"I didn't know who I was-- I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I'd ever seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn't know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds."
/Jack Kerouac

a typical roundtrip

I like bus rides. 

Their thoughts followed a lady who was getting off the bus.









A tourist reassuring herself of the picture quality.

a weekend in Montreal

The larger it is, only more strangers there are.


The announcement in the metro is and only in French.
There was an old couple who ran all the way upstairs to tell me that the direction they have given me was incorrect. I was so appalled. And ashamed when I watched him running clumsily back to his wife not because of the quality in their nature, but because I realized how little I would care for a stranger whom I'd meet only once in my life.

He was at work being curious about a quarrel between two other men. The two troubled men were actually captured in the next picture.




I chose to go on the tour again to past my time before the cinema presentation started. This Catrina was embarrassed when she couldn't fit all of us into a lift. 

There were ten people in the first tour that morning, excluding the student-guide 'Dan'. He revealed at some point that he had been in NSCAD before he transferred to Concordia. He wore a pair of thick glasses like my dad's in the 80s, spoke and walked slowly, and dressed like one of those skateboarders.

Checking out the facilities. I wonder why they couldn't overcome the difficulty of having rooms with expensive equipments opened on open house day.





I tried to explore the city on foot that early morning, but the weather prevented me from doing so after less than 30min so I decided to head back. And this is when I was making my way back to the hotel while there was a circle of protesters clapping and making themselves heard in front of mcgill.

2 days in Halifax

The first night I arrived with the longing for the first ever adventure of staying in a hostel. In the taxi, close to destination, after desperately admitting the city being reputably safe in North America and carefully trying not to scare the shit out of me, the driver politely and slightly evoked the fact that my hostel happened to be on the edge of the most dangerous part of the city, and I shall be careful.
By the time we arrived their office hour has run out and the whole building- more like a ghetto- has gone dark. First floor contained a cafe, a relatively cozy wireless livingroom and some dorm rooms. Second floor- the top floor- contained two hedious, small yet rather clean bathrooms, and a few other bedrooms. The bathroom I glanced at and was convinced I wouldn't take showers inside. My bedroom has a very high ceiling, an area of approximately 2x3.5m, and a narrow unreachable window. It immediately came to my mind the image of the religious-use secret place from the Da Vinci Code. Several young male teens were hanging out in the livingroom, looking casual and not too hostile. The old man who owned a huge mustache as well as the hostel had once been a NSCAD student, and the young girl who asisted was a current student there. Situation came to be very clear that I had to forget the glorious adventure. So I called a taxi and moved to the hotel in the background of this picture, the Prince George Hotel.

This picture was taken before my visiting the Gallery of Nova Scotia. I have had no intention to check out the gallery, but a few seconds after I walked past the building I realized I just past a gallery. And when I came out of the gallery, I had a red sticker just like the ones in this picture. The gallery has an interior of better atmosphere than that of Vancouver Art Gallery. The unfortunate would be that because of the flood they had taken down a show named Flight Dreams.

You really won't get to see the potentious expression on these faces. I sensed from this community that when you live without caring too much about being known, judged or compared, you are much released and free-spirit.



If not mistaken he was playing something from Amelie. I have to say it was one of the most wonderful morning scenes I've encountered in Canada.



This indicates very well how small the city is.






She was doing some very delicate work.

The school runs 24 hours a day for students.


Their taxis can arrive within seconds whenever unless it's rainy.

From 3rd year on you can request for a private studio space like this.



The Dawson Print Shop.