"We are titanium." (Airport adventures, part two.)

So I've finally decided to finish my earlier blog post, which chronicles the nightmare Lauren and I experienced while attempting to fly home from Québec City.  When we left off, Lauren and I had just arrived in Chicago, and I bestowed upon my wonderful readers a cliff-hanger.  Muwaha.  Now, 'tis time to continue.

When we got to Chicago, we knew that the first thing we needed to do was to find someone from Delta to give us hotel vouchers.  There was no possible way we would be able to get to St. Louis that night, so we had accepted the fact that the only solution was to stay the night in Chicago.  However, as I mentioned, we only had about $40 CAD with us in cash.  We'd also gone the whole day without eating anything except a banana and a muffin before flying from Québec City.

The Delta terminal of the O'Hare airport was deserted.  Of course, at 9:00, no more flights were going out and only a few were coming in.  However, we knew that we couldn't go past the security checkpoint, as it was unlikely that anyone on the other side would be able to help us.  And, of course, the large Delta help desk was empty, as well.  There were, however, phones that lined the wall which dialed automatically to a service line.  Lauren called and they told us to find someone at a gate to help us.  Well, of course, every gate was vacant.  Eventually we found a group of three talking to a woman at a gate, so we got in line behind them.  Judging by their accents, language, and the mention of Moscow, they were Russian.  We waited behind them for thirty to forty-five minutes while the woman behind the desk tried to get them hotel vouchers.  It seemed that they had the same problem.

Luckily, by the time we reached her, she had figured out what needed to be done to get hotel vouchers and she didn't ask too many questions.  Waiting was frustrating, though.  The three people seemed to treat it like it was just a huge game, laughing and speaking loudly in Russian when the woman was on the phone trying to sort things out.  One woman even started taking pictures at some point.  Nevertheless, we were glad when they left and fervently hoped we would never have to see them again.  (Foreshadow much?)

After getting our hotel and meal vouchers, Lauren and I decided to check in for our flight the following morning as per Deb's advice.  The people at United were very friendly and helpful, but they were unable to check us in for the flight saying that, since it had been ordered online, it was too soon to print out a ticket.  But she saw our names, told us our seat numbers, and confirmed everything for us.  So we were in the system.  After grabbing some fast food from the only restaurant that was open in the airport, we followed the earlier woman's instructions on how to get to the bus shuttle area.  It took a little longer than anticipated, but we finally got there around 10:00 or so.  We had been booked for the Crowne Plaza, so we waited and waited and waited for what seemed like forever until finally the shuttle showed up.  Lauren and I clamored on and were quite relieved to finally be able to relax.

Heh.

When we got to the hotel, we handed the man behind the counter our voucher, and he just kind of stared at it for a moment.  Then, finally, he said, "You're at the wrong hotel."  It turned out that there were two Crowne Plazas in the area: one closer to the airport and one in Northbrook.  We had been booked into the one in Northbrook, but we hadn't realized that there were two hotels.  Luckily, we managed to catch the shuttle driver before he left, and he drove us back to the airport.  He was very nice and apologetic; he felt bad for not having looked more closely at my voucher to see that it was the wrong hotel.  He told us where to go to wait, so we waited and waited and waited some more.

After a while, we began panicking.  Why?  Because I suddenly noticed on the voucher that it said Valid until 11 P.M. despite the fact that the woman at the gate had told us that it was valid until midnight.  Lauren and I were at wit's end by this point.  We were so stressed, exhausted, and hungry (we still hadn't eaten our cold McDonald's yet), and we were at our breaking point.  Among the lists of hotels inside the airport, there was no number for either Crowne Plaza.  At a loss, we called Deb, and she called the hotel for us.  She was told that the bus would be there in twenty to twenty-five minutes and that it wouldn't be a problem to come after midnight.  So we relaxed ever so slightly.

When the bus finally showed up, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted.  We were, of course, joined in the shuttle by the three Russians from earlier.  The twenty minute drive to the hotel lagged, and Lauren and I both nearly fell asleep in our seats.  When we got there, we tried to zoom off the bus to get to the desk first, but the three people beat us and took forever.  It was probably another fifteen minutes before we were finally able to go up and check in to the hotel.  We reserved a shuttle for the next morning at 6 and promptly passed out in our very nice room.

Oh, but wait!  There's more!

We were down in the lobby the next morning by 5:45, ready to go as soon as possible.  But by 6:05, we still hadn't left.  Why?  Because it seemed that one of the Russians was still asleep and the other two couldn't get her to open her door.  So they wanted hotel staff to open it for them, but they also wanted to hold the shuttle bus until they were all ready to go.  Luckily, the woman in charge said, "Look, this girls have a plane to catch.  You need to take them to the airport."  So we left.

