I am an American, New York born—but sometimes I just have to say, “Whoa, Canada.”

Every time I go to Montreal I’m always expecting equal helpings of French and English, but really it’s so much more French. The city’s like a chunk of Europe tucked somewhere in upstate New York.

Man, why does the U.S. have to be all so imperialistic about everything? Would everybody just be bored all the time otherwise? I got a little problem with that. Today I’m seeing everything so clearly Canadian. America Jr.’s history is so boring, but in such a positive way. I might never come back. They’ll have to throw my body back over the fence.

Sunday morning, I sat in the park with my friend Leonard, on Mount Royal, where the city got its name. He told me of being raised a Jew in Westmount in the ‘30s. About how his father died when he was just nine years old and it turned him into a poet. And how he’ll always remember the time Dylan dedicated “Isis” to him on the Montreal stop of the Rolling Thunder Revue. He had a lot of good stories, and we had a lot to talk about. It was a nice chat.

Montreal is inspiring in ways that have yet to show themselves. What’s better than a lil’ inspiration? There’s a lotta learning here, too. There’s always a lot of learning to be had anywhere you go. Traveling is a healthy education.

Speaking of traveling, I would love to go to Kaliningrad someday. It’s like a piece of Russia tucked somewhere up in Eastern Europe. Literally. Look it up.

Alright, I’m out.

We never said Goodbye…

Sincerely,
S. Axelrod