Amazing in a sort of trippy, psychedelic LSD trip. In fact, I'm pretty sure I know how The Beatles felt like when they tried LSD.

We then took a walk around, past the Ice Skating rink before taking our position for the bells and the beginning of fireworks. There was the big countdown, the cheering and fist pumps to welcome 2013 before the fireworks started. And they were fantastic. Although I'm not sure if it was the glasses that made them more spectacular. In fact, those glasses would probably make any back garden fare look spectacular. It is my theory that they mass produced these glasses because it was cheaper than buying amazing fireworks. But in any case, it still looked amazing and I will be taking these glasses to every firework display I go to now (because I go to firework displays so regularly, of course).

After the fireworks, the party really got started, with a Coca Cola sponsored DJ set, which was amazing. The setlist was excellent and there was free cans of Coca Cola just flitting about. My cousin, Benoit and me spent the next hour just dancing in the snow, even doing Gangnam Style in it (and I don't think many people could say they have done that). We then headed back to the apartment and eventually got in about 4am, which to someone who had just started a sleeping pattern, was quite tiring. 

I can safely say that that was one of the best New Year celebrations I've ever been to. So maybe in the future I won't be such a sourpuss (well, not about New Year anyway, I'm still an eighty-year old woman stuck in a twenty year old's body). And that will never change. Fact.

You can take the girl out of Sainsbury's but you can't take Sainsbury's out of the girl...

Sunday arrived and already, my cousin, his flatmate and me had already settled into a familial routine. We'd all get up around half ten, have a spot of breakfast, watch a bit of TV or go on the internet, shower, make a sandwich and then go out for about 1pm. Today, after a slight debate between the shops or the Old Port, we decided to go to the shopping hub of Montreal, St. Catherine's. St. Catherine's has its fair share of normal malls of course but it is the underground city that is really worth seeing. We grabbed a bus which took us downtown and then walked (or slid in my case) a wee bit until we got to a snowman-guarded entrance and descended into a mall.

Now, I guess it isn't very impressive because it just looks and feels like a mall but when you realise that you're underground, that's when the impressiveness hits you. The best thing is, it's pretty much never-ending because as one mall ends, another one begins. It genuinely goes on for miles and there are so many shops, I wouldn't like to guess how many there were but I would hazard a guess and say 'a lot' (which is a correct description of quantity, thank you very much). 

We wandered a fair bit and eventually came across Montreal's main train station, which looked slightly like central. Here, you can catch a train to most of the major cities in the vicinity, including Toronto, Quebec City and New York. Definitely something to bear in mind methinks. Beyond the train station, we hit the 1000 centre, which had the prettiest Christmas decorations I think I've ever seen. Inside the centre, there was an Ice Rink. My cousin, his flatmate (who is called Benoit, much easier to use) and me all looked at each other and collectively chickened out. At least it runs in the family...

Eventually, we made it back and hit IGA again, albeit a different branch. We bought some stuff for Caesar Salad and then went through the Self Scan. Now, maybe I was being over zealous but I thought that by leaving the country, I could escape the bane of my life. But alas, life doesn't work like that because as it turns out, IGA have installed the exact same Self Scan machines Sainsbury's use. And then, when my cousin pointed out that every time he scanned an item, it didn't beep, I knew exactly how to fix it. Sad as fuck.

We then got a metro and bus back to the apartment and settled down to a nice Caesar Salad, which was pretty awesome. We then watched NCIS, Criminal Minds etc. I thought that because I was in 'North America', these would be brand new episodes but it turns out Canada likes to show repeats as well. Sounds about right. We also ate cake during NCIS, a cake called Elizabeth cake which is a sort of Coconut concoction. 

To be honest, if everyday was like this, life wouldn't be so bad. Shame I don't have disposable income to spend in the shops anymore. Sigh, paying bills sucks!

