Sketching the striped tulip fields last week reminded me of one of my other favorite colorful places: the Plateau neighborhood of Montreal. The rows of colorful balconies and porches might not be quite as vivid as the rainbow houses of San Francisco… but any city that breaks up endless blocks of brick with pops of bright color is going to get an A+ in my book.
I live in a place where umbrellas are pretty much never used for sun-related purposes. So whenever I get to see a parasol in use elsewhere, it gives me all kinds of summer cheer—because the reason for using the parasol in the first place is my favorite thing about the season.
My French isn’t anything to write home about, I’ll admit. But at this moment, it didn’t matter, because there are some things that transcend language barriers.
Okay, no more bear jokes. Especially since we didn’t exactly feel like laughing after the Tailor and I almost hit the real thing. (Thank goodness for reflexes and broad daylight.) Obviously I didn’t do this sketch while the moment was happening—but it was easy enough to cobble the scene together from memory.
Because, you know, the image of this guy darting out in front of us, and the Tailor’s death grip on the steering wheel, is pretty much permanently etched onto my retinas.