Chicago

After a whirlwind two nights in Minneapolis, we headed to the Greyhound bus terminal to catch the bus to our final city, Chicago. This may have been the only thing throughout our whole trip that we were not just on time for, but actually running way ahead of schedule, and instead of that extra hour of sleep we really could have done with, we were subjected to an hour of blaring TV coverage of the trial of Michael Jackson’s doctor. This may have passed for news if anything was actually being reported, but it was a series of dubious expert opinions that went round in circles and left me just wishing they’d would give up and play the Thrilller video instead. Sam sensibly ignored the TV and played computer games. The bus trip itself was unremarkable, except for the fact that the one stop during the nine hour trip was at a smalltown hicksville McDonald’s in the middle of nowhere, and as we were starving, I gave in and broke my not having eaten McDonald’s for almost ten years thing. It was no surprise that the waitress with the puff mullet had not heard of a salad burger and could not make me one even though I explained that all it really involved was your standard burger minus the meat patty. Subsequently, Sam and I were forced to survive until ten that night on a measly box of fries.

Undernourished on the Greyhound bus

It was a relief to arrive at the place we were staying in Chicago and find that our host Mike not only sympathised, but also recommended a nearby vegan restaurant that was open late (he also complimented Sam on his Rancid t-shirt, bonus points awarded). Nearby vegan restaurant was called Handlebar and was awesome - it fed us at least fifty percent of our meals for the next five days. Along with our standard PBR order, Sam decided to take advantage of the fact that dinner was my shout, and ordered a Bloody Hammer, the ‘take it up a notch’ extreme cocktail version of a Bloody Mary. It tasted like drinking pepper, came garnished with a deep-fried pickle and seemed to have the alcohol content of a dozen beers. I shudder with the memory of that thing, and I only had two sips of it… Needless to say, we didn’t venture too far from the well-worn path of the PBR for the rest of the trip. 

The Bloody Hammer - I think the deep-fried pickle was meant to be the titular hammer

The next day was the start of our four nights in a row of Riotfest (as it transpired, I only made it to three of the four, sorry Weezer), and also marked the return of Nico. After swapping tales of debauchery and crazy Americans (Nico won I think, having spent time in both a gated community full of Republicans in Texas and the back of a tour van with the Outsiders), Sam and I caught the train downtown to the Chicago Art Institute. Finally, an art museum that wasn’t closing an hour after we arrived… We spent a glorious four hours there, encountering such masterpieces as Grant Wood’s ‘American Gothic,’ – a nice lady took a photo of us posing in front of it, sans pitchfork, but sadly it came out blurry – Edward Hopper’s ‘Nighthawks,’ Georges Seurat’s ‘La Grande Jatte’ and your garden variety Picassos, van Goghs, etc. I was disappointed to find that the Magritte work I really wanted to see had been replaced by a little sign explaining that it was currently on loan to the Tate Gallery in London, but more than making up for this was the discovery of an entire room of Joseph Cornell shadowboxes. Oh happy day! I hadn’t even realised that the Chicago Art Institute had one, let alone about thirty, including three that I’d written about in my third year art history catalogue project. The good thing about Joseph Cornell is that he doesn’t - yet - enjoy the status of blockbuster artist, and so I had the room to myself while everyone else jostled to get at the van Goghs.

In a similar vein to Cornell’s boxes were the miniature rooms, a collection of painstakingly crafted reproductions of the interiors of European and American grand homes from different historical periods, each staged in a little display cabinet recessed into the wall. These doll’s houses for grown-ups were surprisingly fascinating, and we spent ages examining them despite the fact that a group of rowdy school children en masse was visiting at the same time. It was entertaining to note that even twenty years on and in a country on the other side of the world, teachers still march out the old “when we’re out in public, we’re representing blah blah school, and remember what we talked about as appropriate museum behaviour.” Teacher was fighting a losing battle, but luckily we managed to ditch the kids after the miniatures room.

Miniature frogs, miniature rooms, the excitement is all too much for me

The main event of the day – well, of our Chicago stay really – was Riotfest, and as this was the first night, we were still suitably enthused and raring to go. As with all US gigs we’d been to, it kicked off far too early, but we flagged the first bands in favour of pre-drinks at home, and headed along to the Congress Theater at the more sensible hour of 9pm in time to catch headliners Social Distortion. The venue turned out to be way bigger than we had imagined (easily double or triple the capacity of the Rancid gig, which is now the benchmark by which I judge all shows), and we were soon separated. Sorry again to Sam who was left to hold my bag while I rampaged off up the front (well, they were the band I was looking forward to dancing to the most at Riotfest, and who wants to be encumbered by all the unnecessary ‘essential items’ like jackets and make-up they brought with them).  Despite playing far too many songs off their abominable latest album, Social Distortion were on the whole great, and did manage to fit in heaps of older stuff as well. Best songs were ‘Prison Bound,’ ‘Don’t Drag Me Down,’ ‘Story of My Life,’‘1945’ and ‘Ball and Chain.’ Worst song was undoubtedly the new one that goes on for friggin ages and has back-up soul singer/dancers. Mike Ness, what are you thinking these days?

Friday was another one of those days that didn’t get started till the afternoon, and a visit to American Dog proved our saviour. American Dog is a wonderful local Chicago fast-food chain that has about twenty different kinds of hotdog to choose from (cutely themed around US cities – the Tucson dog was most to my taste, with its emphasis on jalapenos), and the added distinction of being the only place we found in the US that allowed you to order any of them as a veggie dog instead. Bellies full, we headed over a few blocks to the highly anticipated Chicago Architecture Foundation boat tour, which came recommended to us by a number of people.  It didn’t disappoint, and we even managed to learn a few things about architecture as we sipped on our beers in the sun and looked at examples of art deco, modernist, post-modernist and neo-classicist buildings (not sure if I retained much of what I learned beyond these words, but oh well).  Cruises are definitely the way to go for sightseeing…

A selection of buildings on the Chicago Architecture Boat Tour 

Awesome 1960s building on the boat tour

Next stop was Millennium Park, where we gave our cameras a bit of a work-out taking weird photos of our reflections in the infamous ‘bean’ sculpture by Anish Kapoor. As is the way with most pieces of public art, this one caused a fair amount of controversy along the familiar lines of ‘that’s not art’ and ‘waste of public money’ when it was first commissioned, but once unveiled people loved it, and it has since become one of Chicago’s most popular tourist spots. It’s basically a giant, highly polished silver bean shaped structure which you can walk under, and its reflective surface produces distorted mirror effects on a grand scale.

