Parc Du Mont Royal: EVERY LAST INCH OF IT!

Now that I've purchased another hour of internet time, here's the rest of the story from last night. After Luis, Cristian and I had finished our dinner, Luis left to catch his train to New York. Cristian went to see him off, so I was alone with the snotty Aussie girls and some newcomers, a group of three underaged sailors from New York who were already very intoxicated and behaving like, well, a bunch of drunken sailors.

Then I met Rebecca, a bubbly (or so I thought--later I discovered that she was just drunk) 20-year-old from Ireland and her quiet, sober companion, Kira. They, too, had been shunned by the Aussie girls, so we quickly formed an alliance. After introductions and small-talk, they told me that an "interesting" guy named Roy (you all remember Roy) had offered to take them to the St. James oratory to check out the best view of the city. They asked if I wanted to go along, and I reluctantly agreed after rounding up another male hosteller (James, the quiet guy from Wales) to go along (partly to be polite, and partly because Roy is "interesting"--I figured another male presence couldn't hurt). We took the Metro to St. James and began the long, long hike to the top. The view was indeed worth the hike; from here, the highest point in Montreal, you can see the entire city on a clear night. After taking in the view, Roy asked if we would prefer to keep walking or to go back down the hill and find a place for a late-night coffee (by this time it was after midnight). I was more in favor of coffee, but the Irish girls (especially the drunk one) were REALLY excited about more walking. Being on west coast time, I wasn't tired, so I agreed. Long story short, we arrived back at the hostel just after four o'clock this morning after having walked to the top of the oratory, through ALL of the Westmount neighborhood AND the Parc du Mont Royal, and, because the Metro was no longer running and the buses were running irregularly, most of Downtown. Roy, the one who "knows the city like the back of his hand, was mostly to blame for this. Today, my legs ache, my feet are torn to shreds, I'm still dehydrated, and I am no longer speaking to Roy.

I'm headed back to the hostel now to change for dinner. The heatwave broke last night, and today has been sunny and warm without a trace of humidity. It should be a good night for wandering around--even better now that I have money.

Tomorrow I'm planning to attend a service at the Anglican Church of St. James the Apostle, then (finally!) set out in search of some bagels.