Two days, a four and a half hour layover, and a lovely business seat later, and I am back in Montreal, writing from behind the reception desk, replacing Maria, the secretary during her month of vacation to god only knows where. It really is hard to believe that 72 hours ago at this time, I was sitting in Milan eating lunch. How the world has changed.
I've crossed the Atlantic ocean and things are quite different. The streets are wider, everyone owns cars, people live in houses and have yards, there isn't a historically intersting landmark every 100 metres or so, and the food on average is of a lesser quality. Asked questions by my parents whether I like Italy or Canada, I defaulted to say that I love my home nation a lot more because of its embracing of tolerance and diversity. But as I mulled over the question more and more, I realized I enjoyed the expressiveness of the italian people, the high quality of food no matter where you go (although I am beginning to think that my family is a European one transplanted in North America), the heat (yea, I think I love it), the people, the beautiful purity of the language, and well the sun. I need more time to get readjusted to Montreal, the town that will always be my home. I need to get reaquainted with the nightspots, the downtown rhythm, the pace of life, the people. It's funny how different life is here. It will still be a few days before I stop becoming tired at 9pm thinking its around midnight (not bad on the second day... that one day for every hour of change just might ring true).
So here I am at the paying job of the summer. Not to mu knowledge, today is a civic holiday in the rest of Canada since Quebec gets St Jean Baptiste and Manitoba gets Family day (thanks for clueing me in Nadira). I guess the rest of Canada wants a day off too. So what that has meant for me is that I have been writing lots of emails and am now writing this blog. There have been no faxes, no mail, and one phone call. Luckily, I get paid a ridiculous amount. The highlight of my day has been calling the building hotline to tell them that a toilet is leaking. It involved tracking downt he number and filing the complaint. Man, my life is exciting. My hours are wonderful, working not 9-6 like in Italy (although I always left at 5, in quiet but unpurposeful protest),but instead 9 to 4. Which now means I only have a bit over 2 hours left. Who knows, maybe I'll get another phone call.