Laundry Days

Movies and TV shows have romanticized laundromats to a very big degree. On a screen, they are places to fall in love at first sight or or laugh a lot at funny jokes or make new friends or throw clothes at each other in slow montages. Though I don't have much experience with laundromats, I have never known any of the above things to be true either for myself or any of my friends. For me, laundry has always been much more mundane. Something to do alone while listening to music, a chore to check off a list, a necessary but boring thing to do.

On that trip I took to Italy when I was 14 and which I have mentioned a few times before on this blog, Venice was definitely the highlight. It was perfect weather, the canals were enchanting, the gelato was extra delicious, my homesickness was all gone but I was also looking forward to going home soon, and I had become pretty good friends with some of the other people on the trip. The amateur photographer in me became fixated with the laundry that Venetians hung out to dry outside their windows over canals. I loved seeing bed sheets either billowing or gently swaying in the wind/breeze, along with bright coloured garments, and clothes of all sizes belonging to various family members. I took a whole bunch of pictures (unfortunately none of which are digitized so the pictures above and below that I found on Google images will have to do) which all looked the same, and I even blew one up when I got home and hung it on my wall. In retrospect, taking those pictures and being generally fascinated with laundry over canals wasn't the most original thing I've ever done/thought (as the search on Google images attests), but I still really like how people do their laundry there. Having your clothes air dry over a canal is way more interesting than how I've ever dried my clothes; and it seems pretty convenient too. Before I lived in Paris and became hopelessly devoted to that city, I used to imagine how lovely it would be to spend a summer in Venice. I'd wake up every morning and sit out on my balcony where I'd eat gelato and contemplate life while staring at the canal. Then after my gelato was finished and before I went out for a walk, I'd hang my laundry out to dry. By the time I came back from my walk, the laundry would be all dry and would smell fresh and sweet.

Despite thinking hanging laundry can be a very pretty sight, actually doing laundry has never been particularly fun, and in some living situations I've had it's been pretty stressful. Though I love(d) my Hilgard apt with my whole heart, the laundry situation there was terrible! There was only one washer and one dryer for a four story apt building that must have had at least 25 (if not more) apts. The washer was in constant use on the weekends, so I started doing my laundry on random days of the week. I never figured out how long either the washer or dryer took though and so was constantly trudging up and down four flights of stairs to check on it. Sometimes I'd just wait down there with a book but it was never particularly comfortable.

Starting at the second apt I lived in in Austin and then my current apt in Montreal, I've had my own washer-dryer in my apt. My one here sometimes acts up (the washer used to stay in the locked position for so long after the clothes were done being washed and I couldn't get them out, but it's stopped doing that recently and *fingers crossed* won't start up again) and in general I find that doing the laundry takes a really long time. I seem to have to devote hours to it. I mean, I can do other stuff while the laundry is in of course, but overall the whole process seems interminable some days. However, I really shouldn't complain! I am so grateful and glad I have my own in my apt. Both R. and K. have way worse laundry situations than I do. R. has to walk 15 minutes to a laundromat and hates doing laundry so much she will often go out and buy new underwear just to avoid having to do laundry. It was super cold last weekend and K., despite having laundry to do and a laundromat at the end of her street, was tempted to just stay inside and not face the cold and carrying a bag full of clothes along an icy sidewalk. I'd be the same. So yes, grateful I am.

Interestingly, my laundry experiences in Santiago and Paris were both way less stressful and much more positive than any laundry experience I've had in North America. In Santiago, I lived a few blocks from a fairly busy commercial street full of a variety of shops like a dry cleaners, a grocery store, a fruit stand and an internet cafe. The house I was living in did not have laundry and I soon discovered that the dry cleaners was actually a general cleaning place and for a very reasonable price would actually do all my laundry. So I didn't actually do laundry at all in Santiago. I would just carry all my dirty clothes in a big bag to the place at the end of the street and come back either later that day or the next day to find it all clean and fresh and folded and waiting for me to pick up. The man who worked there was this plump, smiley man with rosy cheeks and a very friendly demeanor. He would always laugh and joke with me whenever I brought him my clothes. I think it's much more common in Chile for people to get their laundry done like that, instead of doing it themselves. It was convenient and pretty stress-free and I got to speak Spanish and be on friendly terms with a nice Chilean. When I visited J. in Buenos Aires, the apt she stayed in had a central open courtyard (open even to the sky such that even inside, the apt was never fully shielded from the outside) with corridors running alongside it. The woman who owned the apt would hang her laundry along the corridor to air dry. To get to the bathroom or kitchen I had to walk down that corridor and on the day there was laundry there it felt like a maze. It was a bit windy too and the laundry kept blowing in my face. It was actually kind of fun, if not a little odd. But just goes to show that the methods of people doing laundry all over the world share some qualities while differing in others.