We had been afraid that we wouldn't be able to find the United Airlines check-in from the bus shuttle area, but after confirming our airline, the driver (who was the same one from last night) was kind enough to drop us off right in front of the correct door of United.  We went inside to check ourselves in, but everything went to hell when I tried to scan my passport.  It told me that we needed to get an employee to help us, so we went to go check ourselves in manually.  When we handed her our passports, the woman was confused.

"Are you sure your flight is United?" she asked.  Oh, God.  Not again.  Lauren and I just about lost it.  For some reason it took them a little while to actually find our reservations.  But when they did, it only got worse.

"Oh, okay, here's the problem," the woman said.  "I found the tickets, but they haven't been paid for yet."

WHAT?!  SERIOUSLY?!  All of the expletives I know were running through my head at that point.  It seemed like Delta was doing everything in their power to screw us over.  They had booked us the flight on United, but now they hadn't paid for it?!  I about lost it.  I asked what the price was, if I could just pay for it myself, but the women continued to try to find a solution.  We called Deb, and she talked to them, as it was easier, since she had been talking with Delta to make the reservation.  From what I gathered, even though Delta hadn't paid for the flight, they put us on it anyway and gave us our tickets.  The women were very nice and helpful.  Delta was not.  By the time everything was sorted out, we had an hour to get through Chicago security to our gate.

We did.  We made it through security, we got to our gate, and everything was okay.  The plane left on time, it was a very short trip, and we made it to St. Louis at about 9:30.

But wait!  There's more!

You remember how we had to leave our luggage in order to make the flight that we didn't make?  Yeah.  Turns out it had been lost the whole time.  When we got to St. Louis, we went down to the baggage claim.  Delta had found Lauren's.  Somehow it had gotten shipped from JFK to Atlanta, Delta's main hub, and finally to St. Louis.  Mine was missing and they didn't know where it was.  And because we had last flown on United, even though my luggage never touched a United plane, Delta refused to help us.  They told us we had to file a claim through United.

The people at United were very helpful and friendly, as they had been the whole time.  We described my suitcase to them and listed a couple of contents inside that would identify it as mine.  What did I list?  A tattered, gray bear who calls himself Sammy.  That's right, people.  Sammy was in the bag.  Many of you probably know how special this bear is to me.  So to have lost him, to not know if I would ever get him back, was torturous.  But the people assured us that they would find the suitcase and send it to us as soon as humanly possible.

And they did.  I got a text message from Deb on Monday night saying that my suitcase had been found and was being Fed-Ex'd to the house.  By 11 o'clock the next morning, it was in their possession, and Sammy was waiting for me.  Everything ended well.

The story may have a "happy ending," but that doesn't change the fact that Lauren and I spent twenty-five hours traveling because of Delta's incompetence.  It was truly a nightmare.  She and I exemplified Murphy's Law.  And Delta was completely unwilling to help or to take responsibility for their screw-ups.  I can honestly say that I will never fly Delta again.  (And that's saying something, since I fly at least twice a year.)  I hope I never have to go through that again.  If any of my readers have to fly, I highly suggest that you avoid Delta.  Take United; I've only had good luck with them.  I also intend to avoid the JFK airport for the rest of my life.  Thank God all this hell is behind me.

"Sorry for the inconvenience."

Many, if not all, of you have probably seen my last few Facebook statuses in which I somewhat vaguely talk about the "nightmare" that was traveling on Saturday and Sunday.  Well, now it's finally time for the world to get the whole store.  Buckle in, because it will not be fun.

What might have been the first "bad omen" happened on Friday morning.  Lauren and I had been waiting to hear back from someone in the program at the university about sharing a taxi in order to cut down costs, but they never followed up on what they said they would do.  So that morning I went to the main taxi service's website, Coop Taxi, and started to make an online reservation until I saw that it wouldn't let me?  Why?  Because reservations for that website need to be made at least forty-eight hours in advance.  At this point, I started freaking out.  It was the morning of my last class - in which I had an exam - and I was trying to study and find another taxi service at the same time.  There was no way we could take the bus; it would take us about a thirty-minute walk from the airport.  Plus, it wasn't at all practical to take our luggage onto one of those things.  Finally I found another taxi service that was much more flexible about their reservation dates, Taxi Laurier.  I called them up with the phone in my room that the university provided and went to take my test.

The next morning, I was up at 6:30 to finish up my last-minute packing to get ready to go.  It wasn't too terribly difficult.  We met the taxi down in front of the building and took off towards the airport.  The driver was very nice and asked us about our trip, if we liked Québec, if we liked Obama since we're Americans, and told us to speak French as much as possible.  When we got to the airport, that was when things started to go wrong.

