A Fat Purple Fig

Texas is home to a range of ‘big things’, a quirk which I had once seen as being quintessentially Australian (The Big Prawn, anyone?). The world’s biggest pecan is here, as is an oversized bowie knife, and a pair of 33-feet-tall cowboy boots, which can be found in San Antonio. Some ‘biggests’ are of questionable appeal, such as the world’s largest convenience store and longest car wash, and other honours are downright dubious. For instance, Texas easily wins the race for state executions, and it boasts the highest number of registered firearms in the country, which sounds worse than it is (is that possible?), given they have a population of 30 million.

We follow the directions to collect our car, and are met by a young guy who greets us and says, ‘…if y’all will follow me.’ He asks where we are from. ‘Australia,’ I reply, ‘…and that’s the first time we have ever heard someone say ‘y’all.’’ He grins.

‘Welcome to the South.’

After a bagel breakfast with the Aussies staying in the room beside us, and a side of Allen and Ann, we venture out. I am keen to show off Brooklyn, and the discoveries I have made. On the way down to the piers, Kitty keeps up a steady stream of canine compliments;

‘Aren’t you gorgeous?‘
‘Oh, what a cutie!‘
‘Someone’s enjoying his walk.‘

She’s a bona fide dog fan, is our Kitty.

For someone who really isn’t fond of musicals, choosing a Broadway show is a tough gig. I got lucky on my last trip, with the fabulous ‘The Band’s Visit’, which almost had me in tears during a standing ovation between a couple of forthright New Yorkers, but that was owing more to good fortune than anything else. With Kitty in mind, I was after a crowd-pleasing classic (Chicago? Hamilton? Wicked?), but no matter where I looked, all roads led to Cabaret at the Kit Kat Club.

Our hosts, Allen and Ann, are old-school AirBnb, greeting us at the door and inviting us to join them for their nightly news-viewing. Their home is beautiful; high-ceilinged and filled with art and books. Allen tells me it has been leased to celebrities over the years; Keira Knightly, Emily Blunt, and Matthew Goode, who lived here for six months while filming a series. They aren’t supposed to know who their tenants are, but the neighbours keep an eye out, and report back. I would want to live here, if I could. I mean, who wouldn’t?

Our adventure begins at Parc Omega, home to over twenty species of wild animals, near Montebello, Quebec. Team, welcome to The Amazing Race – you are about to race across Canada and the United States of America, for prize money soaring into the negatives. Choose between a car or a steel-reinforced golf buggy, and make your way through the ‘self-drive safari’, where you will face many trials.

This trip has been cobbled together over months, each week sealing the purchase of a flight, or a room, or a ticket, courtesy of a steady stream of tutoring students, reciting their irregular verbs. ‘The trip’ became the carrot, the light upon which I could focus when I was in danger of veering off course, where ‘consistency’ and ‘discipline’ are thrown into the fire.

We are sitting in the rooftop bar at the Hyatt Centrico, in downtown Montreal, admiring the view over the water and La Grande Roue de Montréal, the largest observation wheel in Canada. We have traded our welcome-drink vouchers for an Aperol Spritz and added a charcuterie board, so we’re feeling pretty fancy. I look up ‘things to do in Montreal’, and run some options by Kitty. After all, on holidays, a day unplanned is as good as a day wasted (Fiona, 2017).

I can’t seem to get up early on this holiday, or even at what might be considered a reasonable time. And it is bothering me…but obviously not enough to do it. Note that I said ‘get up’, and not ‘wake up’. It’s not a matter of setting an alarm, or leaving the curtains open, but of making the effort to follow the path of the righteous. I am carrying the dead weight of resistance, a stone’s throw from spending the rest of the trip eating salt & vinegar chips and watching The Office. There is a battle being waged between my halves: setter and breaker, order and chaos, builder and burn-it-to-the-ground.

We descend the steep stairs to a confined dining room, below-ground, where and handful of tables has been set for breakfast. There are three other American couples present, and our arrival has interrupted their conversation. We offer a reciprocal ‘good morning‘ and park ourselves at the only available table.