In Paris, my roommate F. had a little washing machine in the kitchen. The top of it actually doubled as counter space so whenever I wanted to wash my clothes I had lift up the counter. At first the machine seemed really complex and intimidating; however, F. showed me how it worked and I somehow memorized the complicated order of button pressing that had to go on. The one downside was that there was no dryer. On days F. did her laundry, I'd come home to find her clothes hanging to dry all over the apt. (D., who though we almost exclusively speak English is actually a Francophone and his roommate have a similar situation with just a washer and no dryer. He told me he too comes home to find his roommate's clothes hanging all over their apt. Maybe it's a French thing to dry laundry all over your house? In any event, it brought back memories.) I quickly realized I did not like air drying my clothes, especially since I first lived there in winter and that apt was sooooo freezing. I guess F. didn't want to pay high heat bills or something? But I would go to sleep at night under 4 blankets and wearing 2 tops and warm long underwear and I still found it very hard to get out of bed in the morning and into the cold apt. Anyway, I knew I needed warm and quickly dried clothes so after I washed my clothes, I started putting them in this giant BHV (very cool Parisian department store) bag and walking the half block down the street to the laundromat. Yes I am aware that I have romanticized Paris to over the top lengths, but I am sincere when I say that really (in my memories at least) nothing seemed that complicated there. In fact, I actually have fond memories of that laundromat. It was small and cute and clean and I actually enjoyed sitting there reading or writing letters while my clothes dried. Sometimes I'd go back to my apt and do other things and then come pick them up but it always seemed pretty hassle free. Interesting people were always there so I did enjoy going on weekend afternoons when it was always crowded. However, towards the end of my time in Paris I started going late on Friday nights (it was either open until 10 or 11 I can't remember) when I was the only person in the store and could pretend it was my own private laundry room. I vividly remember one Friday night at the end of June carrying my bag of dry laundry back to my apt around 10 pm and marvelling at how the sky was a pale blue with pinky orange streaks and how June Parisian nights seemed to last forever.

All this laundry talk has made me realize that the sheets and clothes I washed earlier are still waiting to be put on my bed and into my drawers respectively. So I better get to it!

Cocktail Hour: When Dreams Come True

"The cocktail symbolizes a well-being of the spirit, so dream all those dreams that are nearest to your heart. They can come true and at no other hour will their fulfillment seem so near. For this is the Cocktail Hour."

The above quote was featured in this book a friend of my mom's gave her once (I think as a joke?) called How to be Idle. There is a whole chapter on the cocktail hour which is introduced by this quote. Though I find it very cheesy, I also like it. It reminds me of this warm October night in Austin back in 2008 when my friend M. and I went to this great little bar called the Red Room to celebrate his 25th birthday. Amid stories about how his kitchen sink was broken and instead of just getting his landlord to come fix it he'd decided to do all his dishes in the bathtub, we started discussing his tangled love life which included his complicated feelings for his current girlfriend E., and his still everlasting love for our mutual friend H. Pointing to his drink M. said: "This stuff makes dreams come true." What dream of his alcohol made come true in whatever story he was telling now escapes me, but I still smile when I think about the rest of it. And some day I want to write a short story where one of the characters does their dishes in the bathtub :)

In high school I was not much of a drinker. In fact, I didn't get drunk for the first time until I was 19 and living in the dorms in Berkeley. But I still occasionally would have a drink at a party. At some high school party (I don't remember the who or where or when) someone introduced me to white russians (vodka, kahlua, milk) and even though I don't like milk plain I really liked it in that drink. I probably only had white russians a maximum of five times during high school, and then I can't remember ever having one after that. But I must have liked it and the taste must have stuck with me because last winter I was at Thompson House (this bar/restaurant in an old house on the McGill campus that grad/law/medical students can go to) with my friend K. and a few other people from the law school on a Friday afternoon. K. ordered cider (her favourite) and I think the others did too, and out of nowhere I found myself ordering a white russian. It tasted even better than I remembered and a few months later I had another one there. I haven't had one in a while but despite the drink being cold, I think it's well-suited to winter. I'll have to go for one soon.