Lauren and I went to the self check-in booth and everything was fine at first until we went to pay for the checked bag we each had.  We could even pay for them separately, which was convenient.  Except for the fact that it wouldn't take my card.  It wouldn't even acknowledge that it was there.  Though we've had a few difficulties regarding using my card over the border, we'd thought that at an airport that wouldn't be a problem.  Luckily, the screen said we could pay with cash.  So I went to the opposite end of the terminal to withdraw $40 for the $25 fee.  When I got back, I had to start over, and then Lauren and I went up to the front to the baggage drop.  The first thing the woman said was, "If you're going to pay in cash, I don't have any change."  What?  Seriously?  When I asked if she took my certain credit card, she said yes.  REALLY?  In the U.S. it wouldn't have been a big deal to have withdrawn $40.  But I knew I was extremely unlikely to spend the money while in Canada, which would mean I would need to find a change bureau or a bank or SOMETHING at some point of I wanted the money back, which would turn into $38 eventually.  Gah.

Our flight was scheduled for 11:03.  We noticed when we got there that it had been delayed thirty minutes.  This wasn't that big of a deal, since we had a long layover.  Then, when we checked in, the woman said it had been delayed an hour.  Okay.  We'd still be okay getting to our connecting flight.  Then, when I checked the screen as we settled down at the gate, it said that the flight to New York had been delayed for two hours.  Not okay.  There was no way would make our connecting flight, especially not with the need to go through customs and security again.  Lauren called her mom, and after a lot of arrangements she got us on another flight to Chicago and then to St. Louis, but with American Airlines.  She told us that we needed to get from Delta to the American Airlines terminal for the flight at 5:05, which was definitely doable.

The flight, which left at 1:00, to New York was fine.  We got into the airport, and customs was a snap.  It was quick and easy, though with the confusion and people, it reminded me of the pictures I'd seen on Ellis Island and all the immigrants.  (Although with much better conditions.)  When Lauren and I were through customs, we were told to wait at Carousel 4 for our luggage, which would need to be checked again.  So we waited.  And waited.  And waited.  And waited.  People starting going up to Delta employees and we were told that the luggage "would be here soon."  Eventually, our flight number was spotted on a different carousel, so we all migrated over there.  And waited.  And waited.  After two hours, at four o'clock, people were panicking.  Some, like us, had flights coming up, and some had already missed their flights since customs wouldn't let us leave without our luggage.  The Delta employees were extremely unhelpful.  They just kept saying that they had reconfirmed that the luggage was on its way, that it would be there momentarily, that they were "sorry for the inconvenience."  Finally, one employee decided to take us through customs himself to work out getting connecting flights.  Because Lauren and I were switching airlines, we weren't sure if our luggage had been sent to American Airlines or if it was still with Delta.  When we entered the room with the man and the small number of others who were switching airlines, he looked out our baggage ticket and said that we were, in fact, in the wrong place.  So we had to run as fast as humanly possible to American Airlines, which was on the complete opposite side of the building.

When we finally got there, we couldn't get through.  The woman at the front of security didn't understand that we'd had flights booked on American Airlines instead of Delta, and since we didn't have any sort of ticket information, we couldn't prove it.  She told us that, to rebook a flight, we needed to go through Delta.  So we ran back to Delta, waited in line for what was at least forty-five minutes, to talk to a woman at "Kiosk Assistance."  She started working on getting us another flight until she said, "Oh, crap" and then proceeded to inform us that she couldn't book us on another flight because we had, apparently checked in with American Airlines.  WHAT?!  This was insane.  Not only that, but the only plane going to St. Louis was the next afternoon.  After another fifteen minutes, she got the madness with us being on American Airlines sorted out, but that still left the issue that we were stuck in New York.

"What about a hotel?" I asked.  "Where are we supposed to stay?"

The woman had seemed skeptical.  "Well . . . I could try to put you girls up in a hotel tonight..."

SERIOUSLY?!  Lauren and I were ready to strangle this woman.  We were here due to the fault of Delta, and they wouldn't even put us into a hotel for the night?  All we had were forty Canadian dollars.  We could not afford a hotel, food, and taxi in New York.  There was absolutely no way we could afford it.  That would not work, and we didn't want to run around to try to find someone who would put us in a hotel.

"How close can we get to St. Louis?" I demanded.  "What about Chicago?  Can we get to Chicago?"

At that point, we just wanted to get out of New York, and Lauren pointed out that we could take the train to Quincy, Illinois.  The only problem was our baggage.  There was a flight to Chicago at 7:00, so the woman agreed to put us on that one.  She also gave us business class as a way to "apologize for the inconvenience."  Fine, whatever.  We felt we deserved it at that point.  So we practically ran to security and got there as quickly as humanly possible, despite the fact that it was slow going.  While we waited, Lauren's parents called to tell us that they had booked us on another flight from Chicago to St. Louis with United Airlines the next morning.  No matter what, we would be staying in Chicago that night.  At least it was better than New York.

