new wave

And just like that, I was back in Barcelona, where it is still summer, my old haunts are the same as ever, and I'm back to my working/writing/vermouth imbibing ways, borrowing hats and coming home much too late on weeknights. Anyway, this was one of those nights, and I'm loving that I have the chance to still wear my summer dresses a while longer (since my summer to winter wardrobe ration must be about 5:1)

The last few months before leaving I was living with some people I shared a flat with a couple of years ago -- some of you may remember Fraggle, who has since transformed into a skeletal puking machine, he's getting old. For that and other reasons I've been flat-hunting, which has been as ridiculously stressful as it always is but, fingers crossed, I may have something to show you in the next couple of posts!



Photos by Víctor

being bohemian

Even when I go into the office, I can more or less wear what I want, but since I've been working from home for much of the summer, I've been applying that rule even more liberally. On this particular day, it meant wearing a vintage slip that my grandmother had had in the 1940s, trying to make my hair curl a bit, some flower clips, bare feet, and a cup of hot tea clutched compulsively throughout the day.

I felt suitably bohemian, although I can't remember if that made me more or less productive. I did put some proper clothes on when I went for my mid-day walk however... there's only so bohemian you can be in Hamilton, and although this slip is probably thicker and better made than some of my dresses, it's still underwear...

the long and the short of it

My last morning in Montreal was spent with Henri, a hairdresser I'd taken a shine to when he cut my bangs the week before, chopping off all my long hair. I'd been kind of wanting to cut my hair for about two years, but I could never commit, it was just getting long finally, my ex was the kind who balked at short hair and bangs and so on and I wasn't that sure I wanted it short again anyway... all terrible reasons not to cut it, but in the end I'm glad I had it long for a while.

But enough was enough was enough. When staying with my parents I looked at pictures from my early twenties and bemoaned "I was more creative then!" "Weren't we all?" replied Henri, chopping a foot off my hair, "but now we have the chance to be more stylish." Touché, Henri.

I can honestly say I've never regretted a haircut less. I love my short red bob. These pictures were taken the day after it was cut, admittedly after taking trains and buses and taxis and sleeping on it, but still I thought it would never look as good. But it does! It's an idiot proof cut and even I can make it look good. I feel much more like myself and lighter and freer and spend about half the amount of time in the shower so all's well with the world. Except that now I have to go to Montreal every time I want my hair cut.

dressed like a botanical garden

One of my last days in Montreal found me wandering amongst giant leafy sculptures at the Mosaïcultures Internationales at the botanical gardens. It. was. crazy. I loved the elaborate, frequently mystical works, and the fast that it was a grey, muggy day just made the experience more fastastical. A stand out for me were the huge replicas of Easter Island's stone heads in vegetation. An Enya-esque soundtrack made the whole experience a bit strangely Lord of the Rings, but I'll let that pass.

I also borrowed my friend Anna's gorgeous green vintage Austrian dirndl, and blended right into the scenery.

The Mosaïcultures are still on, and while the tickets were (I thought) a bit expensive at $29 for an adult non-resident, you can get in twice on the same ticket and the exhibition was truly bizarre and beautiful.















Photos of me by my friend Emilie

summer in the streets, montreal style

Montreal is famous for its street life in the summer (not so much in the winter, I understand), and we caught a few moments from the Saint-Laurent street festival.

rainy humid fun in chinatown

On this particular day in Montreal, it rained heavily in the morning. I even sat out on the back (covered) porch with my cup of coffee and watched it come down. There's nothing like a good summer rain, by which I mean, when it's been generally warm and sunny, but a day comes along in which it just buckets down. These are moments in which the coziness of winter in briefly recaptured, without the discomfort, when you can slump back and enjoy the shining bricks and dripping railings.

Afterwards it stopped raining but stayed overcast and humid, and I dressed for summertime, and went with my friends to eat really excellent dumpling in Chinatown.








Playsuit (I love this silhouette so so much) by Q's Daydream.

full-blown summer

I love Montreal architecture, Canadian summer fruit, sun-shiney terraces, and old friends who can't wait to show you there hometowns. I was so happy Emilie had time to meet me while I was there (she made herself very available as my personal tour-guide in fact). We met ten years ago in Vancouver, waiting outside a classroom for our first Canadian film seminar, and the conversation went like this: "Hi, I'm Emily." "Oh! Me too!"

I spent a good portion of my time in Montreal wandering, picking out my future home based on how pretty is was, eating poutine, and ogling the fresh produce at the outdoor markets.


poutine


Emilie