Cake, Trains and Awkwardness

If you are reading this blog then I think a massive congratulations is in order because you have managed to stick with my boring blog for another day. As a reward, I'm going to try and make this blog a little bit more 'exciting' or at least bearable and don't worry, your very own imaginary medal is on its way to you.

I didn't think jet lag was possible with only a five-hour time difference but apparently it is. As much as I told my body that it was not cool to wake up at 7.20am, I was wide awake, with a complimentary winter cold courtesy of a passenger on my British Airways flight. See, not all complimentary services on airlines are fun. Feeling icky, I hunted for paracetamol in the black hole that is currently my luggage before finally settling back down for a few more hours kip.

Eventually woke up at half ten and grabbed a yoghurt for breakfast and a throat lozenge. I finally managed to get connected with my beloved Facebook and message my friends which made me a lot happier before speaking to my Mum and Dad on the phone. Then, we made plans to sign the contract for my flat, get a SIM card for my phone and buy new straighteners and hairdryer because my own couldn't heat a slice of bread. Stupid, unnecessary expense and voltage. Pfft.

So, wrapped up to the absolute max, with a T-Shirt, jumper, fleece and winter coat, we ventured outside and I can safely say that the volume of snow is unbelievable. There are cars just covered in the stuff so they look like little snow houses (whatever they are) and the paths are slippy too (naturally). Sadly, I found this out the hard way because to my horror, I slipped and fell not once but twice. Luckily, my cousin and his flatmate were the only ones to see but how horrifically embarrassing it was and on my first day. However, I have accepted that it was probably the first of many and I'm hoping I can develop ninja skills to avoid falling for life. Or at least get a reasonable sense of balance.

Eventually, after what seemed like a trek across the Himalayas, we made it to the office of the agency who's organising and letting my apartment, which in itself was a tiny top-level apartment, whereby the only access to it was up a very steep set of metal stairs. As I think back now when I looked at it, I'm surprised my life didn't flash before my eyes because this was the definition of lethality and it looked and felt like a ladder. Taking the plunge (or not) I made it up okay but I was conscious of the fact that I wasn't out of the woods yet because I would have to go back down them in a few moments. I managed to sign the contract for my flat and set a time of 4.00pm to move in on Tuesday, allowing enough time to hopefully recover from a boozy night from before. Then, I had to tackle the stairs again. When you're going down something precarious, you often take it slowly at first but then as you get closer to safety, you rush down the stairs and that's when the accidents happen. With this in mind, I probably went at the speed of a drunken snail down these steps but I made it down, with every bone in my body still intact. Now, got to touch wood for the rest of the exchange period now. I'm quite superstitious you see...

Then, we went across the road to 'Fido', a mobile network service and got my SIM card for my phone. Now, as I have had the pleasure to discover things about Canada, the first thing is that you get nothing for free here. And they have crazy laws, legislation and in general, ways of doing things. My first brush with this was when I found out I have to pay to RECEIVE calls, which, to be quite honest is just mental to me. I mean, could you imagine paying everytime you got a PPI call at home? I don't think so. With this in mind, I got an unlimited package, which is actually more expensive than what I was paying at home, which brings me to my next point. I thought Canada was going to be cheap like America but oh no, don't be silly, it is WAY more expensive. So, I think the dollar shops will be my favourite haunts here (Oh, they exist).

We then decided to catch a Metro at the Mont Royale station and go to Atwater. The metro stations are the main way to get around Montreal and are very similar to the Glasgow Subway except it looks more aesthetically pleasing and it didn't smell like piss. Luxurious, I know. The metro is incredibly fast. You literally get ten seconds to get on the train before the doors close on you, which might sound a bit harsh but it means they are actually incredibly punctual and efficient. The trains also have wheels on them which I found amusing, the reason being so that the ride is a bit smoother for passengers. The advertisements on the Metro are hilarious too, with Viagra and Sex Shops being splayed all over posters for the whole world and his mum to see. No shame. We got off at the main metro station, lovingly known as 'Berri' before switching lines and getting on another metro. A good thing about Montreal is how cheap their Transport System is to use, especially with it being so good. When we got off, I didn't know what was at Atwater but when we got off the train and went through some double doors, we were suddenly in a shopping mall. All was well until my cousin lovingly described it as Montreal's Savoy Centre (if you know what I mean).