Business class, though it was Delta, was pretty nice.  Pillow, blanket, mini pretzels coming out the wazoo.  The few above the clouds, especially with the setting sun, was beautiful.  Lauren and I were able to relax ever so slightly.  Until we got to Chicago.

To be continued since I have to go get ready to drive to Kirksville. XD

Au revoir, le Québec...

This is it. . . .  I am currently sitting in my dorm room in Québec City.  It's 6:55 in the morning.  The taxi arrives at 8 A.M. to take Lauren and me to the airport.  We'll fly to New York at 11 and eventually arrive in St. Louis at around 5 P.M.  We'll have dinner with Lauren's parents and drive back to Hannibal.  On Sunday, we'll see our best friend, Kat, (for me, it will have been about seven weeks since I've seen her), and on Monday morning I'll go up to Kirksville to move into the dorm at Truman while Lauren stays behind in Hannibal to spend some time with her family.  Life will resume as it always does and in some ways I feel like the past five weeks here will have never happened.

But they did.  My habit/obsession of taking countless photos has really come in handy over the past month.  I'm glad I've captured so many memories, both from before the session at the university started and during the session.  I've made friends, I've met new people, I've learned so much about this culture that I already loved but now love even more.  People asked me "Why Québec?"  Even people in Québec asked me why I chose to come here and not France.  Some people thought that I was just settling for Québec in lieu of going to France.  But that's not the case.  I love Québec.  I love everything about it.  I love its culture, its people, its food, its art, its streets, its buildings, its cities.  One only needs to look at the photos I've taken over the past week to know "Why Québec".  I don't need to go to France.  Sure, I'd like to go one day, but this is my ultimate goal.  People didn't understand that I'm not in some limbo stage before the French major's mecca.  This is it for me.  I did it.  I came to Québec, I lived here for five weeks, and I loved every minute of it.

There's not one moment that I regret.  I wish I could stay.  I wish I could stay here and bring my loved ones up so we wouldn't be separated.  I know there's no way I can wait another four years before I come back.  I can't stay away.  While I'm so looking forward to seeing my loved ones, leaving Québec now is one of the hardest things I've ever done.  I am so very blessed and fortunate to be here, and immensely grateful to everyone who has helped me and been with me through this whole experience.  My uncle; David and Deb; my mom, aunt, and sister; Lauren and Kat; François; Madeleine; Ekaterina; Sarah and Gloria; Gabrielle; Bruno.  I don't want to leave.  Yet part of me knows that it's time.

Please excuse me while I go cry.  Sniff sniff.

Bruno Pelletier et le GrosZorchestre

Oh, my.  How can I even begin to describe what happened yesterday?  It feels like a dream, but at the same time it's so real and vivid.  (I suppose it helps that my new laptop background is a certain photo...)  Regardless of how positively difficult it might be, I shall attempt to chronicle the events of yesterday.  (If I don't, I seem to have a habit of rapidly forgetting it.)

Yesterday started out like normal, of course.  I woke up at 6:45, got dressed, and went to take a test in my Québec culture class at 8:30.  As much as I love the subject matter, I found the class itself to be immensely difficult.  But that's beside the point.  I finished the test at around 9:30 and, since it was raining, took the underground tunnel system from le Pavillon Desjardins to Lacerte, my residence building.  It was actually the first time I'd taken the tunnel system, having pretty much forgotten about it, but I intend to show it to Lauren today at some point since she'll love the art all over the place.  Anyway.  I went back to the dorm, took a small nap, and finished getting ready.  I was originally going to wear the long, black dress I got for The Lion King last summer, but I wanted something a little less dressy, so I settled with my light blue top with the laced back and a denim skirt.  Not bad, methinks.  Since we needed to leave very shortly after Lauren got back from her class at 12, I made us some PB&J sandwiches and had them ready by the time she got home so we could munch and go.  Which we did.

The rain had lightened up by the time we headed to the bus stop at Desjardins.  I had been worried about the weather all week since weather.com insisted that Québec and Lévis would be plagued with scattered and isolated thunder storms and the concert was outdoors.  Nevertheless, I refused to let that bring me down too much.  We took our regular accordion bus to the Station Place d'Youville, which is right by where we stayed in our hotel at the beginning of July, and squeezed our way through the crowd down rue St-Jean.  We made it all the way down the steps to Basse-Québec and then finally down to the ferry station to take the, you guessed it, ferry to Lévis.  We arrived at exactly the right time, 1:30, and the ferry left mere minutes after we got on.  I had been planning everything to the T for about two weeks, making sure we knew exactly where we were going, and everything went smoothly.  Go me.