Distorty times in the bean

We were disappointed not to run into Al Bundy

We also made a quick pilgrimage to nearby Buckingham Fountain – you might know it as the fountain at the start of Married With Children – before we were due once again at the Congress Theater, this time for Danzig Legacy. I had my suspicions beforehand that what was advertised as Danzig and Doyle performing Danzig, Samhain and Misfits songs would result in 95% of the first two and maybe a Misfits song if we were lucky, but, no, we got a decent Misfits set of about half an hour, including my favourite songs ‘Bullet’ and ‘Last Caress,’ and a second encore of ‘Skulls.’ We wandered into the sound desk area and no-one seemed inclined to kick us out, so we had the best listening spot in the venue and an unobstructed view. It also resulted in an invitation to an after party at what I gather was one of the sound guy’s houses, as people assumed that we were legitimately involved in some sort of roadie/crew capacity. To top it off, some random goth girl later asked if I was the girlfriend of one of the band members. Ha, no I’ll leave Danzig to Tessa I think… We declined the party invitation (it seemed like a good decision at the time, although now I’m wondering what sort of adventures we would have had), and went for the cheap option of returning to where we were staying and finishing off the PBRs  (in the process being far too noisy and probably annoying our patient hosts).

As we were fast running out of time in the States, Saturday was decreed a shopping day, and we wandered around Wicker Park hunting out last minute presents for people (not to mention a fair few for ourselves). Wicker Park had endless vintage clothing stores, Reckless Records where we spent at least an hour trawling through vinyl and DVDs (woop on my Bad Brains  DVD and Daria box set), and plenty of general quirk, but the highlight was finding a retro gift shop that sold bubblegum collector’s cards from the 1980s. You name it, they had it - Garbage Pail Kids, 21 Jump Street, Full House and even some original 1984 Michael Jackson cards. Flatmate Greg later bravely ate the 25+ year old bubblegum from the pack of Back to the Future cards we bought him and proclaimed it crunchy, and survived the experience.

[So I think somewhere around this time we lost interest in taking photos/ran out of batteries/weren't allowed cameras in to Riotfest anyway. Shame, because I would have loved some pics of Cherry and the Congress crew]

Once again, we were a bit behind schedule for Riotfest night take three, although it wasn’t really our own fault this time - we ordered pizza with more than an hour to spare, but it turned into a debacle because they couldn’t get through to my NZ cell number to confirm delivery and as a result refused to deliver it. We gave up and went to a pizza place near the venue, where we ordered and then sat there jiggling and watching the clock as it loomed closer and closer to the time Leftover Crack were taking the stage. Our very accommodating and friendly waitress Cherry (who called us all hon and had the most epic 1980s hairdo) offered to hold on to our pizza until after the show, so we raced off down the street and made it to the Congress Theater only slightly late (we missed the first song - grrrr, because apparently it was ‘500 Channels’ ). Leftover Crack seem to be even more of a polarising ‘love em or hate em’ band in the States, and the reviews I’ve read of Riotfest either miss them out entirely or rubbish them, but I guess being anti-police and championing squatters’ and gay rights doesn’t exactly endear you to a fair proportion of Americans. As a five piece band with Ezra back playing guitar, I thought they put on an even better show than they did in Auckland in 2009, and Stza was an excellent spazzy-dancing frontman, and also the first singer who actually climbed down into the crowd and interacted with/harassed the audience. Check out Youtube to see a video that’s been posted of the last three songs – ‘Gang Control,’Ya Can’t Go Home’ and ‘Unity.’ They really should have been allowed to play longer than a half hour set…

Next band up was Suicide Machines, who I haven’t listened to since high school and don’t really know that well, but their set was relatively enjoyable (despite their singer’s annoying between-song banter), at least as a backdrop to drinking beer and getting excited about Descendents. And when they finally took the stage, they were incredible, I think it would be fair to say that they blew the whole crowd away. Looking older and greyer, but no less nerdy, and certainly no less energetic, Descendents played pretty much the setlist I would have written for them (including six songs off ‘Everything Sucks,’ my favourite of their albums). One of the few bands that provoked genuine excitement in the kids and the older folk alike (I guess I’m somewhere in the middle these days), they were truly on form. And for a band that always incorporated humour into their lyrics anyway, it was pretty cool that they seemed to relish the added layer of irony that came from cranking out songs like ‘I Don’t Want to Grow Up’ and ‘When I Get Old’ now that they’re slowly creeping towards their fifties. When they played ‘Thank You’ as part of the encore, I almost got misty-eyed, as the lyrics were so appropriate for not only their own performance that night, but for most of the bands I’d seen while in the States. Basically a love song dedicated not to a girl, but to any and every awesome band you’ve ever loved – “Did you know you're why I go and waste my time at a rock and roll show… I'll never be the same again now - no way, I just want to say, thank you for playing the way you play” – this was probably the stand-out song of Riotfest for me. Thank you Descendents, you ended my US gig-going on a note almost as high as it started (cough, Rancid)…

By this point we were completely starving, having forgone dinner in favour of music, and decided we would venture back to the Congress Pizzeria to reclaim our (by now probably cold and gross) pizza we had purchased earlier. We were happily surprised that not only was our pizza held aside as promised, but was delicious in its reheated state, and for some curious reason the proprietors and their waitresses really took to us, and proceeded to bring us free beers, pizza, shots and even t-shirts for the rest of the night. We had thought we might finally make it to one of the Riotfest after parties, but the lure of free stuff and welcoming folk proved too great, and we hung out with the Congress Pizzeria gang until the early hours, feeling particularly privileged when they kicked out everyone else in the bar at closing time but let us VIPs from New Zealand stay indefinitely while plonking down free beers every time it looked like we might be leaving. I am seriously mystified at the hospitality of Americans – each time we met incredibly generous and lovely people my cynical side got the better of me and I was just waiting for them to rip us off, but it never happened, and I’ve come to the conclusion that Americans just really want you to have a great time in their country at any cost. Any more free PBRs and I may have started waving an American flag…

Inevitably our last day in the States arrived, and with it melancholy and hangovers. There was some lacklustre shopping, and a final lunch at Handlebar, then a horrible taxi ride to a hotel by the airport. None of us had ever been carsick before, but in a taxi that kept stopping and starting abruptly on the freeway on an unbearably hot day where the result of winding down a window for fresh air resulted in traffic fumes was bound to be too much for anyone, and when we reached the hotel we all had to have a lie down and copious amounts of water. The hotel was another Aloft one and was almost identical to the one we’d stayed in in Minneapolis except for the fact it didn’t have a spa and the pool was unfortunately full of chads and chadettes, so we didn’t get our anticipated relaxing swim. There had been vague intentions of maybe heading along to the last night of Riotfest for Weezer, but this was soon rejected in favour of comfy beds and new season Dexter. Oh well, not a huge Weezer fan anyway, but would have quite liked to have had gloating rights to a bunch of my friends who do like them… Sam got his second wind and made it out to see Marky Ramone’s Blitzkrieg at the after party (which was by all accounts pretty rad due to an hour of Ramones covers), but I was fully spent by then and didn’t even feel bad about missing anything. Well, maybe later on once back in NZ I may have had twinges of Ramones-related regret, but at the time it was just bliss to lie in a real bed with sheets and pillows and relax.

