Bonjour, Quebec!
We looked at each other, astonishment and dismay mirrored in our faces: married almost three years, and the last time we were away together (save for a few "stolen" weekend stays downtown Chicago) was, well, our Colorado honeymoon. Outrageous! Of course, there was Ellie and that small business of being pregnant with her, caring for her through her babyhood, hating to leave her behind, etc... Now, however, we were ready, our readiness spurred on by 50,000 United frequent flyer miles I somehow managed to accumulated in my account. They were burning a hole the size of a boarding pass in my virtual pocket. I craved distance, yet not so great as to overwhelm our limited time off. I needed a distinct departure, but crossing the Atlantic for pleasure, not for business, seemed like an irresponsible betrayal of our Ellie: a frivolous thing no parent should attempt unless prepared to pay for therapy sessions later. It was momentary inspiration, perhaps, that transcended from my racing mind through my right arm and hand to that other relevant appendix of our body known as "the computer mouse" and voila! out of my love affair with Google search the idea of Montréal and Québec was conceived. Many ingenious things are disarmingly simple and obvious, and so was this choice. It fit our needs so perfectly it made us doubt its credibility, still a perfect match such as this was worth investigating further. From that point on we were as if charmed by the very impending idea of our travel and began to see “signs” that further unfolded before us the beguiling prospects of the French Canada: a friend suddenly shared with me her memories of a past travel to both cities, a TV show featured a trendy restaurant in Montréal l that absolutely had to be visited, a co-worker brought to the office a magazine hailing Montréal as the most European city in North America. The straws continued to pile on the camel's back, and the camel was kicking up its rear, ready to journey north.
At this point, friends and strangers, let us all say a silent thanksgiving prayer to the goodness of the Internet and those who take time to populate the travel blogs! Our entire trip was booked electronically; the choices we made were affirmed by fellow bloggers leaving their words of wisdom in the wide blue yonder. I must say, our choices were all around excellent! C’est fantastique! And while the Quebecois dust is still clinging freshly to the soles of my Yankee shoes, let me share with you our humble but enjoyable experience.
To preface, our objectives for this trip were (please note the priority order, although my husband, who is not co-authoring this, may disagree):
1. To catch up on sleep. Those of you who have kids under the age of 10 would appreciate the ever evading luxury of waking up when your body and mind are ready to deal with the world, not when Junior yells to you at six in the morning on a perfectly lovely Sunday, as the cool spring breeze caresses your face, and your body stretches languorously under a down blanket, “Wake up, lazy bones!” Spell broken, you march half-blindly, with the labored gait of an invalid, to your child’s room to pick the precious bundle that’s not yet old enough to speak in complete sentences out of bed, change her diaper, jump-start the day…
2. To eat fabulous food. (In my husband’s opinion, why else does one travel?)
3. To have some couple time (wink, wink). Remember what if felt like when you were dating? When you could throw yourselves into each other’s arms regardless of the time of day, without constantly listening for Junior’s footsteps lest the apple of your eye finds you in a compromising position and asks in imperfect toddler English: “Mommy, Dada, are doing?”
4. To see and experience things we have not yet seen or experienced. Together!
I hope this modest list does not offend avid museum-goers or architectural aficionados, who would, perhaps, cringe at the thought of wasting the time and opportunity on such basic needs. To them, every minute of the day should be packed with sightseeing and admiration of artifacts and learning and historical tours. Yes, yes, and hats off to you for following your ambitions. To us, however, this trip meant the proverbial R&R, but we wanted to R&R in style, with the French accent, if you please…
And thus we arrived in Montréal in the morning of Friday, May 5th. A quiet airport greeted us, almost deserted it seemed after the bubbling bustle of Chicago’s O’Hare. Getting through passport control was a breeze, although those of you residing State-side who still consider that travel to Canada is no more than crossing a state line between Illinois and Iowa, should think about obtaining a passport: you will need one come January 1, 2007!
Just a short taxi ride from the Trudeau airport (about 15 minutes) delivered us to the front steps of Hotel Nelligan at 106, rue Saint-Paul (www.hotelnelligan.com). Don’t be discourage by the unassuming façade of the old building without a grand canopied entrance hovering over a circular drive, for inside you will discover a nest of luxury where North American generosity meets European style. The room was large enough to accommodate a sumptuous king-size bed with luxurious down comforter and pillows and still leave the space to move around without knocking down furniture or bumping into your partner. The bathroom was in the back of the room (not right at the entrance as it is typically in most hotels), and that made it feel more private, more like home. Let me now rave about the size of the bath tub for it was enormous and enormously comfortable: a real soaking tub to relax and rejuvenate. It called for some Provençal soaps and bath oils (sold in a smart little shop further down rue Saint-Paul). The exposed brick wall added unexpected grace to this elegant abode. Artwork was tastefully understated. The only tiny little minus was that our room overlooked the hotel’s narrow atrium and therefore received no day light or fresh air. Be mindful of that if you need to request specific accommodations. Hotel staff was polite, efficient and polished without being too bubbly in the worst cheerleading fashion. Their lightly accented English was charming, their French - disarmingly attractive. In my professional life, I’ve stayed in some top hotel properties in the United States and beyond, and this little gem proved to be not inferior to some of the best of them. Its superior location in Vieux Montréal (just steps away from Notre Dame and a short walking distance from place Jacques-Cartier) adds more stars to its overall rating. A truly inspired choice!
