Il Gran Paradiso

           Last summer, my father decided to take my brother and I on our first mountaineering expedition. That me us both very happy for we had been hiking with him all over the Alps, (French Alps, Italian Alps and Swiss Alps) since we were 4 but it was always hikes under 3000m and therefore, in summer gear which is very nice, but what we were about to do was much more exciting because it was more extreme. Our father had decided that for our first big expedition we would go up the Grand Paradis (Il Gran Paradiso) just across the Italian border, in the Aoste Valley. What was exciting about doing this mountain was that its top was 4006m above sea level and therefore we would have to hike on the glacier with crampons, ropes and the whole attire. The first day we left the car at the bottom of the valley and walked during 4 hours to get to the refuge, where we were going to spend the night. The next morning, we woke up at 4, along with the other people in the refuge, some of whom had come from all the way across the world just for this. We left at five, and at this time of the day it was completely dark so all the hikers in the mountain had headlights, making the mountain look like a giant chrismas tree. Around 7, we arrived at the bottom of the actual glacier. Then we walked during 3 hours in the snow with all our equipment on and with a freezing wind whiping us. When we were almost at the top, my father went back down with my little brother and i stayed with my father's friend who was a guide because the last 50m were too hard for my brother. Indeed, we now had to climb on rock with all our heavy gear on, which was fine until i saw the 800m cliff one metre away from me. Even thought we were attached to the rock, i can assure anybody that climbing on a one metre wide "path" with that big of a drop is quite scary. But then, I arrived at the top and hung on to the Virgin (mary) that was there. I was scared and tired, but at this moment, I felt proud and happy, and I felt my love for the Alps, which is doubtlessly the most beautiful mountain range on Earth.

Meeting people on the bus

         For those of you who know me, you might know that I am a rather sociable person and that i try to be friendly with people I don't know in case they might be sympathic. But if there is one thing in life that gives me satisfaction, it is to meet and befriend with complete strangers that i would meet on the bus. Now some of you might ask: "But why on the bus, that's so random". Well yes the bus might be a random place to meet people but what is fun about that is that you will meet some people that you would have never talked to in your life, and also, I personnaly think that getting people on the bus to talk to you can be a very hard task and therefore, I sometimes see it as a challenge. Besides, being random never hurt anybody. I would even add that it gives a little spice to life.
           Now of course, there are rules to talking to people on the bus. It is usually not recommended to go talk to a gangster who has a gun sticking out of his pocket. Same thing with people who are obviously on cocaine. This means that of course there are some buses to avoid. For example, the 16 which goes up East Hastings isn't always full of well-intended people althought I would recommend it to people who wish to have stories to tell their friends. I would say the best bus for socializing is the 99 B-line because there are lots of people in it who are normal most of the time. For example, the 99 during the Olympic Games was just like a meeting website because everyone was talking to everyone.
            The only thing to know is that if you are looking for long-term friends, this will not work because you usually never see anybody again.

Hubert

"You remind me a lot of my sister"
"What?"
"No I was just saying that you remind me a lot of my sister. Your physical appearance but mostly the way you are eating that donut."

When it is 12:30, that you are in Tim Hortons just eating a donut after coming back from a party, that you are white and that a black guy tells you you remind him of his sister, you have many reasons to find this situation rather peculiar.

Upon seeing that this man didn't seem to be, neither agressive nor on drugs, i decided he seemed worth talking to. He didn't tell me much about hisself other than his name but that is because after seeing his clothes, i was never sure wether he was a hobo or not and, in all politeness, i decided not to ask where he worked so that an umcomfortable silence wouldn't follow the question. He was wearing some baggy pants, an old UBC sweater, dirty and with many holes and on top of his head sat one of those rasta hats colourless in which he stored a big amount of dreadlocks. After i told him my name, he asked for my birth date so he could do my astrological calendar or whatever it's called which turned out to be very positive. I talked to him during 20 minutes about my immigration to Canada, and the difference of culture and then left, thinking i would never see him again.

I ran into him again the week after, and the week after that so i got to know him more every time and now i think i can say that we are friends, more or less, but i still don't know wether he is a hobo or not.

Introduction

Well this is it: my blog, where i will be posting my essays and other forms of writing during this whole year and maybe even longer if i feel like it. Me being more of an outdoors person rather than a computer person i didn't think that i would ever make a blog but i guess Mrs Hughes decided otherwise so here it is, enjoy.
P.S: dear reader, you should not try to understand the title of this blog for it is a french inside joke but maybe one day, if i'm feeling kind and generous, i shall reveal the meaning of this title.