The next day it was time to begin the arduous journey back home, in which we were beset by flight delays, jetlag, general grumpiness, and a tummy bug on my part. At this point, none of us really wanted to go home, and would have been keen to continue on and see some more of the States, or even go back to NYC or San Francisco. For some reason, getting back to Dunedin became much more appealing once we hit Brisbane. Brisbane was either hell on earth, or we just finally discovered what it was like to be jet-lagged, take your pick. We were only there for one night and two days, but it seemed neverending and monotonous, and we managed to land in the loudest, partiest, chaddiest backpackers ever and were kept awake all night to the sounds of eight different rubbish pop songs played over the top of each other thanks to the talented mixing skills of the inhouse DJ. Don’t stay at Base Brisbane if you’re not one of those up-for-it, perky, dance music-liking twenty-somfings whose idea of travel involves taking party pills with like-minded people on their gap year. I narrowly avoided getting into a fistfight with some belligerent and foul-mouthed Irish lasses who were both a lot younger and sillier than me, but also unfortunately a lot tougher looking. They parked themselves authoritatively in the doorway of the backpackers and refused to move to let us get in at about 2am. I tell you it was a struggle to keep my steelcaps to themselves as we were forced to climb over them in order to get inside. Brisbane did have one egg-cellent record store at least, Egg Records (sorry, I know Greg will like my pun while the rest of you groan), and the owner let Sam get a photo wearing his not-for-sale collector’s item original Devo hat. The smile on Sam’s face said it all…

Like every other Christchurch to Dunedin bus trip I’ve taken, you know the fun’s over when you’re forced to stop at the La Gonda Tearooms in Oamaru, and it was at this point that I think the US dream faded into a distant memory. It’s good to be back in Dunedin (familiarity is so comforting!), but I’d love to go back and see more of the States (Portland, Seattle and New Orleans, I’m looking in your direction). A fantastic place that both exceeded our expectations and confounded some of our long-held assumptions and lazily constructed stereotypes, the USA is a country I would recommend to anyone wanting to experience incredible diversity, a nice as hell bunch of people who are forthcoming and really proud to show off their home to you, and of course such an insane number of punk gigs and art shows that it seems you can’t spend one night in a city without partying. At least that’s our excuse… And in case you were wondering, Ferret the famed flat cat not only survived without us, but thrived, putting on weight and gaining an uppity cat attitude in the process. He still deigns to sleep on my feet, so I feel it’s a happy ending all round. Financial contributions towards the next Filleul Street overseas adventure (next time with Greg too!) gladly accepted…

Minneapolis

NB: Blog may be written with less enthusiasm now that I'm back in Dunedin finishing it off...

Another intense airport security debacle unfolded when we flew from JFK airport in New York to Minneapolis - we’d been carrying instant coffee and sugar with us from city to city on the trains and buses, but I forgot that this might present a problem when flying, and inadvertently put the sugar in my carry-on bag. I couldn’t work out why I was pulled aside for a special check, because I’d been careful not to have any sharp objects or liquids in there, but turns out that containers with crystalline substances arouse suspicion, and they did some kind of science-y looking test on my sugar with blue chemicals, and seemed annoyed when they confirmed that yes, it was just sugar, not drugs or explosives. Yay, no rotting in a US jail for me.

After a bit of a delay at the Minneapolis airport (my anti-anxiety pill had worked moderately well on the plane, but then as soon as we sat down in the airport once we arrived, it really kicked in, and I fell asleep face down on a table, then came to in a puddle of drool after a couple of hours). I probably could have been woken up, but Sam had found a computer game that he was addicted to, and decided to leave me to it in order to sneak a bit of playing in. We eventually made it to our hotel - yes, a hotel this time. I’d gotten a good deal on a place called Aloft, which we only paid $50 each a night for, and it turned out to be just what we needed for a couple of nights - 2 comfy queen size beds, a pool and a spa. We found an excellent place just down the road called Grumpy’s that was a combination of diner, bar, band venue and roller derby hangout, and enjoyed some very junky but tasty veggie diner food (best jalapeno poppers of the trip) and cheap PBRs. Then it was back to the hotel to enjoy what was our first real night off from partying/travelling/sightseeing in ages, and we ordered a movie on the huge screen TV (Rise of the Planet of the Apes - actually better than I expected it to be, and it was set in San Francisco which made it more interesting given our recent visit), and lay back on our fancy beds and made the most of the decadence.

The view from our hotel room

Sam outside the Walker Art Center - we didn't have time to go in, but appreciated the Lichtenstein sculpture outside

The next day was Sam’s birthday, and on top of the many other presents I’d bought him along the way, we also came across an awesome Ramones-style leather jacket in an op-shop which was added to the present pile. Happily, the same op-shop (My Sister’s Closet) also had an equally cool leopard print faux fur jacket, so we ended up with his n’ hers jackets for fairly decent prices after the lovely shop owner kept adding on discounts (apparently having a New Zealand accent entitles you to one). We walked round downtown Minneapolis for most of the day, and encountered a few good record stores and vintage clothing places, and had lunch at a bar similar to Grumpy’s. Minneapolis was really good for vegetarian food, every restaurant seemed to have a fairly decent selection - second only to Toronto for food awesomeness. After all our walking, we were both blistered, overheated and surly on our return to Aloft, but quickly cured this with a spa/pool/spa/pool combination (they were right next to each other, so whenever the spa got too hot, we’d go for a swim, a cycle that would have continued infinitely had we not had the Trailer Park Boys live show to go to that night). 

On our way to Trailer Park Boys, we discovered the strange phenomenon known as the Pedal Pub. Basically, a bunch of people sit across from each other on a contraption similar to a picnic table with a roof and pedals, and drink booze while pedalling themselves round the streets of Minneapolis. A bartender stands in the middle pouring drinks (and, I assume, navigating and making sure the whole thing has some semblance of safety). It looked incredibly stupid at first glance, but once we realised beer was involved, we would have been keen to jump onboard had we not had prior engagements...

As expected, Trailer Park Boys was hilarious, and well worth the detour to Minneapolis. It was just Ricky, Julian and Bubbles onstage, but they ‘skyped’ Randy and Mr Lahey, and got lots of the audience members up to participate (not me thankfully). The samsquampch was referred to, and Ricky used his classic “getting two birds stoned at once” line, not to mention the battle with Cyrus being re-enacted, and lots of other top-notch classic TPB stuff. We bought a meet and greet pass (sorry to disappoint, but it wasn’t our magnificent stalking skills this time), and got photos with them and our merch signed. When they found out we were from New Zealand, they let slip that they’re coming to NZ in March or April next year for shows in Auckland and Christchurch! Oh the excitement... And now that we’ve seen them, I can let slip how we managed to do it...The show was actually sold out, apart from disabled seating which you had to write and submit a request for, so in the spirit of Ray and his wheelchair benefit fraud, we got disabled seating on the basis of Sam having had recent foot surgery (not entirely untrue, he did have an ingrown toenail removed before we left New Zealand). Sometimes a white lie doesn’t hurt, especially one that was almost a TPB homage of sorts…

It was then back to Grumpy’s for some more incredible veggie diner food (mini burgers for me this time), and those cheap PBRs we can’t get enough of, while they played Misfits and such things on the jukebox. All in all, a pretty sweet 26th birthday for Sam (ooh, and he got wished a happy birthday by Ricky, Julian and Bubbles, which was extra cool!)

