11/07/2025
Aleyn's Amblings.
I almost missed the place. Every building in downtown Montreal looks old, and they all run together like a set in a movie. I double checked my map again. I looked up, turned and gazed across the street. Looked back and forth. Where else could it be? Folks were walking by me at a quick pace; I stood like a rock in a fast moving stream. I was looking for La Sala Rossa. A theatre. That building didn’t look like it held a theatre. I didn’t see any sign out front. The only notation was “centro social espagnol” scrawled above the door.
I checked the map again. That’s gotta be the one. I shrugged, what did i know anyways. I was a foreigner in a foreign land. Saskatchewan lad in a Quebec city. A place of weird looking hot dog buns and cheese curds, ridiculous traffic and endless construction. I entered the old building. The stairs creaked, reminding me of our own old Qu’Appelle Town Hall. The smell however was altogether different. There were two restaurants on either side, one apparently sold ramen, and I'm not sure what the one was. Both were small, only a few tables.
I continued up the stairs wondering where the theatre was. It was quiet besides the bustle of the city that never seemed to lull. At the top, I opened a door and, and a few voices trickled out. There before me was a grand ole theater, as if I had stepped into the 1930s. I could almost smell the cigarette smoke wafting by. It was all black, the floor, the walls, the chairs. The stage lights were on full accentuating the fiery red background. An old chandelier hung from the middle of the roof. A few folks were milling about where I quickly met Producer Matt and Director Deb. Both welcomed me with open arms.
My heart started running just a little bit faster. Matt showed me the green room, where us performers were to hang out. It sat next to the stage and contained a black leather couch, and a construction pylon with a plastic fern sticking out of the top of it. I laughed. There were thousands of such pylons all over Montreal, why not here too. A single mic stand stood at the front centre stage. I strolled up like I owned the place. It’s always fun to stand there and take it all in before folks start arriving and cluttering the place up. I’ve been trying to be more present for such times. To appreciate where I am and how I got there. To live in the moment as they say. So that's what I did. I stood there for a spell and just took it all in. A smile grew on my face. This is where I was meant to be.
Soon, the other performers began arriving. I’m honestly not sure what to call ourselves. We were each there that night to tell a story. The theme was “Are we there yet?” There were six of us. I arrived first. We chit chatted, and as the show time slowly approached, the tension rose along with it. We each dealt with it differently. Some paced. Some went over their stories in their heads. Some stood still. Most crammed in varying ways. The one guy, the wily veteran of our group, introduced himself to us. He walked the stage for a few minutes, then announced he was going downstairs for ramen. I had been reading and rereading my story for the past several days. Did I really need to go over it again? Maybe I should go for ramen.
No. Nuts to that. I was the fourth on the batting order of six. Instead of sitting on the cushy leather couch going over every word in my head, I stepped out and watched the story tellers perform their craft. I had come all this way; I had better take more out of this precious moment than just small beers and a long plane ride. Everyone tells stories in their own unique way and voice. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. I began to watch and thought about how I could make my story telling better. One teller was poetic, each word, each phrase was weighed exactly and placed right where it should be without whimsy. Another told his story with repeated slogans and hand gestures to make his points. Everyone I watched that night, I was able to take something away.
The next day a friend phoned from back home. We were chatting and he asked, was it all worth it? I said yes, without hesitation. Coupled with the MC gig I had done two nights earlier, it was a whirlwind of a trip. The experience was unique, something I had never attempted before. I was glad I had done it. It opened my eyes to the art of story telling and all the possibilities that came with it. Now I ponder how to move this ball down field, and what comes next. The moral of the story is check your flights before you book them, or you end up going from Regina to Vancouver to Calgary to Montreal. Got to see the Rockies though.
