Flying Home from Moncton

I’m on a plane (WestJet’s Boeing 737, seat 7A) heading back to Hamilton from Moncton. I’ve read all my magazines and Kerouac’s _Maggie_Cassidy_ is off to a bit of a slow start … I’m listening to “Organs from Orbit”, a classic lounge music compilation, and it is excellently cheesy. Or, perhaps I should say “cheezy”.


What a trip. Had nothing to do last night, since everyone I met/knew left town around 5pm, leaving me alone in Moncton, with no transportation, and no real idea of what there is to do in this town (precious little, it seems). I braved the biting cold, and wandered around metro Moncton, looking for an interesting place to eat, even though it was a little early. Not too many interesting places, although there was a Sushi place, an Indian restaurant, a neat little coffee shop, and even a Dooly’s pool hall. Since I’m borrowing a friend’s lifetime membership, I thought it might be nice to shoot some pool. But I was pretty blah about everything. Call it the post Sales conference blues, or whatever.


After walking up and down the strip, freezing my chin and cheeks (shouldn’t have trimmed my goatee so much), I gave up, and headed back to the cigar bar we were at last night, but didn’t buy a cigar (Cohibas were $24) or cognac. Instead I munched on some comfort food: toothpick fries in a batter that reminded me of fish and chips (except all in one), horseradish dipping sauce, and a can of Kilkenny draught. I read the paper for a bit, then read it again, then headed back to my room to nap. I briefly considered going back to that place, Cosmos (not, apparently, Cosmo’s), to see what the live entertainment was. But without my entourage, I felt all shy-like, and way too old and unattractive to hang out with such a youthful crowd.


One thing that really got me thinking was just how bilingual Moncton is — apparently, NB is the only fully bilingual province in Canada (so somebody there said to me), and it’s really obvious in Moncton. Everyone I talked to seemed to be able to switch back and forth between English and French, without even a second thought. Everyone spotted me as an Anglophone, except the security guard at the airport, who said “Bonjour” to me at the metal-detector.


So the night was a bit of a wash, and as tired as I was, I forgot that we’re an hour ahead, so by the time I finished watching 2 hours of “CSI”, and one of “Without a Trace” afterwards, it was midnight, and I pretty much passed out. Note that I really dislike CSI and all the other Jerry Bruckheimer shows out there, but R likes them, so I keep my mouth shut most of the time. She puts up with me watching my lame shows, and even watches YTV with me on Saturdays. Hehe, I feel like such a kid sometimes…


Thinking that Moncton might not be such a bad place in the summertime. Might just come back here, rent a car, and drive around the east coast, just to see what all the fuss is about. Certainly feels a little desolate and lonely out here … but maybe that’s just because I watched “Fargo” not that long ago. One funny thing was the kooky accent everyone has. It’s really hard not to pickup on it, since I’m so used to hearing it whenever the typical “Canadian” guy makes an appearance in any American television show (or Canadian one, for that matter). Geez, ya think I was makin fun of them, eh?