In May 2006 L. and I had a joint graduation party at this Italian restaurant on College Avenue in Berkeley. Unfortunately, the restaurant had another big party coming in after us so we only had the upstairs area for two hours and then we had to go. Everyone was having so much fun that no one wanted to go home and instead we proceeded - en masse - to this bar called The Graduate a few blocks down College and across the invisible line that separates Berkeley from Oakland. There, S. and I had a conversation about what drink to order in bars. Despite my never having tasted one before that night, after S. recommended vodka tonics as a good drink to order when in doubt I wholeheartedly embraced her recommendation. For approximately the next seven months, every time I was at a bar, I'd order a vodka tonic, despite the fact that I didn't really like the taste. Are vodka sodas and vodka tonics the same? I'm not sure but I know whenever I ordered one it usually just felt like I was drinking Sprite and though I liked it as a kid, I don't really like the taste now. I'm not sure why S. and I didn't just order beers at a bar, especially S. who really likes beer. Maybe we thought ordering beer at a bar was boring? Or not sophisticated enough? That if you were going to go to a bar you may as well order something more interesting than beer? I don't know. I guess at that point in our lives neither of us had much bar going experience (not that I'm a huge expert now but definitely way more than then). Instead I had gone through most of Berkeley attending co-op parties where I did tequila and/or vodka shots before getting to the party, and then waiting in long lines for the keg (or if I knew the person serving cutting to the front). In any event, those seven months ended with me in Paris where I discovered kirs and have never looked back. I'm glad I've stopped ordering vodka tonics, no longer worry about what to order when out for drinks, and now just stick to beer or wine or kirs (or the very occasional white russian).

So I've mentioned kirs in passing on a few other blog posts (cafe culture, berries) but I've never gone into depth on them or why I love them so much. I love Paris/France/the French for so many reasons, one of which is their aperatif culture that I don't think we have here. I love how when you go to a restaurant or go to someone's house for dinner you always always get offered an aperatif before the meal. Sometimes people have hard liquor (whiskey, etc.) and sometimes just a glass of a different type of wine than they will be having with dinner. For me, my aperatif is and always will be a kir (or sometimes a kir royale - the same thing except substitute the white wine for champagne). Making a good kir is very simple. You need two things: 1. a bottle of white wine (the two best types for kirs are Sauvignon Blanc and Muscadet) and 2. a bottle of Creme de Cassis (see picture below), which is black current liqueur. I put in the Creme de Cassis first, and usually fill about a quarter of the glass. Then I put in the white wine. There is one very charming cafe in Paris near La Madeleine that I would go to semi-regularly and they always ask you there which flavour kir you want out of Creme de Cassis, or Creme de raspberry, peach or blackberry. I usually stuck with cassis, but I did try their blackberry and raspberry ones a few times and both were delicious. I can't actually remember which cafe I was in when I had my first kir, but it was love at first taste. It was a very exciting day for me, about a month after I had started having kirs, when I discovered that I could buy a bottle of Creme de Cassis and a bottle of Muscadet (the Muscadet sold for under 3 euros usually) at the grocery store down the street from my apt and make my own kirs every single night. Of course, there is something very pleasant about having a kir in a cafe. But going to cafes every single day sometimes isn't feasible or economical and it's nice to be able to have one at home too. When I lived in Paris I had kirs at least 4 times a week. It's much rarer for me to have them now, but that's okay. I know they are out there and how to make one if I ever really desire one. I love kirs for their taste, for their pretty colour, for how they're always going to be delicious and are available at absolutely any cafe in Paris (and probably in France), how they're enjoyable to drink alone or with friends, because they will always remind me of and symbolize Paris for me, and because they are the perfect drink to order in Paris, no matter where in that city you are.

To Bloom in Warm Climates

A few months ago I listened to a BBC Witness podcast episode about Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton's remarriage in Botswana in 1975 (see picture below; and side note: I love the picture of them above!). The journalist quoted Richard Burton who once said that "Elizabeth bloomed in warm climates." What a romantic and intriguing thing to say! I love the idea of someone blooming, and just generally being better suited, to warmer climates. What does blooming actually entail though? Does it mean you always look pretty and put together and not sweaty and shiny (like me in warm climates!)? Does it mean that when some people just want to take a long nap from the heat you have boundless energy and are awake & bright eyed and take long walks and/or swims followed by a glass (or several) of wine or tropical cocktails? Or maybe it means that your personality just gets bigger and better and you as a person feel happier? Though I suppose I wish some dark handsome man would say I, too, bloomed in warm climates I know that is not possible/true, as the following story illustrates.

