Category: Travel

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N.30 Another Goodbye

I can smell it.
The carcass of whom I used to be.
There’s a lingering. A faint but unmistakable vapor all around. I let it pass.
Old memories resurface. Old ways of being come to the window.
Outside gazing inside.
I hear a tap.
They want to come back in and play but winter is here; no windows shall be opened today.

Last week, I found myself running around trying to make things happen. Pulling a broad array of strings in the hopes of creating a grand tapestry. Just like the old days. Just like the life I left for dead about a year ago.

I recall my time in Kerala. On the roof of where I died. I caress the memory of when all of me came to a stop. That inner voice whispering ‘’aren’t you sick and tired of all these stories?’’

Personal tales of who, why and what we are have a tendency to linger and they hang around the place for a while. On the prowl for an opening. A way to ease back in.
A gift to neverendingly exercise the freedom of choice.

But I come bearing news. Tired of these stories, I choose to live without em.
Emptiness fits me like a well tailored glove.

And so I find myself at Le Verre Bouteille for an evening of musical ‘’carte blanche’’.
Jean Flex on piano, Salomé Perli on violin and Charles Viguerie on sound treatment.

There’s a lot that can be said on the subject of great music, classy lights and a smoke machine. It’s the stuff of dreams. Huffin’ and puffin’ in and out of states of consciousness.

A Freshness imbues the melodies. The tone is warm. The rhythm is slow and intentional.
Tonight is one last goodbye for JeanFlex who goes back to the old land of France on the morrow.

One last gig for the road.

I can’t help but swim into the atmosphere of smoky emotional jazz. I am reminded of the farewells into new beginnings and the rebirths of everyday living.

As weird as this may sound on paper: the realness of this tender sliver of time and space is immensely tangible. I could hold it in my hands if I wanted to.

Standing at the precipice of a blank page, the ink is eager to roll the ball and splanter between the lines drawn by existence.

But, there’s a waiting.
Tonight, I have the honor to be immersed by that in-between space.

A good friend leaves
Another walks in the door

I remain firmly rooted on the bar stool, painting away words of what is, what could be and what may never come to pass.

The tapestry of Life is already so overwhelmingly grandiose, I remember to pay attention to all the gifts that were here first and chase a little less what is just out of reach.

With humility and grace, I am reminded, once again, the greatest of all adventures is the present moment and the gratitude of simply being.

Farewell to you my friend, may the road ahead bequest forth joy and exciting discoveries!

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N.29 Montreal by Night


The cold season is beginning.
Sunset is at 4 p.m.

It’s the perfect time of year for vampires and nightlife lovers who work the next day: night starts at 6 p.m.
However, the show starts at 9 p.m so it’s a shame for your sleep.


The unique sound of the Bonze Trio gives you jitters like too much coffee.
With unshackled creative flow, the band mixes jazz, drum n’ bass, funk, modern music, and smoldering rock.

A trio that, as we say in my language, “goddamn this rocks!.”
Trying to count the time signatures is enough to make your cranium go bald.

Montreal at night is a world where anything is possible.
If the band is good, you can travel across the universe for 20 bucks.

Le Bonze Trio are not only unparalleled university musicians who bounce musical ideas off of each other, but also great friends. You can tell by the jokes that brilliantly fill the gaps between songs.

When winter is in full swing, you have to brave the cold, the slush, and seasonal fatigue to get to the concert hall. You hesitate to leave your house, but once you’re there, you don’t regret it.

Life is short, and I intend to reap the rewards of my Montreal artistic culture.
Without our artists, Montreal’s nightlife could be summed up to “meh.” Without an audience to share their passions with, they might as well stay in their jam space jamming with friends.

Don’t forget to go cheer on and enjoy what’s happening within the walls of our theaters after the sun has set.

If you’re hesitant to go out, do as our artists do in winter: you’ll sleep in February.
Unless you’re in college, in which case you never sleep, but that’s another story.

Please excuse me for a moment, I must put down my pencil in exchange for an intoxicating and energetic dance to the sounds of drum n’ bass playing behind me.

I’ll be back, wait for me!

Well, what had to happen happened.
When you dance too much, you forget to write.
What do you do in that case?
You go back to dancing the next day.

From one universe to another, I find myself in an African trance with DJ Afrofoly and Gotta Lago on percussion.

At the conservatory of music of Montreal, I find myself at an ecstatic dance party.
My camera and pencil are my passes to Montreal’s cultural nightlife.