However, I feel that this was an unfair analogy as it wasn't anywhere near as bad as all those dingy little stalls in the Savoy Centre. Another thing in Montreal, is that all the shops have an English equivalent and you can compare. For example, the shop that I went into to get my new hairdryer and straighteners was the equivalent of a Woolworths. I was quite impressed with the price of my new hair-styling attire and then that's when the sad thing that is the sales tax they add afterwards was added to the bill. It makes me so sad seeing what was a bargain become an expensive item, which made me wave goodbye to approximately C$100 of unbudgeted funds. Very sad.

We then went to IGA, which is like a supermarket chain similar to Tesco or Sainsbury's, except it is so much more expensive and the fruit and vegetables must be genetically modified because onions are roughly the size of babies' heads. We did a bit of grocery shopping where I discovered that Canada do have Fajitas, unlike I had been informed. Over the moon does not even describe my feelings.

Before heading back home, we went to a small Chinese patisserie, which sold cheap cakes. As you can imagine, instantly, we were sold and sat down with a cake and coffee (although I obviously didn't have any coffee because I consider it quite rank). I had this bun with a cherry on top and inside was roughly a whole jar of strawberry jam. It was very nom.

We then headed for the Metro to go home and got off at a stop called Place Des Arts where all the art galleries are situated and the art festivals are held in summer. This was by far the prettiest area I had been in so far and you could see the skyscrapers in the distance. It was lovely. We got on the 80 bus which was included in the metro ticket price (hence the value for money) and got back to the apartment.

Now, the worse thing about wrapping up to the max to brave the elements is when you are inside, you feel hotter than the sun. Sweating like a bitch doesn't even cover it, it was disgusting. And my hair... it was like Kate Bush, it was out to my shoulders and curly and frizzy. So, jumping into the shower was the best thing ever and as soon as I had straightened my hair, I felt like an Amy again. Fabulous.

We had Fajitas for dinner (which were so fucking good, I can't even tell you) and then we sat back and watched the lovely film, Black Swan, which is not exactly a sit down with the family and enjoy sort of film. All was well and good until the masturbation and lesbian sex scenes come on. No matter who you are with, it's fecking awkward. Then, we watched Sex and the City, which had vibrators in it and then the commercials had vibrators too and it was just awful, I wanted to curl up in a ball and die. Too many vibrators...

So, I think with that in mind, Canada and me are going to get along fine as we both obviously do not have any shame. Excellent!

Bonjour Montreal!

Bonjour from Montreal! Finally, I now have the opportunity to sit down and blog about my first proper day here in this wonderful, albeit snowy city before I forget all the details. Currently, I'm unable to post pictures but I will endeavour to do so on Tuesday, when I move into my OWN apartment (super mega adult mode activated).

So, where do I begin? Well, as the immortal Julie Andrews once said, the beginning is a very good place to start (and I think I just out-camped myself there, bravo).

After spending a wonderful, sordid four hours sleeping in my own bed for the last time, I was rudely awakened at 5.50am by my alarm and had my last ever Scottish shower, which I felt had to be noted. I'm not sure if other people do this when they go on holiday or what not but I actually went upstairs said 'Goodbye' to my bedroom out loud. I can't really decide if that's mental or not but it felt right. It's the little things in life...

We all left the house at 7am and drove to the airport and a strange occurrence happened on the way there, when 'Good Riddance' by Green Day came on the radio. Never have those lyrics been so apt and appropriate. It was like some weird, divine intervention sort of thing. We arrived at the airport and checked in before heading up to just outside security where the time came to bid farewell to my family. I'm not even lying when I say it was absolute horrific, everyone was crying, even the boys! Seriously, between my mother and myself, wet floor signs were probably placed and a mop needed after we had left. Somehow, I managed to leave them behind though and head through security before buying a few bottles of water and a necessary, obligatory puzzle book from WHSmith.