In July 2004 N. and I went to Playa del Carmen on the Yucatan peninsula in Mexico for a week with L., her parents, her brother, their close family friends, her uncle and her aunt. On our second last day her aunt and uncle rented a van and took us to the famous Mayan ruins at Chichen Itza (see picture below). The van broke down before we even left Playa del Carmen and so we were delayed while L.'s uncle R. fixed it. We finally got on the road but then got lost multiple times on our way there. (We also got lost multiple times on our way back, and we got a flat tire about 20 minutes from Playa del Carmen. In total, our day lasted about 10 hours when it should have been 6, we didn't have a cell phone to call and say we were late, and L.'s parents were really worried that something bad had happened to us.) When we reached the ruins, I was already pretty sweaty and hot from the car. But then once we got inside, I guess it was even hotter and I started to sweat even more. I mostly just felt hot and thirsty, but definitely not sick or anything. However, L.'s aunt J. became convinced that I was about to get heat stroke. "Oh my gosh your back is drenched in sweat" she told me, and so of course everyone, including our guide, had to look at my back. "Your face is so red!" she also told me, and so of course everyone had to closely stare at my face. The number of times I've been told I have a red face (usually by acquaintances or complete strangers) is too numerous to count and needless to say, even when it's true, it really annoys me! The clincher in terms of my annoyance was when J. announced that it was because I was from Canada (argh! Canada is a huge country. I am from Toronto!) that I was so unused to the heat. I know J. was just concerned, and I did appreciate it, but I honestly believe me being from Toronto (which has hot summers!) had nothing to do with how I looked/felt that day. I never felt as bad as J. seemed to think I looked. However, clearly that day serves as a definite confirmation that I don't bloom in warm climates.

Do people ever bloom (or some similar adjective that is positive? maybe toast (as in toasty warm)?) in cold climates? Maybe avid skiers? There must be people that are the equivalent to Elizabeth Taylor in cold climates and just love the cold, ice, snow, etc. I don't bloom/toast in cold climates. In fact, despite being from a place that most definitely has winter, in particularly cold weather (like minus 20 celcius and below) I have to make sure my face is completely covered by a scarf or else my cheeks will get frost bite. In a way that is kind of sad since I can't seem to win in cold or warm climates. Maybe I bloom in temperate climates. But regardless, despite being prone to sweating in warm climates and frost bite in particularly cold ones, I still like experiencing both of those climates. So I think I should just count myself lucky that even though I may not bloom in those climates, I can still appreciate them.

These Boots are Made for Walking

I was about to write that boots are my favourite foot wear but that's not true. Yes, I have been wearing boots a lot this fall (more on that below) but Birkenstocks (particularly their clogs) will always be my favourite shoes. (Come to think of it, I should write a whole post about Birks. Added to the list!) But, even if they are not my favourite shoes forever, boots are probably my second most favourite type of footwear and one pair of boots in particular has been hands down my favourite shoes to wear this fall. Boots and fall go together so well. (Winter and boots go together well too I suppose, but solely for practical purposes. In terms of stylish and cool boots, winter doesn't even come close to fall.)

So in August when I was in LA, we went to the Grove (which is a really cool and pretty mall I'd never visited before but now really like), specifically to Nordstroms, and I bought the best boots ever. The picture at the top of this post is of them/it/one boot, except my boots are a slightly darker brown on the side and have brown laces. (I guess there are multiple versions.) They are by Timberland. They/it may not look super special in that picture but I assure that 1. you can't see its side zipper! I never use the laces and 2. they look so much better on and in person than they do in that picture. I have received more compliments on them than on any other foot wear I've ever had! The first few weeks I was wearing them I thought I could only bust them out once or twice a week. But then I realized that that was silly and so some weeks I wore them 4 out of the 5 days of the school week! They are super versatile in that they look great with dresses, leggings, cords, and skirts. There is only a light bit of snow here right now but much more is surely on its way, and there is already some ice on the ground. And I'm not sure those boots are really that great for ice. So I think pretty soon (if not already) I am going to have to put them away for the winter. I'll wear them a lot in the spring to make up it though.

I always see characters on TV shows (ie. Carrie Bradshaw) or in movies who have so many pairs of shoes (and have shoe closets to keep them in) and I think I'm different. But then I realize that I actually have a fair number of pairs of shoes. Maybe I don't have as many as in the picture below, and maybe a lot of them are strewn around my apt where I repeatedly trip on them or are hiding and/or poking out from under my chair, but I still have a lot. However, most of them are either Birkenstocks or boots, which I don't think is/was very similar to Carrie's collection. Since I got this awesome pair of brown boots around when I first moved to Berkeley (I think?), I've usually had at least two pairs at any given time. I loved those brown ones. I wore them all through Berkeley and in Paris too. I like wearing boots and jeans. Until I lived in Paris, I followed H.'s stylish lead and rolled my jeans up to show off the boots. But then I discovered in Paris that the women just wore their boots right over their jeans and I started doing that. Right now I also have a pair of grey suede boots I really like, and a pair of flat black ones I like a lot too.

