From Montreal to Jail.....!!!!

Morning all, well here I sit in an amazing dining hall, blogging on for you all and hoping today brings sun!!!  So where was I...? Oh yes in a beautiful loft apartment in cosmopolitan Montreal, ready to set out on the next leg of my adventure, to Ottawa.

Bang on time, Vera and I bid farewell to Montreal and set off from the loft.  The journey to Ottawa was going to take about 2 hour according to sat nag, and once again I hadn't really planned anything en route, or even what route to take as there were three to choose from, but I was sure that I'd get there.  But one thing was for sure, I wanted to get some petrol before I got onto the motorway, you never know....

I was hoping that I would be able to drive out of the city the way that I came in so that I could marvel at the magnificent view.  It was not to be.  The route of the three that I picked took me straight from the loft into an underground tunnel that seemed to be the length of the entire city, so when I emerged it was all behind me.  Just my luck.  Next, fuel.  I did no more than ask sat nag to take me to the nearest petrol station.  The first one she took me to was all in French.  Literally.  As seeing as the lyrics to a well known racy French song and the numbers from one to ten were not going to help me on my quest for petrol, I tried another.  Esso. That as English enough for me. It  was in the process of being demolished.  The third I missed as I was wondering why I was being honked at on my way to the forth.  I soon found out.  Apparently, if you are on the main road and others want to join from the left or right, they have right of way and you have to stop at a non-existent line in said main road, marked by a French stop sign the size of a 50p and do so.  I didn't .  Well at least the bloke knew his horn and brakes worked....

I finally pulled into the forth a little on edge, and what followed didn't help.  The pumps were all in French.  The pump colours all different and just with numbers on.  There was a pay pad on the pump.  You had to pay by card and pre pay.  Or did you?  Oh God, I don't know how much juice Vera needed, she had half a tank, how much was that? Bloody hell.  I swallowed my pride and went inside where one of the most kind and patient garage attendants kindly informed me (slowly) that I should go pick up the pump, fill up my car, come in and pay him the amount it cost.  Sweet baby Jesus and the orphans, just put that on the pump!!!!!

So Vera fed and my nerves on a knife edge I ventured back out onto the highway.  I was finally on my way, it had only take me an hour to drive 5km and get petrol, perfect.  This journey was much the same as before a few km onto the motorway (well dual carriageway) then about 150km and a few more at the other end.  It was a lovely drive, the landscape different to the last trip, trees and hills and rivers and lakes and bridges.  I was travelling from Quebec province back into Ontario (less French more Canadian) and when I did it was very evident.  A sign told me so, a big one.  In fact every km a sign told me something.  In English, with French underneath.  They told me where things were, what would be of interest to me and how to get there (Quebec take note).  On the way I could have pit-stopped at any number of cheeseries, vineyards, farms, waterparks, breweries and mini golf establishments, but I ploughed on, intent on getting to my destination in one piece. 

I may not have chosen the most scenic route, but it was the most direct, and I did have a moment of weakness when I stopped at an information centre for a map (re-arrange this well known sentence - stable, horse, bolted, door...) and the lovely Sheila told me od another route involving a country park, a ferry, some lovely towns and a zoo, but after changing sat nag 4 times before the turn off I bottled it and stayed on my planned course. The Canadians are not the most patient or courteous of drivers it appeared, so I just wanted to get there.  Oh and this will make you chuckle.....it had started to rain.  Obviously.

Anyhoo Vera and I arrived in Ottawa unscathed and as I pulled up outside my home for the next two nights obviously the rain got harder.  And wetter.  As for my home, I could not have been further away from my loft....for I had booked (in a moment of madness) two nights at the Ottawa Jail Hostel!!!  Yes as hostel!  In a jail! Well, an old jail, not  a new one.  And it was awesome.  I was handed my key, my sheets, and a flannel (which was actually a towel, good job I bought my own....) and headed off to cell 421.  It was bloody brilliant, just two bunk beds and a table in the cell block.  This was gonna be a blast.  The hostel had it's own bar which I was hoping to get to later, and after I dragged my bags round from the car park in the rain, made up my bed, faffed around checking out the latrines (very good, passed the test, as long as I was up at 5 to be the first one in.....) it was time to head out and orientate myself with Ottawa.

Now I don't want to give too much away, I will save that for tomorrow, but all I will say is that there will be a lot of pictures.  This place is incredible.  So I stayed away from all the wonderful sights until tomorrow, but did pause at the most ornate and beautiful war memorial I have ever been fortunate to see. Made even more so by the two sentry guard posted there, that changes hourly.  I was the only on there, apart from the two guards and their Sergeant, in the pouring rain.  And I am not ashamed to say I was moved to tears. 

But enough of that, the rain was now so heavy that they were trying to get hold of Noah I holed up in an amazing shopping centre for a bit of retain therapy, had a bit of tea which resulted in severe food envy, wrote my notes up for the day.  When I ventured out the rain had stopped producing a beautiful rainbow in the nights sky and the sun was about to set.  I managed to catch my first sunset of the trip overlooking the canal and I smiled as I watched the it disappear and the sky do it's thing.  It was now getting on so I head back to the hostel to find I was on the boys wing, and my walk back to my cell was an interesting one (think to the scene when Clarice goes to see Lecter in his cell butnot quite as graphic!)  So as I sat, locked in my cell, listening to the cast of American Pie entertaining me along with the band in the bar two floors below I never got to, playing jailhouse rock, I drifted off into a well earned sleep (with the aid of earplugs I have to add) eager for tomorrow to begin.

And begin it does, as I sit in the dining hall with my fellow travellers of all shapes, sizes, ages and nationalities I feel like I have been transported into a cross between Alcatraz and Prisoner Cell Block H......

Until later faithful followers, TTFN....!! xxxxxx