It seemed like a good idea at the time: we were underage and too broke to fly anywhere for Spring Break.
(If you missed yesterday’s post, go back and read it now before you proceed.)
So we drove north— to Montreal (congratulations, Ash! You guessed correctly)— and discovered immediately upon our arrival why Mexico (and not Canada) is the Spring Break destination of choice.
It didn’t help that we had to wade through five inches of snow—in stilettos— to go out.
The entire trip seemed cursed: we arrived late Saturday night and, thanks to one of my not-so-brilliant-suggestions, decided to save our energy for a “proper” night out the following evening. Unfortunately Sundays aren’t particularly rockin’ in Montreal (or anywhere for that matter, as far as I’m aware).
After a late night visit to Tim Horton’s (which is essentially the Canadian equivalent of Krispy Kreams), we decided to walk back to our hostel to save money. There were four of us, after all—what was the worst that could happen?
Well, a drunkard singing “Hey Jude” at the top of his lungs starting following us not long thereafter, forcing us to seek refuge in a 24-hour Burger King which catered almost exclusively—or so it seemed—to homeless people and American frat boys.
Upon deciding that we perhaps ought to take a cab the rest of way, we arrived at the hostel only to discover that my car had been towed.
My roommate who spoke French didn’t so our attempts to communicate our plight to the hostel’s Quebecois staff were ill-fated (although to be fair, we did lose said roommate on the subway earlier that day en route to art museum and she was barely speaking to us at that point).
We argued over everything: where to go, when to eat and what to eat. Suffice it to say, it was a long, quiet ride back to the US.
- Places I Want To Go For Spring Break [Photos] (collegecandy.com)
- How to Have the Hair of a Spring Break Goddess (havensalonspa.com)
- How to Hostel (maggiebarneswriter.wordpress.com)