Trailer Park Boys! On Sam's birthday! Proof!

The trip started with Tim, Lars and Matt, and ends with Ricky, Julian and Bubbles... Also, check out how unrecognisable Bubbles is without those glasses 

The final Chicago chapter to come soon, possibly tonight if enthusiasm for writing continues, or tomorrow night if enthusiasm for Taz and Dexter overtakes...

New York

New York is awesome, and seven nights was not enough to do it justice unfortunately – we would've stayed for another week if we could. There was so much going on, the people were lovely, and the city as a whole was enamoured by Sam's jacket; we couldn't go a block without a compliment on it. If you're in NYC and want an easy way to meet people, wear a studded leather jacket, seems it's a conversation piece.

We arrived at Penn Station on the Monday night after an 11 hour train trip from Montreal, which I swear felt like only 2 because it was so comfortable I managed to sleep for most of it. Another victory for the train, best mode of transport ever... I didn't want to tell Mum this till now because she'd worry, but our original NYC accommodation fell through, and I was frantically trying to organise a new place to stay right up until the day before we left Montreal. Luckily we managed to hook up an apartment that was within budget and possibly better than the previous one anyway. It was in Astoria, Queens, right across the river from Midtown Manhattan, and was spacious, air conditioned and owned by a model who was away travelling. Glamorous.

Our first day in NYC involved successfully catching the subway (for some reason I really took to the subway, and was the one planning the routes and transfers and for the most part getting them right, whereas in every other city my sense of direction has been terrible) to the Guggenheim. Although in hindsight it wasn't a patch on any of the New York museums we were to visit subsequently, we were suitably impressed by the Guggenheim as our first official NYC attraction, and I appreciated their Kandinsky room especially. After we were Guggenheimed out, we wandered over to Central Park and walked towards downtown, admiring the famous Alice in Wonderland sculpture on the way (I had to fight my way through small children to get a photo on it), the Central Park Zoo, and a bunch more squirrels, which we still don't seem to have tired of. From there, it was on to the corner of 52^nd and Broadway for the obligatory Rancid 'Olympia, WA' related photo, and then to Times Square. A pointless place if ever I saw one. People - lost tourists mainly, I hope - just mill round, or sit on seats and gaze aimlessly at the advertising screens. Iconic, but pretty freaky, so we quickly moved on to an Irish Bar called the Perfect Pint for a few decent beers, some insanely huge bar snacks that were quickly upgraded to dinner status once we saw the size of them and some not too bad rock music on the jukebox.

Sam in Times Square - not too sure what he was attempting with the hands...

Day two in NYC started off with photos at another hallowed spot, 53^rd and 3^rd (it's a Ramones song, if you haven't heard it, deduct ten punk points then go look it up). The NYC Museum of Modern Art or MOMA was also conveniently situated on 3^rd ave, so we headed there for what was to be a long afternoon. Good, but long, So much amazing art, but aesthetic overload set in after about two hours. In the space of a few rooms, you see van Gogh's 'Starry, Starry Night,' Picasso's 'Les Demoiselles d'Avignon,' Dali's 'Persistence of Memory' (the melting clocks one) and about a million other works I studied, all of which were surrounded by a gaggle of sightseers there for the sole purpose of taking photos. I couldn't believe that photos were allowed for a start, but what really got to me was waiting in a line to see the Dali work, and everyone ahead of me would get to it, snap a photo, then leave without even a glance at the work. I got to look at it closely for about 30 seconds before the line became impatient and I felt I had to move on. Really not the ideal situation for viewing art. Granted, Sam did take a few photos of works that were particularly special to us (I had to get a photo with the Joseph Cornell shadowboxes!), but there were seriously people there who actually just walked from painting to painting taking photos, not reading the wall labels and not even looking at the work unless it was from the other side of a lens. Disgraceful. For me, the whole interest was in seeing the texture and application of paint in these works, after years of looking solely at flat reproductions in books that could never really capture this. Aside from the works already mentioned, other highlights were the Francis Bacon triptych, the Magritte work, the Boccioni triptych and the Warhol Elvis screenprint. I was never a fan of Jackson Pollock, but admit that his painting was far more impressive in the flesh, and there was also a Willem de Kooning retrospective on that gave me a new appreciation for his work.

Joseph Cornell shadowboxes! This was definitely worth a photo

In the interests of having an authentic NYC tourist experience, we had decided we'd go see some stand-up comedy, in a club that was on the Upper West Side, which would also allow us to do the John Lennon tribute thing on the way. We wandered through Central Park with more purpose this time, and found Strawberry Fields and the Imagine mosaic tribute to John Lennon, where we had a sit down and sombre moment, and then the same again at the Dakota Hotel across the road where he was shot. Dad, I even got some photos for you.

The John Lennon Imagine mosaic in Central Park

After this we perhaps weren't in the mood for stand-up comedy and didn't really know what to expect anyway, but it turned out to be really cool and we had a great night. There were about ten comedians, from seasoned professionals (two of whom were appearing on Letterman later in the week), to amateurs making their debut. With the exception of one who was godawful and cringeworthy, the others were excellent, our two favourites being a tough looking black guy who professed to be afraid of all animals, and did a most realistic squirrel impression, and another guy whose routine centred round the general hassles of air travel, which we could certainly relate to. There was a draw done at the end of the show for free shots, and in true Andy and Sam form, we won it – I think the MC was taken back by our cries of 'Noooooooo!' when it was announced. We dutifully downed our shots (and they were double-sized, ugh), then caught the subway to the Empire State Building. As in San Francisco, we bought a Citypass for NYC, which meant we'd get discounted entry into a bunch of things we wanted to do, but then also feel obliged to do things we were so-so on to get our money's worth. For me the Empire State Building fitted into the latter category, and I just wanted to get it out of the way, but ended up feeling quite bad for insisting we go up it that night when there was pretty much zero visibility due to fog. At least we didn't have to wait in huge lines, and the swirling fog at the top was creepy and made me think of Ghostbusters (probably the shots helped too), although our photos are less than stellar. As it turned out, we ran out of time to fit in everything we wanted to do anyway, so I think I was forgiven for the Empire State incident...

