When I was in my twenties I used to ride the metro there with a good friend who was French, and she always was annoyed (“Why do you care?”) with my habit of choosing which car of the train to board so I’d be lined up with where I was going.
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When I was in my twenties I used to ride the metro there with a good friend who was French, and she always was annoyed (“Why do you care?”) with my habit of choosing which car of the train to board so I’d be lined up with where I was going.
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I feel it’s my compassionate duty to beam back warmth and color to my northern friends enduring the gnarly part of winter. As we took off from the Montreal airport the landscape was a frozen monochrome white. Beautiful, in a graphic way, once you got off the ground but still hard ice.
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The fog rolls in before dawn, thick as wool and heavy with moisture. It slides down the stone towers of Meteora, wrapping itself around ledges, dripping from the pine needles, muting the world into a hush. The monastery bells sound closer in this weather, their slow toll absorbed by the air before it can echo off the cliffs.
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We had come to see Meteora on a misty morning in November, 2018. The ground-hugging fog drifted like a low cloud across the Thessalian plain, swallowing the road ahead and the hulking silhouettes of rock that we knew were there but could not yet see. Somewhere above, the monasteries of Meteora – “suspended in the air,” as their name has been translated for centuries – waited in the whiteout,
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If you wanted to choose a city that’s diametrically opposed to Montreal’s cranky winters, Mexico City would be a good choice. The high altitude brings spring-like weather all year round, with warm days and cool nights. In February the mornings start at 12C warming to 20-25. Only pollution downgrades its perfect ranking.
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