Recently I saw a picture on the Huffington Post Style section of Kate Bosworth and her dog (and some guy, see below) and I loved her boots. I then did some googling and discovered a bunch of pictures of Kate Bosworth wearing these other similar ankle boots which I think I actually prefer. (See last picture below.) I had never really thought of short boots before but I think both look really good. And I actually like the idea of pairing them with shorts. After more internet research I found out the ones in the second picture are by a Parisian designed named Isabel Marant. Unsurprisingly I suppose they are hundreds upon hundreds of dollars for a pair. So clearly I am not buying them anytime soon. But maybe one day...

Jewelry: My Favourite Accessory

I got my ears pierced when I was 8 but I lost interest after a few years and never wore them again. Then the summer I was 17 I was in Costa Rica for a month and living with a Costa Rican family in their little home just outside San Jose. The mom, who was so nice and cool and pretty and liked doing nails and wearing pretty jewelry, asked me why I didn't wear earrings. I told her I hadn't in years and didn't even know my ears were still pierced. She laughed, told me they definitely were, and proceeded to basically repierce them just by putting some earrings in. I am indebted to her to this day as I wore earrings for the rest of that summer, and have never looked back since.

Earrings are the best! They are pretty, fun, and can really add to an outfit. On a Friday afternoon the fall we were 19, L. and I went to a place on Telegraph in Berkeley and got more piercings in our ears. I got just a second piercing (of which I should take more advantage! For most of Berkeley I often wore 2 earrings in each ear but I rarely do so now...) and L. got the top of her ear pierced. I had felt really down about my appearance the summer I was 19 but I was feeling so much better that fall. My skin was clearing up, my hair was growing long, I was walking more and so was slowly (but surely!) losing some of the weight I'd gained the previous year, B. thought I was pretty, and I now had double piercings in both my ears. I felt so cool!! It makes me laugh thinking of it now, but I took all those things incredibly seriously then and I really did feel that that second piercing made me cool. (All the more reason to start wearing 2 earrings in each ear again - I think I'll start tomorrow!)

Probably the most fun thing about deciding I liked wearing earrings was getting to regularly buy them! L. and I used to go to this costume/jewelry store in San Francisco that N. told us about that had an entire wall of earrings. We loved it. They were also pretty inexpensive there. Another fabulous thing about earrings is that you can get really cool, pretty ones for very little money. I've since splurged (well actually my dad has! he has very nicely bought me three more expensive pairs on three different occasions; my mom has also gotten me some really pretty earrings) but usually I stick with not too expensive earrings, which is good because I buy new earrings semi-regularly. Whenever I go on a trip somewhere I love buying earrings because then whenever I wear them later I always remember that trip. Two of my best jewelry buying experiences have been at antique markets. I got the coolest long gold necklace with pretty different coloured (pink, green and blue) gems at this antique market in Brussels that was in the square in front of the hotel C. and I stayed at when we went there. And the neighbourhood of San Telmo in Buenos Aires has the best antique market probably in the world. I have been fortunate enough to go there twice and on both occasions I bought wonderful jewelry (this pretty pink pearl necklace and these great green earrings). I love buying and wearing antique jewelry because it's so fun to imagine the pieces being worn at fabulous Buenos Aires' parties of years past!

It's hard to say whether I prefer earrings or necklaces. I like and wear all types of necklaces but my favourites are long ones. I like them best because I think they look the best on me, and they feel way less constricting around my neck. Plus, it's easier to see them and have them really be a part of your outfit when they are long. There are lots of good things about shorter necklaces though too! When I was a bridesmaid for A. back in July 2006, she gave me a pretty long necklace with purple beads (the other time I was a bridesmaid, for L. this past September, she gave me a really pretty (this time silver and shaped like a bow) necklace too) which started my love affair with long necklaces. I love them! And have since begun buying a lot. I have three favourites. The first is of a clock (see picture below) which I bought at a store in Toronto two summers ago. For the first year I had it, multiple people told me it reminded them of Dali. I was too embarrassed to ask why until L. told me the same thing when I saw her in person. So I finally asked her and she explained that Dali painted similar shaped clocks. (See picture below.) My second favourite is of a (fake) diamond covered Eiffel Tower (see picture below) I bought at Forever 21 last spring. (Forever 21 has great cheap long necklaces and earrings!) I hesitated for probably a good 20 minutes, and kept putting it back worrying that it was tacky. But I can't believe I ever thought that as now I love it and have gotten multiple compliments. Plus it's nice to carry a little Paris with me some days. My third favourite is this long gold one with a few pearls that I got on sale from JCrew.com last fall. Necklaces are great! And the good thing with both earrings and jewelry is that you can never have too many of either.

