Day 1 - The Celestial Choir

We drove north, passing through a beautiful park in New Hampshire, or perhaps Vermont. There were sheer rocky cliffs and thick patches of forest growing like a skin over the rock. At the base a river wound and gleamed for us in the midday light. The soundtrack as we past through this beautiful view was a Tamverad (sp?) track. The sometimes harsh, sometimes melodic, but very electronic music oddly complemented the natural beauty perfectly. That sense of starkness and isolation in the music just fit this majestic sight, out in the middle of nowhere. I think had I listened to something ethereal in the heart of Downtown Montreal, I doubt it would have had the same effect.
The border crossing was a breeze. The weather as we passed into Canada was anything but. Driving winds, and a downpour so thick that cars pulled off to the side of the road pummeled us for about half an hour. We pressed on, through the torrent, until the rain ceased, and the scrub terrain of Quebec grew more populated and metallic, and Autoroute 10 turned into Rue University and dumped us into the heart of Montreal.
Eeyrg and I dropped out bags in the room, and joined the Meet and Greet in progress downstairs. I picked up my tickets, and entered the spectacle that was Convergence 8. A sea of black and chrome talked and milled in front of me. People from all over the United States and Canada and perhaps beyond, with only a bulletin board and a ever changing subculture their only common connection. Many of the attendees were veterans of many past convergences, others were here for the first time. Others like me.
I found a seat and began people watching. I soon saw a few familiar faces, like Mortis, and began chatting away. Eventually we found silentq, and an expedition was planned for Indian food at Maharaja. It's been hailed as the largest and best Indian buffet on the east coast, and it definitely lived up to the billing. Curries, vindaloo, masala, meat and vegetarian dishes, regular and spicy, salads, fruit, mango ice cream, lassi's.... too much to taste and sample in just one trip! A small group of us led the way, and soon two dozen followed us. Shortly afterwards, the storm that pummeled us on the ride up arrive to pummel us again. We stared in awe and relief as the rain fell in sheets against the glass.
The rain had mostly died down as we were leaving, so Fudjo and I decided to walk back to the hotel. That was just a clever ruse it turned out, to entice us into walking so the rain could return in full force. But the rain was warm, and I was happy to be in Montreal, so I walked face upturned to the sky. By the time I reached the Delta Montreal I was dripping and beaming.
There was just enough time to shower and change before we headed to the Spectrum for the first evening's festivities. LOUDLOUDLOUD! For the first time in my life, I had to resort to earplugs at a club. Even with them in, the din was ferocious. This Ascension, Bella Morte were the headliners, and a band featuring Axel (who writes all the songs and does all the work) opened up. In between the bands DJ's strung the acts together with 80's covers, noise, and ethereal Goth. After some serious drinking, the energy of the music cut through the fatigue and food coma, and I started dancing.
Before the opening band and This Ascension was a fashion show. Ritual Designs specialized in fetish and cyber wear, lots of PVC and vinly. It was very sleek and sexy, and the models weren't bad either. Their presentation was fairly basic, walk on to the stage, pose, clear off. The second exhibitor was Diabolik, which was local to the city. They modeled their clothing with little vignettes. Angels and temptress Eves (complete with live snake), demons cavorting on bungee tethers, sailing and spinning over the audience. I was completely prepared for something to go wrong, but the demon pulled it off, with some rather impressive acrobatics. But the show stopper for me were the cyber dancers. Two women armed with glow rods and sticks on string, who started their sketch curled together, then twisting apart, glow rods leaving trails in the darkly lit stage. They tumbled, stood on each others shoulders, wove lines of fire in the air, and completely took my breath away.
A group of us left just before Bella Morte ended to check out a club called La Saphire. They were hosts to Darkwave Nights, a venue that I remember visiting on my past few trips to Montreal. Small, packed, costumed from tourist to high cyber, and really good music. My dancing kicked in full force, but after an hour the heat and lack air began to take it's toll. Did I mention that I'd be out for seven hours now? N & T and I drove back to the Delta, and took the elevator upstairs to a room party. More drinking and wandering ensued, along with some casual sitting and people watching. I didn't have the energy to be sociable at that point so at last, I sagged downstairs and slept. Day one had come and gone.

We interrupt this story...

to tell you that I erased my post about the day's events, just as I was reaching the climax of the story.

FUUUCCCKKKKKKK!!!!!

sigh

I need lunch. Then I will finish this (in Word) and write it anew. For this was the highlight of the trip. So I can hardly leave it out.