Lauren and I arrived in Lévis at about 1:45 or so.  The first thing we did was find the stage.  What we needed to do was go right a little ways down the street and up the side of a cliff by means of a steep staircase.  Boy, was that fun.  Then the stage was directly up the street (literally up - don't you love hills).  The first thing we saw was a barrier closing off the road to traffic, so we figured that was it.  When we passed the barrier, it became all too clear that we were, in fact, in the right place.  Directly in front of us was the stage, which was situated in a little square area.  Lauren and I hung out for a bit, looking around.  We saw Maurice, Bruno's tour manager, to whom we would need to speak a little later.  Then Lauren froze.

"Ashlee," she said, her eyes growing wide, "turn around.  That man . . .that man in the plaid giving the interview. . . . Is that . . .?"

I turned around and, sure enough, there he was.  "Yep, that's Bruno," I said, sounding amazingly calm.  I don't know why on earth I was so calm since I had been bouncing off the walls the entire past week.  Lauren was in shock, but for some reason I was mellow.  But it was an amazing moment for both of us, just to see him for the first time.  For me, I hadn't seen him in almost four years.  Lauren had never seen him.  She had been waiting six or seven years to see him and there he was, just casually standing there in front of a camera.  He was giving an interview not too far from us, and we inched slowly closer, not wanting to get too close and get his attention, but just a liiiittle closer.  When he went to go give another interview a few paces away, Lauren and I decided to walk around Lévis a bit until we met up with Ekaterina and her family.

What's interesting to note is how chill everyone is.  If this were a concert in the U.S., Lauren and I wouldn't have been able to get anywhere close to the stage or to Bruno.  When I was in Montréal, my friend François told me that if people saw Bruno on the streets, they would just be like, "Oh, look, it's Bruno Pelletier."  The idea is that celebrities in Québec are just people, which is true, but it's such a different way of looking at it from the American standard.  In America, celebrities are mini-gods.  The Québec view is one of the reasons why I love the fact that I have so many favorite artists in Québec: because they are so accessible.  For crying out loud, I had singing lessons with one of my all-time favorite singers.  How often to fans of American artists get to do that?  (I'm not saying that one nationality is better than the other - I like plenty of American groups and artists.  I'm just saying I love the personal accessibility.)

Lauren and I (well, I kind of dragged her) decided to walk in front of the stage on the sidewalk on the other side of the square to get to another street.  This meant walking by Bruno.  He was off to the side, a good distance away from us, and we wanted to be absolutely sure that we didn't get his attention, distract him, or anything like that.  Honestly, we just wanted to walk.  We passed Maurice and his tour people with no problem (again - not something that would happen in the U.S.) and glanced at Bruno to our right as he gave the interview.  Well, I did.  Lauren refused to.

We had a little time to kill, so we walked up to the Terrasse de Lévis to get a view of the river and of Québec.  We absolutely love looking at the Château Frontenac, even though we've seen it so many times.  It never gets old.  As we sat down on a bench, Lauren and I began to notice just how much our attitudes had switched.  I was pretty chill and calm about the whole thing, but she was bouncing off the figurative walls.  It was quite adorable.  I was the exact same way when I saw Bruno for the first time, so I'm not one to talk.

At around 2:30 we headed back to Côte du Passage, the street where the concert would take place, and met up with Ekaterina and her family.  It was like one big Bruno celebration.  (I'd never met Ekaterina beforehand, but now I can probably safely say I've met three-fourths of Bruno's U.S. fans.)  We talked a little about meeting Bruno, and she said that she had been told that Bruno remembered me from last time.  It took a second for me to register this fact.  We hung out for a little bit, chatting until it was time to go meet Maurice.  We were instructed to find him from three o'clock to four, before the sound check.  Though we had seen him earlier, he had disappeared by this point.  We waited by the barriers the blocked off the area beside the stage with the tents and the trailer for about five minutes until Maurice suddenly appeared.  He and Ekaterina greeted each other and then Lauren and I introduced ourselves.  Maurice informed us that we would be meeting Bruno separately, and, all of sudden, told Lauren and I to follow him and told Ekaterina and her family to wait there.

The only thought going through my head as we followed Maurice to the small parking lot/trailer area was, "I'm not ready.  I'm not ready."  By now my calm, chill attitude had completely vanished.  I was freaking out.  I didn't know what to say, what to do.  Last time I'd met Bruno, I had made a fool of myself.  I didn't want to do the same thing three-and-a-half years later.  We stopped outside the big, white trailer and Maurice popped his head into the door to let Bruno know that we were there.  While we waited, we chatted a bit with Maurice, about how last time I couldn't even speak French and that now I was really nervous, and he said it was no big deal.

