In an effort to reverse all the bad karma I’ve collected during years spent as a hater, I am mentoring a family of Somalian-Libyan refugees through their transition here.
I won’t say too much about the family and their incredible story, as that would be more exploitative than that Honey Boo Boo show.
All I will say is that they’ve been through a lot. And they still greet me with the biggest smiles whenever I see them.
As I teach them things like simple English phrases (yo, canIgetadietcoke?, that’s hella cool) and how to navigate the bus system, they’re teaching me much more.
If you’re in a travel dry-spell, the way I am (one more week til we hit up New England), volunteer to help people from other cultures. You’ll learn a ton and it will make you feel all warm and fuzzy, like a teddy bear. Continue reading →
Part of me will always belong to my first love — Chicago. It’s why I am a Bears, Bulls, and White Sox fan, why I say things like gym shoes, bed clothes, and food shopping. It’s why I feel most comfortable in big, metropolitan areas, why I go crazy on St. Patrick’s Day, why I never order hot dogs with ketchup, why I hate soccer.
I am two parts commercial writer, one part travel writer and one part creative writer. I have six years experience, including two managing other writers. I moved to Canada and back. Now it’s like I am on the other end of an electric fence and I can’t get back into the job market.
Maybe they could sense that I was in Quebec, like a baby bird rejected from its mother because a human touched it.
I have been looking for work since April, when I moved back here. I have had countless job interviews. I am not desperate, not complaining, but I am frustrated. I need work and although I currently freelance write for multiple travel publications, there are long stretches of time spent in PJs writing a humorous inner monologues from vampires and bizarre stories about old folks’ homes.
This video makes me laugh. I like that the francophone is wearing a duster and a fedora. Total villan garb.
I don’t think people should ever get in someone’s face and scream at them for not speaking their language. If that happened here to an immigrant, I would punch someone. Learning a language takes years so be patient with those who are learning.
If you’re traveling to the Belle Province, don’t worry about running into a gang of fedora-duster-clad francophones. Unless you’re hanging out in bars at 3:00 am. The most that has ever happened to me was a dismissive wave in a bar.
My husband, however, was yelled at in the street by a tough-as-nails 8-year-old girl who demanded “Pourquoi Anglais?” He laughed it off. Quebec City isn’t like Montreal in that it’s very francophone, by very I mean 98%.
Yes, language is an issue. Most Quebeckers welcomed me when they realized I was American, not Western Canadian. I had an excuse for my horrible French.
And by the way, I immediately enrolled in a language school upon my arrival. I tried and am still trying. They like it when you try, so don’t go there thinking you’re the SH$T and demanding they speak English to you. Learn a few phrases if you’re visiting, learn the language if you’re living there.
I think this could have been solved if the guy spoke a little French. Bonjour?! C’est facile. I think he tried further infuriating the francophone once he realized he was being recorded. Duster guy is kind of an asshole, but by no means represents the rest of the province.
He also has a point, however agressive it’s portrayed. You live in Montreal, you should probably learn a little bit of French.