Day 3 - The War in Heaven

It's easy to let yourself get expectations for an experience, or an event. You imagine all of these fabulous things happening to you because you are in a strange land. It's understandable, and sometimes it's even irritating when they don't pan out. But in the end you can decide how much fun you have. You can decide to keep looking for outrageous expectations, or you can focus and get what you can achieve. With that thought running through my mind during breakfast (at a nice café with dirtyknees, eeyrg, and silentq) I passed on the cemetery tours and ventured alone into Montreal.
St. Catherine's is caught between commercial mecca and sleaze pit. There are plenty of upscale swank stores, with brazen neon sex shops nestled right next store. As you descend towards St Laurent, the gaps and the like vanish, replaced by tattoo parlors, dive bars, and more strip clubs. It's the home of the first hotel I crashed at during my first trip to Montreal. It's also the home of M, the store where I saw the fabulous pants my second trip. Alas they weren't there, nor was there any clothing anyone male or older than 14 could wear. But they did have directions for more stores on St. Denis. Armed with the new directions, I continued on my quest.
St. Denis is a much more interesting street. The absence of sleaze is refreshing, and there are a lot more bookstores, CD shops, and clothing stores. I can imagine it getting a little more commercial, but not for a few years at least. I tried Aritmatik, Acme, and Modern 2010 for raver clothes, but was again thwarted by no real options. One combat vest looking thing came close, but was too small for me.
I finally reached Rue Mont Royal, home to Cruella and Diabolik.I browsed through both of the stores, trying to find something interesting for me. I'm always nervous when going club clothes shopping, as I hate looking in the wrong sections of the stores. No sir, that's for women. The men's section is over there. Poseur. Fortunately, Silentq and Eeyrg came to my rescue. We voted down the vinyl bondage shorts, but got a thumbs up on the shirt and skirt I picked out. I made another trip to pick up some Underworld boots and a one size fit all shirt, then we marched home. The last shirt I bought looks poured on me, but perhaps it will stretch a little. And it goes well with my strappy pants.
There were no tickets available for the haunted dinner, so I instead went to Chu Chai's with the proprietress of The Velvet Garden. We had a great walk to the restaurant, a vegetarian Thai place that was the best she'd ever eaten at. I can now say I share her sentiment. We met A and T there, and had a sumptuous meal and engrossing conversation. I always enjoy my discussions with A and T, and this was no exception. The subject of livejournal came up, along with discussions about the merits of online and personal conversation. Good food (beef satan with potatoes and carrots in yellow curry), good wine, good company.
My body begged and whined for a nap and chance to digest, but there was no time. It was into the shower, and new skirt and shirt, and rushing upstairs for makeup and last minute fixes and pictures before a quartet of stylin' Boston Goths walked to Fou Foun Electronique's for the final evening's Masquerade. DJ's spun all night long, in two different rooms. There were fabulous costumes, but much of the details were washed out in the red light. Eventually they had their award ceremony, and space was cleared for the industrial set. I danced a little earlier to New Model Army and Nick Cave, but spent most of that time drinking and talking and buying birthday drinks. But when I looked up and saw people dancing on the stage, my fate was decided. I climbed the speakers to the stage and began spinning. On the far side I saw Damiel making his way up as well. I dance and spun, watching the costumed revelers below me, hidden in smoke so thick I thought it was support me if I threw myself on it. The music built and built, and I rose with it: curling, dipping, turning, arms flashing quickly during Fun with Drugs and flowing languidly during Beloved. I asked for and received water from the dancers, and never left, never stopped. I didn't need to. Time ceased to exist. Finally, I leapt to the dance floor, nerves humming, giddy and hoarse. One song later, they closed up shop. I must have dance for two hours with no break. I walked back to the hotel like a man possessed, buzzing I sat in the lobby, grinning madly I found myself in the penthouse party again, watching the sun rise, watching pages of the Bible float like falling angels to the streets of Montreal below me. I didn't need my imagination to see the angels that night, or any physical proof to realize that for a time, I was in Heaven.

Day 4 - Cast From Heaven

The last morning in Montreal. The tail end of my first Convergence. But not my last.
I was surprisingly awake and refreshed for checkout. I realized with some amusement that I could barely fit everything into my satchel. I just barely got everything down to the car in one trip. Every where you looked, shambling black clad zombies stood in line for checkout, or carried their belongings to the parking garage downstairs. Tired grins were exchanged, hugs and salutations from people barely met the night before, or seen over the weekend. I coaxed a little time from Eeyrg, so I could make one last stop for the trip, the start of my new Montreal tradition: poutine and sangria at Mad Hatters. SilentQ, Joy, and one of the members of Axel's band walked through the sunlit streets, squinting and joking until we reached the Hatters'. The sangria was tasty (though not as good as mine) and the poutine was much better this time around. We talked of bookshops and Star Trek and Buffy, and the marvelous time we had over the weekend. And then we returned to the hotel, exchanged addresses, and went out separate ways.
By eight, I had returned to Boston. The vacation, the trip from the real world, had ended. It wasn't what I had expected deep inside. It was more than that. I fulfilled my primary objectives. I danced. I shopped. I met new people, and very cool ones at that. I still feel like I'm carrying part of Montreal with me, part of the joy and passion and excitement of the trip. I can already feel little bits of my life asserting themselves, trying to fit me back into the molds of what I'm expected to be here. But I'm resisting them. I don't want things to go back to normal. I don't want to be what's expected. I have some mementos of my trip. I have my journal. And when I go back and read it, I can taste the memories of Montreal, and see visions of Angels Among Us.