Then, suddenly, the door to the trailer opened and Bruno appeared.  I stopped mid-sentence, turned to look at him, and chirped, "Bonjour!"  Apparently Lauren could only stare for a moment.  Bruno came down the steps and greeted us, first talking to me for a moment and asking how I was.  I admit, my voice was a little high-pitched for a bit.  When he asked Lauren her name, it occurred to me that he really did remember me.  He had spoken to me like he knew me, not like someone he was meeting for the first time.  Him remembering me from October of 2009 was not something I had anticipated at all.  He meets so many fans all the time, how could he possibly remember one young woman from four years ago?  I find it rather crazy.

I wish I remember exactly what we talked about.  He asked us how long we had been in Québec and if we liked it.  He asked Lauren what she was studying in college, and she said that she was going to be a graphic arts designer, which he seemed to think was cool.  When he mentioned my own studies, he seemed to kind of already know.  I think he said something along the lines of, "So you're studying French . . .?" to which I replied in the affirmative.  When we were talking about the fact that Lauren is an artist, I kind of nodded toward the white folder she was holding.  He looked at it and said rather mischievously and knowingly, "Do you have something to show me?"  Lauren smiled and said, "Yeeeees," in her adorable, shy way.  Both he and Maurice were very impressed with Lauren's art.  Bruno said he remembered the two photo shoots, when they were, and said that "it really looks like me."  Bruno also said that she is very good at capturing faces.  Lauren about died, let me just say.  At the bottom of one of the drawings was where Lauren had signed it.  It's said, "Bon anniversaire, cher Bruno!  Lauren 'rat-patooty' Priest (18)"  He read all of this aloud (at which point Lauren and I remembered to wish him a bonne fête en retard) and the way he said "rat-patooty" was quite funny.  I explained that it came from the would "ratatouille," and he nodded as if that made sense, and Lauren explained that it was her name on deviantART.  He asked what the 18 was for, and she said that that was how old she had been when she drew it.  He replied, "So how old are you now?" and when he both replied that we were almost 22, he looked at me and said, "You have almost 22, too?"  Heehee.  Have.  I love it.

Bruno is very inquisitive.  He asked lots of questions, like why Lauren had a key around her wrist, when we were going back to the U.S., etc.  What I thought was wonderful was that when he saw that Lauren was a little shyer and not saying much, he made an effort to talk to her, both in French and English.  He spoke mainly to me in French, because that was what I wanted, but he took Lauren's lead and spoke whatever language she wanted.  In the beginning, he'd asked if she spoke French, too, and she said she was "studying" it, and I had to assure him that she did, in fact, speak French.  He and Maurice both seemed impressed by the fact that I spoke French almost the whole time; probably since they knew I hadn't spoken it at all the last time I saw them.  What Lauren and I both noticed was that, while talking to Bruno, my French and my fluidity was the best it's ever been over the past few weeks.  I rarely stumbled, and if I did, I picked myself back up again.  I've never been able to speak to fluidly or quickly, and I had been worried that  I wouldn't be able to speak French at all.  The fact that Maurice even told Ekaterina later that I spoke French the whole time, that he was that impressed, made me oh so very fuzzy.

What was probably my favorite part was when we mentioned that we went to Montréal a couple of weekends ago.  I told him that I had met Gabrielle Destroismaisons and that I had had vocal coaching with her.  I also told him that she had practically threatened my life if I didn't say hi for her.  My words were, "Elle m'a dit à te dire qu'elle dit 'Bonjour.'"  I also added, in English, that she had said, "Really, tell him I say hi!  I have his personal email, so I'll know if you tell him or not!"  Bruno thought this was quite humorous, and said that he would Tweet her on Twitter to let her know that I said hi.  I hope he does; if not, I will. :P  He then proceeded to ask about the coaching that she was doing, so I explained what exactly it was, and told him that, at the end, we all wanted to sing a song together that we all know, so we decided, "Aime!"  He thought this was rather funny, as well.  I told him that we all just sat together, the three "students" and Gabrielle, and sang Aime, and he just laughed and said, "Oh, Gabrielle."  Bruno said that she is such a good singer and that she has such a good soul, which I found adorable since she said pretty much the exact same thing about him.