Between two stiff dance moves, I whip out my camera and capture the heat of the action. Tonight, I’m a picture taking cowboy!

From the balafon and African songs to solidly modern beats,
It’s a blend of ages.

From yesterday to today, music is found in the company of dance.
It is the perfect ambassador of trance.

It’s easier to go far away when a rhythm keeps us firmly rooted.
It’s like a tree. The taller it grows toward the sky, the deeper its roots spread into the ground.

The better the music,
the more passionate the dance.

Well, that’s it. You’ll have to excuse me, I must once again put down my pen and leave you to your business. Sometimes, after a Saturday night dance session that lasts until 11 p.m., the best show in town is going home to sleep.

Ciao amigos!

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N.28 Of bafflements, ignorance and bliss

And so, being the author of my own story, a clean page stares back at me with a playful attitude. There is a palpable energy in the air, I can feel it. The far across the world travels are over for now but the call for adventure still resonates within my heart.

Quite naively, I had envisioned travelling as being a grand transformative experience of fireworks and jawdropping moments. Only to discover that these kinds of stories only came as a spice. A little sprinkle here and there, no more, no less.

What truly took me by surprise is the regular non-spectacular daily life that seemed to be on full throttle everywhere I went.

The local people living their lives were not that different from my travelling day to day.
In a strange way, before my travels, I had been all over the place but while being out there in person, I quietly came back to the only place there will ever be: right here, right now.

I guess you could say it either bubbled up from within or that it hit me in the face;
the undeniability of the truth. No matter where I ramble on to, I am here, now.

You could venture out on saying that my travels ended right there.
Or you could say they just began.
Both are the same, really.

I find language to be confusing when it comes time to share what is of the whole ‘’one’’ life domain. An intellectual dissection of the matter is far from adequate and the wisdom of the heart can only be expressed by imagery or meaningful simplicity.

In the past, I’ve truly enjoyed the zen approach to story telling.
Simple tales, profound meaning.

‘’The black coffee is warm. The cup is white’’

They make no sense if you gloss over them while trying to understand the meaning.
There is no meaning.
Intellectual understanding is overrated.

Life is so mind boggingly vast, interconnected, synchronistic and rich, never shall it fit into a box. Pardon my language but to hell with the boxes. Throw that ol’ dried up shit into the garbage and embrace the infinity of being alive.

I’ve dedicated my life to music and if the need arises, I can explain the nooks and crannies of why I do it. But this only came as a response to the age old question: ‘’what’s your real job?’’

I’ve learned to compassionately respond to a human baffled by the fact that someone may dedicate his or her life to something other than money.

Ignorance is to be handled with care and a great amount of tact. We can either help it blossom into wisdom or it can turn rabid and bite back quite aggressively.

Ignorance is like a wounded, scared and stressed out animal looking to survive.
Compassion trumps all other avenues.

All this to say that, in truth, Music is such a mystery to me, I am beyond clueless about all of it. At this point in my journey, Music and Life are one and the same.
And boy, ain’t that river deep and wide!

Well, I’ll quit my ramblings for now.
I’m sure you’ve got places to be.

Bobcat ‘’The clueless’’ reporting for duty

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N.26 Friendship

There ain’t nothing like the warmth of friendship after a long journey. Coming back to a place where open arms abound, opportunities are everywhere and the river of life is flowing strong is truly a blessing.

I am in my hometown of Montréal and people keep asking me how hard it is to come back to so-called ‘’reality’’.

Well my friend, have you ever put on a warm glove in the frisky morning air of early winter? Yes, just like that.

I don’t make up many stories in my mind anymore. Wherever I am, I am.
There is no tension. I guess some of us are still missing the point that, wherever we find ourselves, the only place is now. That’s where the party is at and will ever be anyway.

I get this overwhelming feeling that I did not really leave and in a way, I never truly did.
I’ve travelled around only to be in a whole lotta nows. ‘’Now’’ here or ‘’now’’ are kind of the same. As if in one big intemporal bubble, spatiality is just another concept we hold on to in hopes of tying together this inexplicable experience we named reality.

Pardon my roaming around with words. Let’s not make up too many stories about freedom and the art of living. There’s much more to learn from roasting a toast in the morning than a few written words on a page.

Back to the subject at hand: friendship.

To me, it is one of the greatest riches that any man, woman and non-binary peeps can ever be given. I’ve heard, many times before, that it’s hard to get one true friend. I never really got that saying.