The next day proved to be our most expensive yet – we found the East Village, and a succession of cool shops selling all manner of punk paraphernalia, clothing, records, etc. 'Trash and Vaudeville' and 'Search and Destroy' in particular were awesome, and we also got chatting to the sales assistants, who told us about some gigs coming up that weekend. After some dirty nachos (they made the two four ones look positively healthy) and a PBR, we went and took some more obligatory photos, at Joey Ramone Place and outside the old CBGBs venue. I had read about an art gallery that showed lowbrow and pop surrealist work called Last Rites Gallery that I really wanted to check out, so we caught the subway uptown a bit to catch it before it closed. Unfortunately when we went in they we de-installing the last show and preparing for the next one and weren't actually open, but luckily the curator was really nice, and gave us invites to the opening on the Saturday night, which just happened to be for a Laurie Lipton exhibition, a really incredible artist whose work I had come across in a Juxtapoz Illustration book a few months ago. We now had a punk gig and an exhibition opening lined up for our previously free Saturday night, so on that note we bought some beer and headed back to the apartment to keep it casjh and have a quiet one in preparation. Ooh, and I finally accomplished one of my lifetime goals, spending the evening sitting on an actual New York fire escape and rereading one of my all-time favourite books, 'The Good Fairies of New York' by Martin Millar. Book nerd trip highlight for sure...

Eerie Empire State Building in the fog picture taken by Sam

What's left of CBGBs

On the Friday our intention had been to start off with a visit to the Statue of Liberty, but we took one look at the line (what looked to be thousands of people, a two hour wait and most of it in the hot sun) and decided it wasn't really worth it. We went to Wall Street instead (no protests were happening at the time unfortunately, so it was very quiet and there wasn't much to see), and then to the site where they're constructing the new World Trade Center. Our tourist activity quota filled, we then decided to go back to the East Village, via the Lower East Side. A slight delay ensued when we came across the punk dive bar the Double Down Saloon - with their excellent two for one deal on PBRs, we could hardly pass it by, despite not having eaten all day, and so we spent a merry hour or so indulging. Mildly tipsy, we proceeded to the Joe Strummer tribute mural, where a nice young man took our photo, and then to Tompkins Square Park for some serious squirrel watching. We counted 16 in one small enclosed space, saw our first black squirrels, and then very quickly our first black vs. grey squirrel fights (apparently squirrels of differing colours can't seem to live next to each other in harmony either). Somewhere on our travels we found C-squat and took some pictures, went back to Trash and Vaudeville for more unnecessary purchases, and then to Angelica Kitchen for dinner (BEST restaurant ever, it's entirely vegan and organic, and my seitan and veggie wrap with – wait for it – chocolate peanut sauce and lime-jalapeno tofu sour cream was the most amazing thing I've ever eaten. This place needs to open up a Dunedin branch). With full bellies, and a bit later than planned, we headed to the Metropolitan Museum of Art for their late night Friday. It quickly became apparent that we definitely should have allowed for more than one hour at the Met, and I'm really sorry that we had to rush through it so quickly. There was a Lucian Freud show that was stunning, the armour room was really cool, and I was impressed to see the studiolo of Federico da Montefeltro that I'd studied back in first year art history. An utterly amazing museum, and one that I hope I get to visit again one day with more time up my sleeve.

Tompkins Square Park - photo worthy for more Rancid lyric references, and awesome squirrels

On Saturday we caught the subway all the way out to Coney Island, and experienced our first beach of the trip. This really just involved standing on the sand and getting a photo with a fake palm tree, but it made us feel summery at least. Sam managed to convince me to go on the Wonder Wheel and a haunted house ride, but I put my foot down and refused to go on any rollercoasters. We did get slighlty hustled by a streetwise carny type though, who implored Sam to pay him more money in order to win me a giant teddy bear, despite my loud assertions that I did not want a giant teddy bear. We escaped relatively unscathed, and only about $5.00 down. After a long subway ride back into Manhattan, we stumbled upon FAO Schwarz, the huge toystore with the giant piano from the movie 'Big,' and spent a bit of time looking round, but I couldn't be bothered fighting my way through the teeming masses of children to have a go on the piano itself. Once again, time slipped away on us, and by the time we made it to the Laurie Lipton exhibition opening, we were running about two hours late. No matter, in NYC apparently that's fashionable, and the opening was still packed. We were most pleased to have our picture snapped while there, and it appears on the gallery's facebook page with the caption 'sartorial fans' – I blame Sam's jacket again. The show itself was very impressive, and if I had a spare twenty grand (and if most of the works hadn't been sold already anyway), I would have loved to have bought one. Google image search 'Laurie Lipton' and prepare to be amazed. I did buy a book however (for the more reasonable price of $40.00), and Laurie signed it for me too.

At the top of the Wonder Wheel on Coney Island (just to prove I did actually do it)

The utterly brilliant pencil and charcoal drawings of Laurie Lipton

Sam was starting to get ants in his pants by this stage that we were going to miss the gig in Brooklyn, so we hightailed it to the subway, and then got a taxi once we were off, only to find that like gigs in Dunedin, gigs in New York apparently run behind schedule, and we were in fact on time. The bar, St Vitus, was pretty cool, although I have to admit that the band wasn't exactly my thing (esoteric noise doom music played through a cloak of smoke machine haze so thick that you could not actually see the band. Kind of like being back on top of the Empire State Building in the fog again). Sam had fun though, and stocked up on merch at the end (including an interesting beer holder device known as a 'coozie'), and was happy to discover a vegetarian food stall at the side of the bar which provided us with some good post-gig snacks.

By rights, Sunday should have been a day of rest, but we still had a few things to fit in, so we dragged ourselves out of bed and headed off to the American Natural History Museum to get our science on. Many cool exhibits, but the best by far was the special exhibition that just happened to coincide with our visit.....on miniature frogs! Yussss! We saw the most poisonous animal in the world (a golden frog if I remember correctly), whose venom could kill ten humans and 20,000 mice, as well as a bunch of less dangerous but equally cute mini frogs, and then a bigger guy who I'm sure was the model for hypno-toad from Futurama.

The last thing left to do on our Citypass also turned out to be one of the most enjoyable – a two hour NYC Harbour Lights cruise. In a typical Sunday state, and during a huge rainstorm, we were dubious that this would be any fun, but stoically decided to give it a go. Fortunately the weather cleared up about five minutes into the cruise, and it was really smooth and pleasant the whole way. The tour guide was fantastic, a real character of a New Yorker who had been doing the commentary for eighteen years, and filled it with plenty of random facts and personal anecdotes (such as meeting his wife on the boat; how both September 11 and the day the plane landed in the Hudson River happened on his days off; and the worst day he ever had at work was being abused by three pregnant belligerent drunk women who had to be removed by security, and then being rushed to hospital with appendicitis). The cruise started off in daylight, and as night fell, buildings were lit up and it was really magical. As it happened, the boat also did a couple of loops around the Statue of Liberty, so it turned out we didn't end up missing it after all. We stopped in at another Irish bar on the way home for a casual Drambuie and some beers, and all in all it was a most satisfactory end to our time in NYC. 