Now, one thing about flying from Glasgow to London is that you don't get much time to roam about in the Duty Free, which was quite sad although, from another perspective, it was crazy how efficient it was. All in all, the flight down to London Heathrow was superb, the only thing that happened was that the plane dipped for about two seconds and I genuinely thought that we were either going to crash, or if it happened again, I would die of a heart attack because mine's was racing. This was made worse by the fact that I was playing Temple Run and I do this bizarre, stupid thing when I play it, where I bet myself that if I don't get above a certain score, something bad will happen, which then turns up the pressure and usually gets me through. For some reason, I decided to tempt fate by saying if I didn't get above a million, the plane would crash. Why my scumbag of a brain decided to think this up, I don't know. But I will never do it again. Idiot.

I arrived at Heathrow and made it straight into Terminal 5... which was one of the coolest things I've ever seen. It was like a shopping mall. You had your WHSmith, Boots, then you sort of worked your way up, past souvenirs and Duty Free to the really high end shops, such as Gucci and Prada. Needless to say, I did not venture into these shops because I looked exactly like Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street, minus the bin. I roamed for a bit as I had a good three hours to kill before my connecting flight to Montreal and then 12pm hit which meant lunchtime. I went upstairs I was confronted with the worst dilemma I've come across in a while. Wagamama's or Giraffe. Genuinely, I walked between them about five times, deciding which one to go to. I was surprised I wasn't accosted by security and taken for questioning because I must have looked suspicious. It was a hard call but at the end of the day, I decided on Giraffe. Now, at first, I felt a bit pathetic asking for a table for one, until you're suddenly front of the queue and shown to your table immediately. After that, I soon forget about being on my lonesome and celebrated the solitude with a diet coke (I actually typed 'cock' there, thought you all oughta know that). After some Chicken Popsticks and a weird combination of Mac n' Cheese with tortilla chips (I regretted that choice afterwards, the burger sounded so much better), I got a seat somewhere and relaxed before getting a tram to my boarding gate and boarded my flight.

The flight to Montreal was amazing and went surprisingly quick. The in-flight entertainment was impeccable, with The Big Bang Theory, How I Met Your Mother, Michael McIntyre's Comedy Roadshow, Inception and Brave all getting nommed. The meals were actually decent too. And I got a snooze, which never happens on a plane. Ever.

Finally, after seven hours, we touched down in Montreal and I have to say, seeing all the city lights from the sky got me all excited and buzzing in general. My first contact with the cold was when I noticed the access corridor from the plane to the terminal was frozen and covered with ice. I can't say that was a great sign of things to come.

I think I have bored everyone now which this overly long and unnecessary blog about airports. Sorry! Part two coming to a screen near you soon!

Au Revoir Ecosse...

Well now, it's currently 01.06 on the morning of the 28th December and I'm about to begin my biggest adventure yet. And I'm terrified. And excited. But mostly terrified...

So, in the true spirit of goodbyes, I sort of want to blog a farewell to all my family and friends that I am having to sadly leave behind in Scotland. It's going to sound slightly like an Oscar Acceptance Speech so I would get comfortable.

I hate leaving all my family and friends behind, adventures are all well and good but it's nicer to share them with someone. If I could take all of you with me to Canada, I would in a heartbeat but unfortunately TARDIS Suitcases have yet to be invented (definitely a potential niche to invest into though).

Firstly, to my Sainsbury's buddies, who have been the best work colleagues I've ever had the pleasure to work with, it's been fun moaning about customers and joking around and I have loved working with all of you. However, I can't deny that the thrill of never having to be on Self Scans again is utterly fantastic and I have to be honest and say I will not miss that part of it.