It’s as if a farmer would plant seeds in only a few places because he is afraid that all other places won’t bear fruit and expects to sow a garden that encompasses the whole field come the end of summer.

As I am concerned, I’m no hesitant farmer.
I’ve thrown seeds of friendship up in the air, given whole bags of kinship at first glance and considered people as if they were life long friends from the start.

Life’s too short to hold out on love. One day, when the reaper’s taxi comes at the door, we may regret not sharing enough.

Don’t you want to come home to a luscious garden filled with delicious fruits? Or better yet, don’t you want the future generation to rise in an environment full of grace?

I sure do.

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N.25 The Enigma of Return

And so it goes, my grand travel adventure comes to a conclusion amidst a peculiar temporal fluidity. As if I’d never left, I find myself in the same places being a whole other man.

My vision is fresh and my choices are now imbued with a freedom from ancient concepts.

I’m rediscovering the daily.

The same drop of water from my old apartment’s water faucet taps to the same rhythm, the endless roadworks and the same passerbys with fleeing eyes at the sight of my huge smile.

I’m not sure exactly what I’ve done for this but I am coming back to Montréal in an ocean of love. I am welcomed as a great guest and I’m getting seduced to get back into the city’s thriving cultural life.

The friendships that bloom in my existence are one of the grandest riches that a man can ever be given. I am truly moved.

I am back in town only to find a large garden. I do not recall planting so many flowers.
Maybe they’ve sowed themselves?

It’s quite unique to roam around in the city’s streets in the fall to imbibe the atmosphere. I’m playing the game of smile, salute and look in the eyes.

The people seem tired and thrown off by a stranger’s smile.
I have hopes to find reciprocity of joy in the coming days.

And so, I find myself in my town, back in Québec’s culture, tango dancing with the mysteries of what shall present itself as a new life. I have so many friends to see, it’ll take me at least a month to get through them all.

My travels have brought me this trait that I now choose joy in my heart irrespective of what’s happening outside of me.

We have the freedom to create our internal environment and to ascribe meaning or not to the events of our lives.

The human experience is a malleable clay. By our actions, we can mold it the way we choose.

With this newfound freedom, I’m writing on the balcony warmed by the morning sun.
Here I am, back into Quebec’s day to day.

I take a deep breath and I tell myself:

‘’It’s good to be alive’’

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n.24 Came in as a beggar, left as a King


This all seems surreal.
In my experience, I left no more than five weeks ago but it’s been 7 months already.

Today marks the day of my departure from the land of India. I am now heading home for the autumn season with a renewed sense of enthusiasm and gratitude.

Last night, I caught myself laughing profusely. Somehow, none of it makes any dog on sense. Like a passing dream, I am waking up wondering what the hell just happened.

A snap of the finger and boom: 7 months have vanished into thin air.
Just the other day, it seems I was hitting the stage in my hometown of Montréal to play feverish funk music with my friends.

Just the other day, I was in my twenties, hitting up jam sessions all around town like an addict.

Just the other day, I was playing in the woods with my childhood friends.

Just the other day, I was 8 years old with a mind full of dreams and the naïve heart of a child.

As strange as it may seem, I can’t truly remember how I got here in the first place.
All of it went by so fast.

My godamn life passed in a blink of an eye. In a moment, I’ll be 50. In another, 80 and grey haired. Then I’ll be gone: adventure finished, going back to the cosmos.

While in Pachaloor, in Kerala, something I can’t truly explain happened.
As I was sitting on the roof, filled with thoughts, a voice came over and said:
‘’aren’t you sick and tired of all the petty stories?’’

I couldn’t help but go silent.
All the ceaseless crap going on in my mind had no relevance whatsoever to living Life.
All the stories just vanished and I was left with a quiet nothingness.

From then on, days went by in seconds, weeks into hours and a full three months just poofed in the air. As I am now here in an hotel room waiting for my flight, I can’t help but go back to that place of ‘’what the hell just happened?’’

How can time be so slippery?

This trip has been the death of me. I buried myself in India. The old Simon is gone and I am here being both profoundly lost and filled with a deep sense of clarity.

All of it seems too hard to explain.
Words can only point the way and I find myself in a pathless meadow.

This journey has been such a strong cup of humility and surprises. I thought I would be helping people but I am the one who’s been given everything without asking.
I’ve made lifelong friends with the locals and boy what an adventure this all has been.

I came out here as a beggar, thinking the world to be his.
I am leaving as a king, knowing to own nothing but himself.