We saw her in the end, if somewhat blurrily

Ha, and while waiting for the subway, we managed to fit in yet another authentic NYC experience – being accused of terrorism by a particularly vigilant and overzealous policewoman! Sam was taking some photos of the subway tracks while we waited for our train (with the intention of using them in artworks when we got home, and also there were some interesting rats running round down there that we wanted to see), and once he'd finished, we hear this really intense, robotic voice telling us 'Sir, I'm glad you put that camera away' over and over again. We were kind of confused, then she started repeating 'when I see you taking a photo that doesn't have a person in it, I get suspicious, it looks like terrorism.' Fair enough to be on guard considering what New York has been through, but she was like this weird automaton stuck in a loop who couldn't be reasoned with. We were like 'Oh sorry, we didn't realise, we're artists and have been taking lots of city shots to paint from,' but she just kept on with her terrorism line. Finally, after she ascertained that we probably didn't have any Al-Qaeda links and were just some confused tourists, she left us with the line 'Well you know the subway is going to be the next hit. Enjoy your stay in New York.' Yeah, totally enjoyable last subway ride after hearing that....

Exhibit A - one of the offending subway photos... 

Next up - probably to be written in various airports on our way home since I've been having too much fun to catch up with the blog - Minneapolis and Chicago...

Montreal

It has to be said that although we realised in advance that Montreal was French-Canadian, we had very little idea of exactly HOW French it was going to be. I presumed that being a bilingual city, all signs, menus, ads, etc would be in both English and French, but this was true probably less than a third of the time, and we found ourselves quite bamboozled by the masses of untranslated French everywhere. Bits and pieces of my high school French resurfaced, and I was able to figure out the simple words in written form, but fell apart whenever anyone spoke to me (actually, as I seem to recall, that kind of happened in high school French anyway)... On our first night there - after a 6 hour train trip, then about 2 hours of being lost, grumpy and tired while we tried to find where we were staying - I was happy to collapse onto the couch and relax, and even happier when I came across an episode of America’s Next Top Model in English with French subtitles. An excellent way to try and get to grips with the language again.

In Montreal, we had our first Airbnb experience, and it was fantastic. Airbnb is a website that lets you book accommodation in other people’s apartments (either their own while they’re out of town, or an empty apartment they rent out to travellers), and it allows you to stay in places that are often way cooler than hotels, for a fraction of the cost. The apartment we stayed in first in Montreal was in Mile End (apparently the desired hipster location), and it was gorgeous - huge comfy couches, an office with free wifi, art work on the walls, our own balcony, wooden floors - but really cheap (like $30 each a night cheap). Our host Johanne had even left maps, city guides and some 'welcome to Montreal’ beers for us! If you’re planning on doing any travelling, I would totally recommend you check out www.airbnb.com. We’re now in our third place booked through them, and each has cost us less than a private room at a backpackers yet been more spacious and better equipped than a hotel. Yay Airbnb!

View out onto our shared veggie patch in Montreal

Relaxing on the comfy couch after finally finding where we were meant to  be staying

Our first day in Montreal was spent wandering around the neighbourhood we were staying in, starting off with souvlaki for lunch, then ending at a cosy little vegetarian cafe called Le Cagibi for dinner (the first of I think three meals there - their food was that good!) I discovered a record store that was selling old issues of Maximum Rock n’ Roll, so I bought a bunch of early 90s ones and, coupled with the awesome book I got at Amoeba Records on the history of the San Francisco and East Bay punk scenes, I’ve been immersing myself in the glory days of 90s punk. If only this trip involved a time machine as well...

The next day I finally caved in and bought a second-hand laptop, as Sam’s was on its last legs and refusing to connect to the free wifi, so we weren’t able to check emails, load foreign currency onto our cards, or - gasp! - update the blog. Even the damn laptop is more bilingual than I am, so instead of pressing 'escape’ and 'caps lock,’ I’m learning to press 'echap’ and 'fix maj.’ My second - and most triumphant - purchase of the day was a pair of brand new, shiny 14 up Doc boots for $40! Apparently Dr Martens had printed the wrong size in a batch of boots, so they were all being sold off cheap, and I tell you it was a struggle not to get a pair in red and in white as well (yes, I know I already have boots in those colours, but what a bargain!)

We happened to be in the city while one of the biggest music festivals, POP Montreal, was on, and we hadn’t realised that the band we were there to see was actually playing as part of this, so we stopped in to the POP Montreal Headquarters to pick up tickets and find out what else was happening during the four day festival. As it turns out, there was also an art exhibition running at the HQ, and Sam was hugely stoked to see some drawings by Nick Blinko.

Sam and the Nick Blinko skeleton drawings

Now equipped with tickets and festival information to keep us entertained for the rest of our stay, we walked down to the waterfront to explore Old Montreal. Packed full of beautiful architecture and narrow cobbled streets, Old Montreal really gave off the 'wow, we could be in Europe’ vibe, especially at dusk with all the buildings lit up dramatically. The rest of the night went downhill from there, as we made an ill-conceived decision to go to the Ile de Notre-Dame and try our luck at the Montreal casino. Surprisingly, Sam was more enthusiastic about this than me, and no wonder, because he came away richer while I came away poorer, and also had the worst meal of our trip so far. When there’s only one vegetarian option on the menu, and it’s watery cream of broccoli soup in a little plastic pottle with some crackers on the side, it’s an omen that your luck has run out and you should probably stop gambling.

In front of a fountain in Old Montreal

Thursday night’s meal at a Japanese restaurant called Oishii was a definite improvement, but it was still no Jizo (their teriyaki tofu sushi means that I can probably never actually move away from Dunedin). In hindsight, I should have had a more substantial meal than udon soup, but who could’ve predicted that we’d befriend a bartender wearing a GBH t-shirt who would cement our newfound friendship with free (and unrequested!) shots. It seems that it is my fate to experience being hideously hungover at least once in every city we visit. The bar was called Les Katacombes, and aesthetically it was one of the coolest bars I’ve come across, with hundreds of carved skulls lining the walls and columns, and a mezzanine floor that encircled the whole bar and gave a great vantage point for band-watching. We were there to see Samiam play as part of a POP Montreal event, a pop-punk band whose music I didn’t really know, but ended up enjoying a lot (also kind of cool was the fact that the singer used to be in Isocracy, a crazy East Bay band I had just been reading about earlier that day in the aforementioned punk book). No-one ever listens when I tell them that I can’t do shots, and Kevin the bartender proved no exception. Not wanting to be rude and refuse something that had already been poured (and then poured again and again), I gave in, warning Sam that we both knew where this would end, and he may have to be in charge of getting us home. Which he later did with much navigational skill. Oh, and a ‘what are the chances of that moment’ - about four or five years ago some Finnish punks passing through Dunedin had stayed at Sam’s flat for a couple of nights, and one of them, Jonne, just happened to pop up again in Montreal at the gig! Small world indeed...

Sam and Jonne

Friday involved moving from our first Montreal apartment to our second, which we did with much hungover grumbling and hasty packing (we had decided while we were travelling to extend our stay in Montreal from four to seven nights so that Sam could see one of his favourite bands - Inepsy - play, and the place we were already in had been booked by someone else for the additional nights unfortunately). Apartment two was a bit further away, but really cool as well, and had the added appeal of a five week old kitten in the host’s apartment next door. Quite possibly the cutest thing I’ve ever seen - she went to bite my thumb, but her mouth was too small to fit, so she started licking it instead, awwwwww...