One other thing we talked about was the fact that I had begun to study French just because I wanted to understand his lyrics, and I thanked him for his music and for giving me this new-found passion and life in French, and he was just like, "Ah, no biggy."  It was funny.  At one point, while we were in the middle of talking, a woman walked by and positively gushed at him, squealing about how much she loved Le temps des cathédrales and asked if she could take a picture with him.  Bruno was very polite and said, "Of course!" and gave the camera to Maurice to take the picture.  As he got into position, he said, "Sorry, girls," to us, switching to random English for a moment.  When the woman left, we happily resumed our conversation.  After what felt like two seconds but was actually probably closer to 10 to 15 minutes, it was time to go.  Lauren and I asked if we could each get a picture with him, and he responded with the same, "Of course!"  I was first, and when he put his arm around me, I about died.  Why?  Because when I first saw him in 2009, the Swine Flu was going around, and he wasn't getting that close to his fans for pictures.  And now his arm was around me.  It was awesome. XD  After my picture, I took Lauren's camera to take hers, but for some reason it wouldn't take.  When I put the camera down, he started to head back into the trailer, but I quickly asked him if we could try again.  There was no way I was letting Lauren leave without a picture.  She had me take a picture of the ground to see if it worked (it did - and she posted it on Facebook for some odd reason) and then I took the picture of the two of them.  We thanked him and said goodbye, and headed back out to where Ekaterina and her family were waiting.

Siiiigh.  While we waited for Ekaterina to finish talking to Bruno, Lauren and I gushed and gushed and gushed about what had just happened.  We were in shock.  When Ekaterina and her family emerged, we all walked down the street to Chocolats Favoris, a great ice cream shop.  You can have soft-serve vanilla dipped in hardening syrup.  I had vanilla dipped in white chocolate.  AMAZING.

After our ice cream break, Ekaterina, Lauren, and I really wanted to go watch Bruno's sound check.  Her family didn't, so they went to go hang out while the three of us super-mega-fans went back to the venue, settled in the chairs that Ekaterina had brought, and watched.  It was rather fun.  He grinned at us at one point, and that was even more fun.  When they finished the sound check, he said "Merci, tout le monde!" with a grin to all those few who had been watching, and left the stage.  A little while later we saw him heading down the street, presumably to get some dinner before the show.  Sooooo we waited.

And waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Not that we minded.  We hung out, talked, gushed, talked, and gushed some more.  When it was about an hour before the start of the performance, Lauren and I left the chairs to stand in front of the barrier, which would be our spot for the evening.  Let me just say, it was an amazing spot.  We would be right to Bruno's left, literally about ten feet away from the microphone.  At 7:30, the sponsors and directors for the festival came onto the stage and talked for quite a while about the festival itself and its sponsors and money and all that fun stuff.  Finally he introduced, "le GrosZorchestre!" and the group came out: Julie Lamontagne on the piano, Dave Watts on the bass, and Richard Irwin on the drums.  They did an opening number before Bruno jogged out in a lovely suit with a dark blue shirt and sang Just You, Just Me and then Fragile.  It was so amazing to see him in front of us, singing with that unreal voice of his.  It was incredible.

My personal favorite songs of the evening were Ma vie, Kiss from a Rose, and With or Without You.  Of course I loved Le temps des cathédrales and Miserere - who doesn't?  He had a new arrangement of Aime, which was absolutely beautiful and a little different.  He teased the audience about not knowing the words to Hotel California (I think Lauren and I were the loudest ones singing with him), said that that day was his wedding anniversary and was thereby obligated by his wife to sing their song, Just the Way You Are as "payback" for not remembering at first what the 8th of August was.  Ooooopsie.

The show was absolutely amazing.  When it was all over, Lauren and I were in shock.  But, gradually, we came to. We said goodbye to Ekaterina and started back on the walk down the hill and the long staircase.  On the ferry, looking out at le Château Frontenac, we got a little emotional.  We knew that our trip was just about over.  We were ready for classes to end, but not ready to leave Québec.  We're still not.  The past five weeks have been absolutely unbelievable.  I am so incredibly lucky and blessed to have had so many amazing opportunities.  All I know is that I have to come back.  And hopefully it won't be another four years before I can do so. :)

A year ago today...

It's hard to believe how quickly time tends to fly when you're not expecting it to.  To look back at one's life in the past year to see how much it has changed can be incredible.  To many people this might just be an ordinary Wednesday on an ordinary date in August.  But for my family, it's a marked day that we all recognize.  A year ago today, on August 7, 2012, my uncle lost his short battle to cancer.  It was the first time I'd ever known someone who died (and it still is), and it was the hardest time of my life.  It was made even harder by the fact that I couldn't be with my mom, aunt, and sister until that Christmas.  I'm glad they were all able to fly to California for his memorial, but at the same time I wish I could have gone.

