Blue with envy

A panorama of Place d'Armes in Old Montreal.

Right now I would give anything to get a job that pays to do nothing but learn in a country with four seasonal changes instead of just a mix of heat and rain, and the occasional storm.

Hell, if they want me to sign up for a lifetime career I would jump to it like a Tom Cat deprived of feline company for many, many moons.

One of my wife’s friend’s husband ( hmm..what does that make me?) is flying to Montreal, Canada soon. His wife and kid will be following him for two or three whole years.

I looked up Montreal (I do know its in Canada, duhh..) and what came out from under my breath was the expletive “Shit!”.

There were tonnes of information had I care to read about the once-largest city in Canada, but I was transfixed with the many, many beautiful pictures posted in Wikipedia. Even the small thumb of Montreal’s skyline was enough to make me go blue in envy.

Being formerly French seems to have left some class to Montreal. (Try saying the word out loud. Beautiful, isn’t it?) The European-ish legacy is pretty much evidence in their building’s architecture and design. It’s only lower down the information blitz that I found out Montreal is one of Unesco’s design capital.

Imagine a place where the names of their buildings are so exotic that you’ll be tongue tied to pronounce them with beautiful skylines you’d want to immediately become a freelance photographer.

The aesthetic appeal of Montreal was beyond everything I had imagined it to be. Out of envy, I kept thinking that “Yeah, but everyone speaks French, so it’s going to be difficult to live there.”

And yet…

I would not mind if the lucky tells me he wants to switch place, that is, he would rather stay here instead of going to Montreal. In fact, I would jump at the chance.

Don’t you think we were somewhat unlucky to have the Brits as or colonizers all those years ago? Had it been the French, we would be Bourgeoisie artistan who speaks lyrically with a penchant for all this maqnifique.

Thanks to the likes of Francis Light and Frank Swettenham, we are what we are now. The British were simply too brutish. Just like their jokes. Way too dry. You can judge this by their biggest artistic export: Mr Bean.

I’m being biased, I know, but that is because I am so damn envious of him who shall remain nameless.

PS: But then again, Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam are not exactly handy dandy, aren’t they? Shudder…