To Facebook friends who've had to put up with constantly moaning about the snow or posting something Montreal - related. I'm just going to apologise now. Sadly, I'm a drama Queen by nature so I can't promise I'll ever stop complaining but I will be sure to reduce the frequency of my posts in the future to give your eyes a rest.

To Fraser Shaw, who deserves a massive chocolate medal for putting up with my inane and constant questioning about Montreal. You Sir, are a trooper and a fabulous friend.

To everyone who has bought me a card or a gift for leaving, you're all far too generous and kind, so thank you! I'm very blessed to have such lovely, caring friends and family.

To my best friends, you know who you are. Thanks for spending the day with me today, you have no idea how much it meant and the fact I won't see you all for five whole months is a wee bit heartbreaking. I love you guys so much.

And finally, to my wonderful family, who I'm going to miss the most. Twenty years is a long time to live with the same person and the fact that I've only ever spent two weeks away from you makes it even more harder. You're the best family a girl could ask for and I love you all so very much. The airport tomorrow is going to have puddles everywhere, just saying.

Bleak.

Let me set the scene. I decided I was going to go for a nice walk today. A nice, virtual walk on Google maps from HEC (the university) to my apartment on Avenue de Kent (which is said to be about a ten-minute walk but by my standards, that's probably twenty-minutes).

I was quite enjoying my walk, there was a lot of greenery and nice houses. Eventually, after a number of clicks, I arrived at Avenue de Kent.

Looks quite green!

And then, I looked back to see how far I had 'walked'.

Not bad, not bad.

And then I turned onto my street.

Sadface.

Thanks Google Maps, thanks. I despise Winter.

Shit just got montREAL.

So, five weeks today, I've somehow got to leave the family that I have spent everyday of the last twenty years with at Glasgow Airport, make it to Heathrow, the busiest airport on the globe and then fly to Montreal, Canada, a country I've never been to before in my life and on top of all that somehow,  mature and learn how to become a responsible adult during a seven hour flight.

Forgive my scepticism but even I have no faith in myself.

The thing, is when people ask for my advice, I will gladly give it and generally, I'm quite good at it. I like to help people. But I have a confession to make. It's all bullshit. I make all this stuff up. I don't have a clue and now, I'm paying for it, like a metaphorical Peter who cried wolf (or something). And this is not about believing in yourself, oh no, this is about knowing your limitations. And I have many.

When I was in school and people would say, 'Oh I'd love to go on exchange, that is my thing', I was the person who was convinced she would never want to do that sort of thing because that ain't my thing. Now look where I am. Why did I choose this course?

Don't get me wrong, I'm so grateful for this amazing opportunity, I appreciate what it will do for me and I know that there's a 95% chance I'll get there and never want to leave but I'm a home bird. I like my creature comforts and I like familiarity. I'm not an adventurer or an explorer. Unfortunately, the one trait I inherited from my mother was the capacity to think of the worst case scenario of everything and stress. Lots of stress. MAHOOSIVE AMOUNTS OF STRESS. Am I allowed to worry about these things or am I just being silly? I can't tell.

However, I will digress from the anxiety attacks for a moment to share with you all, possibly the most absurd and disturbing thing I've seen in a while.

www.greatwallofvagina.co.uk

The first impressions formulating in your mind when you read that link are probably correct. This guy makes plaster casts of woman's vaginas to celebrate diversity and prove to women that all vaginas are different and you shouldn't be ashamed of your own. Personally, I think you've got too much time on your hands if you are worried about that sort of thing.

On the whole, I don't really mind the actual idea. I guess it could empower a very small minority but seriously, SELLING THE STUFF? I do not want to walk into a house that has casts of vagina just hanging on the wall, minding its own business. And I'm not a prude, I just think it's really strange. Especially, the gold cast one... 

Also, I wish to point out I don't actively seek these things out, I found it in Closer or something (Problem page FTW).

Change My Template, Like One Of Your French Girls...