There are so many things I wish I could say to my uncle that I will never be able to.  I have been in Québec for almost five weeks.  Five amazing weeks that I wouldn't trade for anything.  Yet I would not be here without him.  It's a very sobering thought to realize that I wouldn't be living my dreams if not for the death of my uncle.  Without his so generous gift after his death, I never would have been able to come here.  Even though he and I didn't talk much, I know he believed in me and wanted me to be happy and to be successful.  Without him, I wouldn't be having so many amazing experiences.  This is the most amazing thing to ever happen to me, and yet to know that it wouldn't be happening without the death of my uncle. . . .

I am so eternally grateful for everything that has happened in my life.  I feel like the luckiest person in the world.  I have an amazing family, amazing friends, an amazing school, and so many amazing opportunities that I never thought I would be able to have.  Through the sadness surrounding my uncle's death, he brought about something so positive and amazing and life-changing that I will be forever thanking him in my heart.  It's very interesting to hear other students at this university who are only here because it was free or nearly free, that Québec wasn't their first choice.  And here I am, here because of my uncle's gift that was brought about by his death, so eternally grateful and amazing at how blessed I have been.  I feel blessed to have spent the time that I did with my uncle, and I miss him every single day and thank him just as often.  Throughout everything, I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

A religious observation

Okay, so this post has nothing to do with being in Québec.  But it's been on my mind for a while.

So.  As most everyone knows, I was raised Mormon.  I have absolutely no problem saying this.  Growing up, I absolutely loved my religion and my faith.  From the time I was three, I knew all the Primary songs, I looked forward to going to the temple, and I wanted to have what I thought was the perfect Mormon life.  I didn't really develop my own faith and belief until I was a young teenager.  I went through what was a slight "punk-ish" stage in that I didn't care about religion at all and developed a combative attitude due to the people I hung out with.  After my parents divorced when I was nine, my mom didn't force us to go to church every Sunday.  Eventually, my sister quit going completely.  I had sporadic attendance in my early adolescence in California and didn't really start going to church again until I was thirteen.

It was at this time that my belief in the Church really took off.  I went to Young Women's Camp for the first time that year, which was an absolutely amazing experience (even though I don't remember that specific year all that much).  It was also the first time I went to do Baptisms for the Dead at the Oakland, California Temple.  (The Temple in which, incidentally, I was sealed to my family at the age of about four.)  It was an amazing experience that I have always treasured.  From age thirteen until age eighteen, I went to Girls' Camp every summer.  Three camps were in California, one in Georgia, and two in Kentucky (or West Virginia, if you will).  Camp really helped me develop as a young woman and helped me to have a leadership position, especially in my last three years in which I was a leader-in-training.  At sixteen I helped to teach a first aid class and at seventeen and eighteen I found myself looking after two different group of girls whom I really grew to love.  Since my adolescence, I have had so many spiritual experiences, whether at Camp or at the Temple.  I absolutely loved my religion.

Yet I always knew I was different.  I'm not going to go into why I left the church at the age of eighteen.  (I did that a while ago.)  But I did leave it, or mostly.  At least I tried to.  Clean breaks are always the easiest, right?  Well, I couldn't do it.  Every once and a while I found something that would draw me back to church on Sunday, no matter how much I told myself that I no longer believed in it.  I can never let myself forget the amazing sense of warmth, comfort, and safety that I felt when I believed that I was a daughter of God.

And yet.  And yet, and yet, and yet.  Here I am, the little agnostic who doesn't know her place in the world.  Looking around the Internet, anti-Mormon sentiments are everywhere.  One would think that, since I no longer consider myself to be a Mormon, I would jump on that bandwagon.  Except I don't.  I find myself still taking the hurtful comments personally.  There are so many ex-Mormons who bash the religion constantly, who dedicate blogs and websites to anti-Mormonism, to spend their lives trying to bash the Church and turn people away from it.  And then there's me.  Me, the little agnostic who thinks Mormons are the nicest, most accepting people on the planet.  Me, whose heart skips a beat when she sees a beautiful, white building rising in the distance with a golden angel perched on top.  Me, who listens to the few hymns she has on her iPod when all other comfort fails.  Me, who refuses to call herself a Mormon and who cannot bring herself to follow the Church and its doctrines.  

I drive myself mad, to be perfectly honest.  Am I the only "ex-Mormon" in the world to still love the Church and its members?  Am I  the only one who thinks of her life as a Mormon fondly with no regrets?  I have not one single regret when it comes to my upbringing as a Christian.  I believe that it has made me a good person, a strong woman.  What on earth do I do with myself?  I feel like I'm pulling a "do as I say, not as I do."  Lauren told me I'm the only person she knows of who is still so fond of the religion in which they grew up yet who no longer believes in it.  I confuse myself.

I'm not sure what the point was supposed to be for this post.  But I just decided to get my feelings out.  Noodles and gravy, my dear people.  Sing it loud.