In terms of other jewelry, I am not a huge fan of either rings or bracelets. I've bought (or been given) rings on a couple of occasions in the past and would wear them a few times but mostly I don't really like them. The same goes for bracelets. I do, however, like anklets! I haven't worn one since I was 12 and my friend K. (from elementary school) and I made beaded ones at her house. But I do think they are so cool. My aunt E. has been wearing a gold anklet for years and every year at Christmas I compliment her on it. This year she is getting me one! I am excited. And I plan on wearing it quite a lot. It'll be great in summer when I can show it off.

Wearing earrings or a necklace make me feel happy, and for that reason, and everything listed above, jewelry is, without a doubt, my most favourite accessory.

Stairways to the Skies

At some point either the summer before I started Berkeley or within a few weeks of moving there, I bought a postcard of the Steps of Montmartre in Paris. (See the image that was on the postcard above.) I put it up on my wall and liked to look at it sometimes as the staircase is so pretty. At the beginning of February 2007, not long after I'd moved to Paris, I walked to them from my apt, and ended up seeing them lots more times as Montmartre is the type of place I always went if someone was visiting, etc. And they really are so lovely. Maybe it's from that postcard that my love of outdoor staircases first started, but it really grew in Berkeley, thanks to the Bancroft Steps.

I think around January of our first year at Berkeley, on a Sunday (I think) night, N. brought a bunch of us to the Bancroft Steps. It was kind of surreal (and scary) to go for the first time at night. But I made up for it by going a lot in the daytime after that. The Bancroft Steps was the name we gave to this whole network of outdoor stairs that takes you high up into the Berkeley Hills, starting up behind the stadium. There were three main sets, if I remember correctly, that I would take every time I went there. I'd start with the initial steps, then walk along a pretty residential road for a bit, and then climb up this one really tall staircase, and then walk along another pretty residential street for a bit, and then take another long and pretty (with great views of the Bay) staircase back down. I would go there alone sometimes but I loved going with other people. I brought L., E. and H. there when they visited me during first year. And I went there lots with other friends too. I always wanted to go there with B. but never did. I had the chance to suggest we go there when I was in the Bay visiting in May 2008 and saw him, but I felt like the whole going to the Bancroft Steps with him moment had passed, and so instead we went for pizza.

The Northside Berkeley Hills have multiple amazing staircases too! During June 2004 when I was living over on Northside and taking a summer class, I spent a lot of time alone because L., S. and A. were all gone from Berkeley for the summer. I used to like going for walks during the early evening on Sundays after I'd come back from studying all day at Cafe Milano. I'd bought a map of Berkeley and I would consult it first, and then head high up into the hills seeing really pretty parks, and going both up and down lovely stone staircases.

Los Angeles (I wonder if San Diego does too? or is it just a Bay and LA thing?) has wonderful outdoor stairways too. This past summer I had the privilege and luxury of going to the Santa Monica 4th St steps with S. (full disclosure: I found out about the 4th St steps because I was reading celebrity gossip online and there was something about John Mayer being spotted working out there) and a bunch of different steps in Silver Lake with my brother. S. and I did not see John Mayer, but we did see a lot of really sporty and in-shape people who seemed very intense about their stair work outs. I don't think I'd want to work out there/with those people if I lived in Santa Monica! I purposely didn't write about the staircases as a benefit to Silver Lake in my LA entry a few months back because I knew I was going to be writing this entry and I wanted to save talking about them for here! A. and L.'s new house in hilly Silver Lake is within walking distance from lots of amazing stone staircases (see picture above), similar to the Bancroft Steps. Early-ish one morning, my dad drove me over to their house (A. and L's guest room had all this furniture in it, due to their recent move, and so my parents and I stayed in a hotel) and I went on this really fun (and hard!) stair walk with A. We went for about an hour and it was a combination of walking on streets and walking up and down (some incredibly steep and some more gentle slopes) hills and stairs. It was so fun! And I was so jealous that he can do that all the time. I can't wait to visit LA again and actually stay with A. and L. and then do that walk a lot more. And I want to check out some of the outdoor staircases that are in Silver Lake on the other side of the reservoir from A. and L.'s house.