We weren’t good for much of anything on Friday other than napping, so I’ll pick up the tale again on Saturday... Where Sam makes me walk up a mountain. Boo hiss. It started off pleasantly enough, as we strolled along a meandering road with a slight incline and checked out all the swanky mansions on Mont-Royal Boulevard. Even the bike track through the park at the foot of Mont-Royal wasn’t too bad. Then we arrived at some stairs. Then there were more stairs. Then I demanded that we stop for a rest. Then there were more stairs. Then I was pretty sure I was going to have a heart attack. We finally made it to the observatory at the top of the mountain, and weren’t even rewarded for our efforts with a cafe in which to have a nice sit-down and a beer. The view was passable, but I swear that’s the first and last mountain I’m walking up on this trip. Or possibly ever.

A very forced smile for the camera while atop the mountain

After much recovery time and band-aiding of blisters obtained on Mount Doom, we then set off for the Inepsy gig at the Royal Phoenix bar. For those of you who know Inepsy, Sam has done an in-depth and informed review of the gig on punkas.com, which you’ll probably find more insightful than anything I’ve got to say. My own impression, not knowing a single song before the show, was that they sounded like a punkier version of Motorhead, which was pretty cool. I had an awesome time, managed to dance a little bit (being mindful of the thrashing and flailing boys all around me who seemed determined to take someone out) and had an entire jug of beer spilt down my back (not mine this time thankfully). The best bit was hanging out with the band afterwards though (along with a lovely drag queen from one of the opening bands who I think I spent the most time ranting to), as not only were they thoroughly nice people, but they also gave Sam a bunch of free stuff, and signed it too, thereby providing him with a 'fave band’ experience to match my Rancid one. My own highlight of the night was when I went to go into the toilets and saw a boy leaving, and thinking I had got the wrong bathroom asked him if these were the men’s rooms. English was obviously his second language, as he replied that no, the toilets were bisexual. After a second or two of confusion, he corrected himself and said that they were unisex, but I was repeating that one all night...

Fun times partying with Inepsy - for once Sam is the most conservative looking person in the photo

Sunday was our last day in Montreal, and truth be told I was starting to get a bit over it by then - there’s only so much I can take of a city with such an excessive proportion of hipster. The rolled up jeans worn with boat shoes and no socks look was everywhere, and it was hurting my eyes. Or maybe I was just jealous that these hipsters could be cooler than me in both French and English. Either way, I was ready for New York City. We briefly visited the POP Montreal arts and craft fair (verdict: too much expensive craft, not enough art, and where was the vintage clothing that was promised?), and then I went back to our apartment and casjhed out for the night, while Sam went back to Les Katacombes for round two with Kevin and co.

Au revoir Montreal, I’m disappointed I didn’t meet anyone called Thierry who ate too much sugar, and get the chance to use the only solid phrase we all remember from 4th form French...

Toronto

After three cities in which we would arrive at an airport or bus station and have to figure out what to do next ourselves, it was completely awesome to be met at Toronto Airport by the familiar and lovely faces of our dear friends Matt and Shiloh (well technically Sam didn't know them yet, but they were soon to become his dear friends too). It quickly became apparent that we probably couldn't have negotiated the route ourselves anyway, as it involved three different modes of transport (bus, subway and streetcar) and the use of Canadian coins, which Matt thoughtfully provided for us. If only each city had such a top-notch welcoming committee...

We went out for a late dinner at a place just across from where we were staying called 'Shoeless Jacks,' where Matt introduced us to the joys of the Canadian beer Steamwhistle, and I had some kind of amazing wrap thing with jalapenos in it. If you like jalapenos, then Toronto is the city for you; I think ninety percent of what I ate there included them, and we also came across such gems as jalapeno popcorn and jalapeno flavoured peanuts. In fact, on the whole, although Toronto wasn't somewhere we would live (it reminded me a bit too much of Auckland for some reason), the food was absolutely the best. To add to the list of things Dunedin needs: all-night hotdog carts, where you can get a veggie dog with all the trimmings for two dollars. Two dollars! Two-four nachos, you have been replaced in my affections...

View out of the window we're were staying

With Matt and Shiloh at work for the next couple of days, Sam and I did some Toronto exploration on our own, wandering through Chinatown and the downtown area, where we were most pleased to overhear lots of Canadian conversation involving the word ‘aboot.’ We went to Dundas Square (a smaller version of New York's Times Square, with huge screens everywhere, and where apparently some pretty cool free gigs happen each year – sadly, none were scheduled while we were visiting), and found a really cute little art supplies shop where we had to restrain ourselves and limit our purchasing to the bare minimum. It's quite frustrating while travelling knowing that although I may have the money to buy something, I also have to take into consideration the practicality of lugging it round for the rest of the trip. On that note, I think we're going to have to send a box of stuff back to NZ soon, because records and books are not conducive to manageable suitcases.

Dundas Square

In front of the CN Tower

After a blissful shower (our first since Las Vegas, as the shower in the hotel in San Francisco was broken, and then the hot water in Matt and Shiloh's building was turned off for repairs for the first day and a half in Toronto. Although I'm not known for my rigorous adherence to cleanliness, even I was starting to get a bit desperate for a shower at this stage), it was time to catch a bus to Hamilton (an hour out of Toronto) for the Mudhoney show. Cue excited whoops... In our usual fashion, we were running late and made it to the bus exactly two minutes before it departed, and ended up taking our seats at the show about 30 seconds before Mudhoney played their first chord. And so began the weirdest gig I've ever been to...

Mudhoney, from our terrible vantage point

 Because Mudhoney were opening for Pearl Jam, it was in this huge awful arena called Copps Coliseum, and the whole thing was seated, even the area directly in front of the stage. To get decent seats, we would have had to pay upwards of $400 each, so we opted for the $100 crap seats behind the stage and about a million miles up. As we were going in, we were dismayed to see huge lines for everything (ATM machines, bottled water, vending machines, the merch stand), and so figured we wouldn't have time to waste standing in line to get beer. Curiously enough, and in direct opposition to a gig in New Zealand, there was no line for the bar, and we were served immediately. It was a complete travesty how few people actually watched Mudhoney - at a sold out show of 19000 people, only about 400-500 were even in the stadium while they played. Jerk Pearl Jam fans obviously don't appreciate good music. Although it was the worst venue ever in which to see them, Mudhoney were great, and played most of the songs I wanted to hear (set was waaaaaay too short though, maybe only 45 minutes, but highlights included ‘You Got It,’ ‘Touch Me I’m Sick,’ and ‘Judgement, Rage, Retribution and Thyme’), and they seemed like they hadn't aged at all, with Mark Arm bouncing round furiously, all flailing limbs and energy. About three songs into it, and after sculling my two super-sized beers, I thought screw this, and left my seat to go and dance at the bottom of our section. A security guard approached me and I said to him “You're going to tell me to get back in my seat aren't you,” and he surprised me by replying no, and that I could dance there up until Pearl Jam came on, and just not to fall over the railing. Hooray for casual Canadian security. I was later joined by another Mudhoney fan, and we yelled and whooped and made up for the unappreciative crowd around us. 