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N.23 ”A new Life”


As my time in Kerala comes to a close, I breathe in the moment.
Perched atop my home for the last three months, surrounded by jungle, blanketed by the bright blue sky above and the sounds of the sea in the distance, here I am once more.

Oh, how a place can change you.
I come here every morning and evening these days. There’s a silence here that nourishes me deeply. Somehow, the grandiosity of my surroundings helps me gain a fresh perspective.

I could never have known or planned my stay here. It seems to have happened by virtue of fate. When Life mingles with your affairs and sets a course tailored just for you, it may be the right time to throw away your petty plans and hop on that ride.

Who knows who you shall be coming out the other end?

As for myself, my old stories are now dead. My old self has been buried in Kerala. From my experience, there is no mistaking it: a new life’s beginning.

It’s hard to put into words what is so intimate and visceral. Birthed out of silence, I am left wordless in the face of the immensity of living.

I’ve had the privilege to make lifelong friendships. I now breathe more deeply and my walk is tall and proud. I’ve found great dignity in the company of my new brother Abdul. Both the poorest and the richest man I’ve ever encountered.

The sometimes confusing ways of Indian culture has left me more accepting of what is. I do not feel the need to label things anymore. It all seems so petty to try to catch a morsel of the river of life going full throttle in order to give it a name, therefore feeling safe in return.

In a short time, I’ll be on a plane bound for Sri Lanka. I’ve been longing to swim in the sea ever since my stay in Mexico, a few months back.

Now’s the time to satisfy that desire.

I do not know where this adventure will bring me but here I am, firmly rooted in the present with an open heart and mind.

Let’s see what happens next, shall we?

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N.22 Onam with the Locals


Engulfed in a sea of Keralites, the procession seems to be neverending. Dancing kalari warriors, old ladies with painted faces, muscled up teenagers, 12 feet tall puppets, marching bands, electric cars carrying a whole array of paper constructions on their backs, military personnel and the occasional guy that looks as if he’s just here for the money: he’s tired and waiting for his check so he can go home.

In Thiruvananthapuram, the whole avenue from Kankakounè palace to the east port is blocked by authorities. There’s thousands upon thousands of people of all ages on the side of the street. They are all here to celebrate the closing ceremony of the ten day Onam festival.

Traditionally, it is a celebration of the harvest season, when the food is plentiful and the sun is shining high for all.

Historically, the festival began a long time ago, when king Mavelli ruled over Kerala. It is believed to have been a time of peace and prosperity for everyone. In these times, there was no cast system and everyone lived together as one with great joy.

When the king died, the keralites decided to honor him once a year with the the famous Onam festival. It is believed that the soul of Mavelli comes back to Kerala every year to check up on his people. Therefore, in homage to him, the locals come together to build flower arrangements, dress up in style and prepare special meals to share with the whole family. It is a time a well awaited celebration for the citizens.

A local told me that even if you are poor, even if you are miserable, you owe it to yourself that at least one day in a year, you walk on this earth as a king. That’s what Onam is all about.

For my first time in India, I’ve been very fortunate to make friends amongst the local people. What was supposed to be a three weeks stay in Kerala turned into three months.

I’ve been lucky enough to stumble upon Abdul, a man of many surprising talents, early on in my travels. As an old ayurvédic doctor, he made me experience the Karkala month the ayurveda way: a 30 days of thorough cleansing. Ideally coming out the other end stronger and more vital.

Once Onam came, he offered me my very own Onam dress. I then became an official Kerala man. Having learned many Malayalam words, I can now confidently express myself shakily in the local language. As always, the ‘’thank you’s,’ and the ‘’how are you’s’’ are the first to be used.

I have been welcomed as a brother. I have been added to the family as one of their own. I am a fortunate man in a land filled with kind and generous people. Being out here in Kerala has truly been a lesson on the art of welcoming. My three months here raised the bar on what it means to be a graceful host.

The first Onam day, the flower arranging begins. Groups of guys pool their resources and buy as much flower as they can afford and then go on building flower altars. You can walk around the village and see for yourself.

As each day passes, the altar grows bigger and more splendid, ultimately reaching its zenith on the 10th day. Then, a ritual takes place where the whole creation is ripped apart by a man possessed by a spirit entranced in the loud music that’s being blasted full force out of the six 4 by 4 speakers sitting in the back.

During Onam, the special meal is named Sadhya. Traditionally served on a banana leaf, there is an array of curries served with rice. Many stages uncover themselves over the course of the meal, leaving you with a belly full of delicious food and a strong desire for a nap.