Way back in June 1998, I went to Italy for two weeks with UTS. Even though I had spent two weeks at an overnight summer camp two summers before (in July 1996 when I was 12) I was so so homesick (especially for my mom) the first few days of the trip, which we spent in Rome. I was miserable and kept trying to cheer myself up by thinking that the trip was only two weeks long and would be over before I knew it. We did lots of good sight seeing and ate lots of gelato but I still felt sad. I was silly! One of the places I most wanted to see though, and which I did, was the Spanish Steps as my mom loves them, and had recommended them. (See picture below. I love how everyone is just hanging out on them.) She also wanted me to go the poet Keats' old house which was at the bottom of the steps. The Steps were gorgeous but I feel I didn't fully appreciate them. Fortunately, things really picked up for me as soon as we left Rome and headed to Florence. I made friends with some of the other people on the trip and became much happier! However, I still feel badly that I didn't give Rome a fair chance. I really want to go back (and particularly to the Spanish Steps) sometime so that I can experience it in a non- completely homesick frame of mind.

Italy is good for outdoor steps! In July 2007, just before leaving Paris to head home to North America, I spent one week in Southern Italy with S. and C. We flew to Naples and spent a few days there, and then headed to the Amalfi coast for the rest of the trip. We spent 2 nights and one full day in the town of Amalfi. It is right on the Mediterranean and one of the prettiest towns I have ever seen! C. and S. ended up getting very drunk the first night we were there, and consequently were extremely hung over the next morning and stayed in bed for most of the day. I was happy to be on my own (it was funny, throughout our week I'd go for a walk alone or head to an internet cafe or do something and they never understood/never had the need themselves to be alone) and decided to go for a walk high up into the hills It was lovely. The sun was shining, the water was blue and sparkling, and there were a series of cool stone paths and stairways leading up the hills (see pictures below of one of the staircases, and of my view). It was a walking dream come true, and one of my most favourite walks ever.

I also love meeting people at steps. If I lived in Rome, I think I'd want to meet up with friends at the Spanish Steps all the time. We wouldn't have to hang out there the whole time, we could just meet on them and then go wherever we wanted to go. The Berkeley campus was really great for step-sitting and meeting up. I used to love (and still have great memories of) sitting on the steps of Doe Library overlooking Memorial Glade either alone or with a friend. It was so pretty, good for people watching and just a lot of fun. I also liked the steps of Wheeler Hall for sitting and/or meeting someone.

So it turns out Montreal has some outdoor staircases too. One day last November, J. invited me for lunch at his (old, he has since moved) apt (I assumed that meant he would be providing the lunch but when we got there he asked me if I'd brought my own. After I told him no, he proceeded to heat up some vegetable soup in the microwave...) which was about a 10 minute walk from the law school. On both the way there and the way back, I spotted a grand looking stone staircase at the top of one of the cross streets we passed, which immediately reminded me of the Bancroft steps. I determined to go back and see them sometime, but that sometime didn't happen until May because piles and piles of snow and a very busy second semester got in the way. I walked up them one afternoon in May and they are very nice. They connect one street to Pine Ave which is much higher up. Like I wrote above, they are stone and grand and very nice. They are also quite solitary. I was hoping for a network of steps like in Berkeley or Silver Lake but as far as I've been able to investigate they are the only ones. I told myself in September when I made a point of going for a little walk in between classes just so I could walk up them that I'd try to do that once a week. However, sadly, I haven't been back since. And soon the snow and ice are coming, and finals, and it'll probably be May before I get to climb them again. Sometimes I worry about how I never seem to do the things I want to do or say I will do in Montreal (case in point: J.'s new apt is across the street from this cafe that looks exactly like it belongs in Paris and we have been saying we'll go have a kir there since September and we haven't gone!) and I marvel at how often I made the time to go to the Bancroft Steps in Berkeley. But then I console myself with the fact that the Bancroft Steps are amazing and this one staircase near the law school is not anywhere near comparable. And then I also think that it's just really nice that staircase is there, and can remind me of Californian stairways that I love a lot.

Past, Present, Here, Elsewhere

At the end of September, I went to this amazing (and inaugural as it was designed for the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts but is now going on tour around the world) exhibit celebrating the French fashion designer Jean Paul Gaultier (see picture of the entrance to the museum above). One of the big information panels in the exhibit said: "Jean Paul Gaultier is fascinated by the Paris of the Belle Epoque and the interwar years..." That made me so happy that I had to go back and re-read that panel twice more before I left the exhibit. It really struck me as I love the idea of being fascinated by a different period of history in general, and being fascinated by a particular period to the point that it influences a lot of your work is even better.