The few Mudhoney fans (or more likely Pearl Jam fans wanting to get to their seats early)

We decided to stay for some Pearl Jam songs to see what the fuss what about, and the contrast between the two bands was obvious. I’m not sure what they were like back in the day when they played, but there was barely any movement or energy, and they definitely seemed their age. Their music was certainly at home in the bland arena rock environment, and the songs sounded very slow and same-y. I did like the song 'Even Flow’ when I was in high school, so enjoyed hearing that, but didn’t recognise much else, apart from a snippet of ‘Jeremy’ that we heard as I was buying a Mudhoney t-shirt at the merch stand while we were leaving. Such a pity that we couldn’t have been in Toronto five days earlier, when Mudhoney did a 400 capacity show at the Horseshoe Tavern, which sounded like it was more our thing. There’s something wrong with watching bands play in a venue that usually hosts sports games...

The crowd for Pearl Jam

The next day we just hung round the apartment recuperating and catching up on internet chores, and then when Matt and Shiloh arrived home from work we got pizza, beer and started in on the pre-Kyuss partying. We managed to make it to the show in time to hear the last few songs of opening act The Sword, and then Kyuss - minus naughty bass player Nick Oliveri whose recent arrest meant that he had to be replaced by Scott Reeder - took to the stage. The sound was phenomenal, and they played a great set - yay for ‘One Inch Man’ and ‘Rodeo’especially! Afterwards we went back to the apartment and continued drinking, and our parents were lucky enough to receive what were probably overexcited and slightly ranty phonecalls at about 1am where we were (but something more sensible like 4pm their time). The night then dissolved into many rounds of hypothetical questions, in which Shiloh stumped me with ‘would you rather be covered in spiders, or have to have one big, live spider in your mouth?’ I mean really, how do you choose between two such tempting options...

Fun and games at Kyuss

On Saturday we headed to Kensington Market, a cool little area full of quirky shops and stalls, where we found an amazing yet overpriced army surplus store (no Sam, buying a gas mask would not be a good idea, we have enough fun going through airport security as it is), and a hipster version of Acquisitions called Blue Banana that had heaps of interesting bits and bobs. But best of all was the Halloween store we came across on the way home. Halloween is a huge deal in the US and Canada, and they have entire stores dedicated to it that open up months in advance. All the staff were in costume, there were enormous models of creepy clowns and zombies that moved when you went past them, and there was not just one Michael Jackson costume, but an entire Michael Jackson section! I could be a different era MJ for like the next five halloweens! MJ aside, I think my favourite costume was the Edward Scissorhands one, complete with bladed gloves.

It was then time to head back to Matt and Shiloh’s for the pre-UFC warm-up. We had been informed upon our arrival in Toronto that Saturday night was UFC fight night (Ultimate Fighting Champion for those of you not in the know), and that we would be expected to participate enthusiastically in this ritual (well, Matt was insistent, Shiloh was rolling her eyes). Luckily all it required was watching TV, drinking beer and perhaps pumping our fists in the air when something exciting happened, so we thought we could endure it in the name of experiencing new things. However, Matt’s enthusiasm was catching, and while we watched the pre big fight matches at home (we were heading to the charmingly named bar ‘The Dog’s Bollocks’ for the main one later on), we somehow got caught up in the whole thing and I was soon repeating fight statistics and making - surprisingly correct - winner predictions. Shiloh cooked us a fabulous yet unfortunately timed dinner, as we found ourselves eating during the bloodiest of the UFC matches we’d see all evening, and I slowly started to lose my appetite for the gnocchi in a rich, red tomato sauce as the blond fighter’s hair became dyed red with the other fighter’s blood.

Still feeling a bit hazy after last night’s antics, I thought I’d maybe last an hour or so at the bar before wanting to head home, but I was not to get my wish, as Matt and Shiloh’s friends had a penchant for ordering rounds of shots. It seemed that it was going to be another long night... Some jalapeno poppers helped, as did the $10 pitchers of beer, and after the main UFC event (a shocker - the guy everyone else was cheering for and who was predicted to win went down in the first minute. If only I’d had money on it...) we headed on to more bars. There had been talk of a tranny bar which put on some good drag shows, and although some of the boys were reluctant, the girls talked them into it, but we were thwarted at the last minute by an unexpectedly high cover charge. The boys breathed sighs of relief, and we found another bar nearby. This one was not without its drama either, and in the first five minutes Shiloh and I were befriended by an intense Canadian girl who wanted to be our new BFF and was very Single White Female, then Shiloh got crushed in the door of the toilets as a girl who looked like she was OD’ing had to be dragged out. Another couple of bars and some entertaining boozy photos later, then it was finally last call for drinks (this happens in Canada at like 2am), and home time. Home time did not mean bed time unfortunately, and I don’t think we crawled into bed till after 4.30.

Watching the big UFC fight at the Dog's Bollocks

This is why Sam and Matt were not in top shape the next day

The next day Sam and Matt in particular were sorry sights, and although there had been vague plans to go to the zoo, these evaporated fairly quickly. Instead, we had brunch at a diner (can it still be called brunch if it doesn’t happen till 2pm?), then spent the rest of the afternoon in various states of napping and laziness at the apartment. The day was most noteworthy for Shiloh revealing a certain hidden talent (in addition to her swing dancing of course), which had me in fits of giggles. When Matt and Shiloh went to Jamaica, they stayed at a resort that ran all these weird workshops and couples activities, and they participated in one on the art of towel folding (yes, there is such a thing - apparently when you stay in fancy hotels, they will often leave towels on the bed arranged in a witty or decorative manner. Towel origami, if you will). With very little encouragement from me, Shiloh was eager to show off her newly acquired skills, and an artful swan was soon produced using only your standard bathroom towel. At this point I may nearly have been in tears from laughing so much. I’m sorry Shiloh, I’m sure your towel swan will come in very handy some day and I will be forced to eat my words...

Shiloh in full swan-making mode

Voila! The finished swan, definitely not an ugly duckling...

So ends the Toronto rant. There may have been some delicious Indian food for dinner, and I bought a much-needed suitcase, etc etc, but after you’ve encountered the towel swan, there’s really not much more that needs to be said... Cheers to Matt and Shiloh for an awesome Toronto experience, and for the plethora of ridiculous in-jokes that accumulated over the course of five days (a special nod to ‘my left foot,’ although the one that Matt favoured the most probably should not be repeated here).

Montreal next, where it turns out that the most important phrase I learned in four years of high school French was “Je ne parle pas le Francais”....