Thirteen and a Half
That’s the number of hours between leaving the B&B where I was staying in Montreal and turning the key to the door of my apartment in Halifax. Of that, I figure my non-driving time was close to 2.5 hours, so I guess Halifax-Montreal door-to-door is easily doable in 12 hours with only gas/washroom stops, eating on the go and decent driving conditions. Door-to-door by plane might be about 5 hours (at least), and once there, no convenient Junior on the spot. Interesting…
I had a good vacation, albeit to short. I spent all day Saturday in Montreal with DaZu, another guest at the B&B where I was staying. The well-read, well-traveled, very tall (6’4″) computer junky calls Portland, OR, his home base, but he’s currently on a six-month North American road trip which he might bookmark with a tour to his beloved Germany over the Holidays. I really appreciated his views and his candour, among other things — and no, there was no nooky although he offered. I simply wasn’t there during this vacation.
Through my conversations with him and my head space in general, I’m finding that I’m giving a lot of thought these days to where I am — geographically, professionally, and just about every other “-ly.” All that’s keeping me in Halifax are a small but satisfying circle of friends, a small client base in this region, and my beloved beach in the summer. I’ve long felt — since 1999, in fact — that I’ve outgrown Halifax; however, the few contacts I used to have in Montreal are no longer there. But I must say that arriving at 2:00 am on a Sunday night to find a city sound asleep and the sidewalks folded up for the night was a real downer. After nearly 20 years in Halifax, I’m starting to feel the same way about this place as I did about my hometown of Moncton when I left it: that feeling that I’m missing out on something when in fact nothing is happening to be missed. In other words, restlessness …although I’m not sure I know the cure for this ailment.