Maybe because South African Nadine Gordimer is one of my favourite writers, and her book The Lying Days is one of my favourite books, and maybe because the South African History course I took at Berkeley was one of my favourite classes, but South Africa under apatheid fascinates me. I cannot comprehend how there were enough white people in that country who accepted apartheid rule such that the regime did not end officially until 1994. Gordimer's books explore so many of the issues and the tensions of that time period so well, and her characters struggle with social justice and equality and all these topics in very real ways. I am also fascinated by
Argentina under the military regime in the 1970s and early 1980s and Chile under Pinochet. It seems like I'm drawn to these societies where the left and the right are so divided on everything; where large groups of citizens are willing, and are forced, to fight and sometimes go underground to achieve basic fairness for everyone. Mostly I feel awe at the incredible bravery of the people in South Africa who fought against apartheid and the Argentines and Chileans who fought the brutal military regimes. I'd like to think that if I lived in any of those countries during those periods I would have been one of those people but even writing that seems so presumptuous as I can easily say that safe here in 2011 when those people faced real danger every day and still fought.

In Paris I taught English at the same school as S., an American woman. She was pretty cool, and had had a fairly adventurous life which had somehow brought her to Paris to teach English at almost age 50. The year and a half before she'd arrived in Paris (which was right around the time I arrived there in January 2007), she, her husband C. and their adorable daughter, T., who they had adopted from Guatemala, took care of an old castle somewhere in the south of France. I never got the whole story of how/why things got so bad there (or how they had even ended up there from their pre-France existence in suburban Connecticut) but S. did tell me that her and C.'s marriage almost ended because of the stress they were under while living in that castle. I really liked T. and I guess because I was accepting/enthusiastic about her adoption, S. told me (mind you this was at a party at my apt at the end of May at which everyone present got very drunk... S. to the point that later in the night when trying to put pieces of pita bread in her mouth she kept missing and when I was cleaning up the next morning I found a pile of pita bread on the floor by the chair where she'd been sitting) that I belonged in the 1970s. When I asked her why, she said something (pretty vague actually) along the lines that I was super accepting and would have fit in well then. Overall it was a really unsatisfying response from her because being told you belong in the 1970s is a kind of intriguing thing to hear. Yet it loses some of its intrigue when you're not quite sure why the other person thinks you belong there! In any event, I told S. I was happy to be alive when I was/am and be the age that I was then (and am now). But that being said, I do have some opinions on some of the different decades.

I feel like the 1960s (particularly in the US) are really glamourized in today's society, and I feel like, for me at least, the 1970s is kind of a mystery decade. What was it like? (Another reason S.'s inability to elaborate on why I belonged there was frustrating.) It is the 1980s I feel like I am the most curious about. Having been born in January 1984 I was alive for six years of that decade but I was so little, and I had no idea about all the interesting things happening on the planet I lived on. From a historical point of view, I would argue that the 1980s was the most pivotal decade of the Cold War - civil wars raged across Central America, communism was teetering to its end in Eastern Europe and the US was getting ready to be the world's undisputed super power. A few years ago when L. spent the summer in Nicaragua, she sent me a postcard with this very poignant image of a group of revolutionaries walking down the road - with a man and a woman lagging a little behind with their arms around each other. Unfortunately that postcard is at my house in Toronto, and I can't find a similar picture online but it was really special, and seemed to encompass so much of what I find fascinating about all those civil wars. There were countries deeply divided along ideological lines, and people on the left willing to fight to the end for social justice, and amid all that there were two revolutionaries who were also in love. I know it wasn't all so romantic - in most ways it was really awful and so many people were needlessly killed. But there is something romantic about being a revolutionary, and the picture on that postcard really captured that sentiment. I really wish I had been old enough to be aware of the changes in Eastern Europe too. I can't believe I was actually alive when the Berlin Wall fell as I feel like I would be so fascinated and intrigued by something like that if it happened now, but then I was 5 and couldn't have understood what that wall even meant.

I think we'll always get inspiration from the past, and we should continue to do so. But as I was writing this I reflected upon how our world is very much in turmoil today, and in some ways mirrors what was happening in the 1980s. So many societies seem deeply divided, the Arab Spring has brought a lot of positive change and hope, but also uncertainty; and though there is no clear cut successor waiting in the wings (although China may beg to differ) it seems as though the US's position as sole super power won't last for much longer. So I should echo what I told S. that night in Paris and feel grateful that I am alive now, to watch all these events unfold. And maybe there is a little girl somewhere who is only five now who may one day look back on this period and wish she had been more aware of it.