Do you like my new template? Madiha inspired me but I decided it was time for a change as well (plus, I don't know about my readers but the orange floral pattern was giving me a severe migraine). I decided to bring some cheer to the blog so the new background is a rather prettiful photo of Montréal in the Winter season, which so happens to be the same time of year that I shall be arriving in. And though I have to admit it looks undeniably beautiful, it also looks icky, wet and downright miserable.

Probably should have mentioned I hate snow with a passion.

Obviously, I don't want to sound like I'm complaining because it will be a 'great experience... yada yada yada' but at the same time, I feel sort of sad. I live in Scotland, which is possibly the most miserable and dire place in the world when it concerns weather. You don't even get exciting weather like thunder and lighting which would be fine. You just get constant rain and snow. It's just horrible. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm excited for Montréal but for just once in my life, I would like to have lived in a country where taking a raincoat everywhere was not the norm. That would have been fantastic.

Now, I feel like an ungrateful moan.

It's quite late now. I think I shall go to bed. I'm going to see Dredd again tomorrow and I am über excited. It was just the best film I've seen in ages. Plus Karl Urban has a really sexy chin.

Mmm, Karl Urban.

Well, like a bad penny, you've turned up again...

Right now: Florence and the Machine - 'Never Let Me Go'

Yet again, as the title suggests, I am back (although I'm not the real slim shady, hence why I have not stood up). And this time, I truly am a bad penny. The reason why?

I broke a mirror hence I am inflicted with a bad luck curse common to all mirror breakages.

Normally, I am not usually that superstitious. Back in my hey day, I was known to juggle three black cats whilst standing in new shoes on a motorised table that drove under numerous ladders... but enough of my automated and frankly, strange and imaginary shenanigans, this is another story for another time...

However, ever since I broke this mirror, bad things have happened. And I don't mean bad things such as 'zohmygawd, I broke a nail' or 'Fuckmylife, I can't go out tonight because I'm so skint'. I mean, the pinnacle of ill luck, the pork chop of bad things. (The pork chop is a long and complicated reference that again will be explained another time and another day. Jeez, I need to keep some suspense in my writing, you understand that right?).

Dramatic Reconstruction of event

Firstly, the day after the mirror broke, right in the middle of my online French lesson, my laptop inexplicably and unexpectedly shorted out and wouldn't work. I discovered the fault as a hard drive failure and have literally only just gotten it back. Worst part? The machine is less than three months old and is already going wrong. This has not filled me with a lot of confidence in Dell, especially if it goes wrong in Canada, where I will be monumentally and irrevocably screwed!

Secondly, last Wednesday, after much drinking and hilarity at Jane's Spring Break Party, I inexplicably twist my ankle. I barely remember doing it, except vomiting and blacking out due to pain. (And I mean pain, I do not do either things when under the influence of vodka. All I remember is frozen falafel being applied to the affected area and asking to go home. So to add to my boredom, being sofa-ridden with a buggered ankle has meant a more avid viewership of Wimbledon that previous years.

Thirdly, finally and possibly most heart-wrenching of all, I couldn't make it to T in the Park this year. I'm sort of numb about it, not sure it's numb because of the gutterment of the situation or the thought of the many hundreds of pounds that I may as well have shredded, grinded and thrown into the wind as the ashes of a possibly better financial outcome but I know it does suck. A lot. (Insert sad, lonely and moping sentiment here).

So, as I'm sure you are acutely aware, I have been crippled (literally) by bad luck in the last three weeks. However, whilst not superstitious, I do believe in the power of three (Charmed Reference for the win) and I believe luck comes in threes. So hopefully, fingers, toes, limbs and ear lobes crossed, this will be the end of my bad luck. And it wasn't as if it was a big mirror. I believe the degree of bad luck should be based on the size of the mirror, it's the only fair way.

However, one silver lining has come over this. I have four days off work to enjoy myself and do absolutely fuck all.

Actual events: Which are always considerably less exciting...