As it seems to be ‘’the way life is’’ in my case, I am invited to the best place in the neighborhood to enjoy a sadhya meal: The Oyster Marris Homestay.

Not only is the food worthy of a five stars rating but the hosts also teach you about the history and cultural ways of the keralites. The place is truly a must for those passing by the Thiruvananthapuram area.

Going for a walk after a meal fit for an overweight king, I keep stumbling over my dhoti, the traditional cloth worn around the waist by the people of Kerala. Although the style is like no other, as a westerner, I am more fit to wear pants.

As my time in Kerala comes to a close, I give thanks for all the gifts that came my way, all the friends I’ve made and all the adventures that have happened.

This year has been my first Onam with the locals and If I get a say in the matter,
it won’t be my last.

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N.21 My Own Legend

Out here in Kerala, the Onam festival is in full swing. There are lights everywhere, it feels like Christmas, floral arrangements adorn every street corner, and it’s the perfect opportunity to go into town and buy yourself a new dress.

In my case, I invited my friend and his children to go to the circus.
“The Great Bombay Circus,” as they say.

It was like stepping back in time to the carnivals of yesteryear: clowns who weren’t very funny, dwarfs who clearly just wanted to go outside and smoke cigarettes, some really cool acrobatics, and aggressive marketing on the food and drink side.

A real business lesson for the whole family!

The other day, I had a profound realization. I’ll try to put it into words for you, my dear reader.

It’s morning. I’ve just finished my yoga session on the roof of the house where I’ve chosen to live. The view is breathtaking. You can see the sea at the bottom of the mountain, and I’m surrounded by coconut trees and birds flying overhead. The sky envelops everything brilliantly.

I open my eyes and in front of me is a brown plastic chair.
I start thinking, “Damn, that chair ruins the view,” and I feel slightly frustrated.

And then suddenly, in a split second, I realize how absurd the situation is: I am in a paradise, the wind is caressing my body, and the smell of the sea is filling my nostrils. It is completely absurd to think that a simple plastic chair could “spoil” the experience.

The apparent absurdity of concluding that the view is diminished because of a chair suddenly makes me laugh out loud.

I realize that imposing a story on the reality of the moment is a personal choice, and that I have chosen the mediocre story of the chair spoiling the magnificent experience of being alive in paradise. I laugh at the pettiness of my mind.

Life follows its course. The story we attribute to it is 100% optional.

Basically, my journey has been a reconsideration of the story I tell myself at every moment.
I stumbled upon some old, dusty tales that needed cleaning up, so I’m rewriting my own legend in a more conscious way.

In any case, my friend, I hope your legend is beautiful and surprising!

See you soon!

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N.20 Money!

Money can’t buy happiness, as they say.

There is some truth in the saying: a rich man can be just as miserable, if not more so, than a poor man. Happiness is a choice we make every moment.
Happiness is hiding in the little gifts of life that await us at every turn.

Throwing a thousand dollars in the air won’t make happiness fall into our laps.

That being said, with money, you can buy a birthday cake for a 12-year-old girl who is sad because she can’t invite her friends to her party since she doesn’t have a cake to offer them.

“I’ll buy you your cake, damn it!”

I said to her, in a more appropriate language

Seeing the girl’s face light up with joy as she busily called her friends was a real emanation of joy. And all for 12 bucks.

Money can’t buy happiness, but with $10, you can pay for a 15-year-old’s gym membership so he can work out with his friends.

Money can’t buy happiness, not directly.

But with 22 bucks, you can pay your friend and his family’s electric bill.
Tomorrow there will be light in the hallway when you go over to spend the evening.

Money can’t buy happiness, but for $10 you can get a haircut, buy groceries for the week, a few extra chocolates, and take a taxi home.

Okay, this example is typically Indian because in Quebec, for $10 you get a coffee and a napkin.

Money can’t buy happiness but with a few handfuls of it you can take a plane to the other side of the world in a culture very far from your own and slowly release your own sense of how things should be. You can take your time to redefine yourself day by day because food and shelter are no more an issue for you.

Money can’t buy happiness but it facilitates travelling.

Adventures filled with ‘’what the fuck’’ moments, of impromptu tears of melancholy and strange meetings with wonderful people.

Money can’t buy happiness, but for 10 rupees you can get a chaï tea, sit down and digest all the experiences you’ve been having for the last 6 months while watching the birds flying up above. If that’s not happiness, then I don’t know what is.