That morning we tried to get our bearings in Vieux Montréal, as well as some nourishment for our rumbling tummies (remember Priority No. 2). Our somewhat sporadic walk yielded a fortunate find in the form of cozy little café nestled in the curve of rue Saint-Paul, not quite as far as where it crosses with rue McGill. The place was bustling with activity as lunch hour was rapidly approaching. Inside, the tiny space was adorned with hanging hams, roosters, garlands of flowers, baskets of freshly baked baguettes. One could eat in or take out. We opted to stay and were served a roast-beef sandwich for Tim and a smoked salmon one for me. Everything was fresh, tasty, wonderfully presented. Note again to those of you traveling from south of the border: RELAX! Leave your frenetic pace behind, along with expectations that will not be satisfied. Expect service that will be courteous, efficient, but “slow” by US standards. Look at it this way: no one is trying to rush you out, so chill and enjoy your superb meal, and maybe - what the heck! - even have an easy conversation with your traveling partner. How’s that for a concept? If you need assistance in the relaxation part, order Belle Guelle, local beer that is delicious even to a non-beer-drinker such as moi. It’s light, with just a hint of sweetness. Très bien!
A restorative nap that day felt almost decadent (refer to Priority No. 1, with a bit of Priority No. 3 thrown in for a good measure). As Tim went to expend his surplus energy at the hotel’s exercise room, I ventured out for an afternoon walk around town as well as to find some Claritin (my allergies were unexpectedly active so far north). The overall feel on the streets of Vieux Montréal was that of an old European town as the obligatory glass-and-steel modern buildings of downtown clustered off to the side and out of view. Pedestrian steps resonated sweetly on narrow cobblestone streets. The unfolding perspectives revealed a town seeped in history, indeed fermented in it as the famous confit de canard served virtually in every restaurant here. A sense of admiration for the Quebecois asserted itself in my mind, a respect for their stoic ability to carve a niche for themselves - and their future generations - in the surrounding predominantly English-speaking world of our part of the North American continent. Their stubborn allegiance to their culture, language, traditions, indeed the entire way of living inspired appreciation. Is it the powerful mix of frontier survival skills and the French indignation at all things non-French that helps this unique wedge of Canadian soil persevere in its mission to be different? Whatever may be the case, the Europhile in me stood hatless and deferential before the Euro-themed theme park known as Québec. Maybe I just like to be called madame (en français) as opposed to madam, or even worse - m’am… Does that make me a terrible snob?
The Provençal soap shop was a bit draining for my checkbook: $80 dollars (US) for a vial of lavender essential oil, sandalwood bubble bath, and three cakes of soap. Oh well, but they smell so good in my linen closet!
Claritin was obtained in a corner convenience shop (dépanneur), along with some dark chocolate (amen!) and a couple of bottles of Belle Guelle for my calorie-burning hubby.
Our dinner choice that evening was the much acclaimed Au Pied de Cochon (www.restaurantaupieddecochon.ca) in 536, rue Duluth. We took a taxi to get there, and the ride revealed nothing exceptionally interesting once we trundled out of the cobble stones of Vieux Montréal and into some more contemporary areas of the city. Rue Duluth, once we reached it, looked to me like a more civilized (and, perhaps, more sober) version of Chicago’s own Rush Street, with restaurants and boutiques lining both sides. Au Pied presented itself as a bright, overpopulated, noisy and stuffy place - not at all what we imagined our first dinner choice would be on this romantic-slash-gourmet pilgrimage. Our interest in the “joint” was originally sparked by a show we frequently watch on the Travel Channel that is hosted by Anthony Bourdain (a hip “bad boy” NYC restaurateur and globe trotter with an obsessive abhorrence for ABBA). The recent show, focused entirely on Montréal, featured Au Pied and hailed it as a Mecca for foie gras lovers: here, patrons are free to order foie gras crêpes, foie gras steak frites, and everything else foie gras that no healthy person would normally associate with foie gras. Perverse, surely, but we only wanted to perch ourselves at the same bar where Tony Bourdain feasted so very recently on - what else? - foie gras and confit de canard, crunching frites, sipping Belle Guelle or Molson Export. However, it was not to be. Our reservations, made from Chicago, across the miles and the language barrier, seemed non-existent. And the whole atmosphere evoked associations with a corner Quizno’s store rather than a bona fide restaurant so that fighting for a table suddenly became hardly worth the effort. We left in disappointment, two pouty-lipped Americans abroad, and drifted next door to Vertige (cuisine de caractère), in 540, rue Duluth (tel. 514-842-4443). An understatedly elegant place, peaceful after the overexposed hyper-noisiness of its more famous neighbor. Having learned of our plight, the hostess made extra efforts to make us feel welcome. We were served complimentary flirtinis (а frothy and delicious concoction of vodka, triple sec, raspberry, cranberry and pineapple the color of smoked salmon - which is precisely the color my cheeks turned after I drank it). Dinner was superb, as was the wine, as was the background music - leaping effortlessly and without prejudice from a French chanson, to some Portuguese crooning, to the rhythmic percussions of a Middle Eastern melody.
We elected to walk back to the hotel. Crazy, drunken fools! We estimated the walk was around 3 miles, and it took us through some wild areas of Montréal, so unlike the serene and dignified Old Town. But, oh well, every city in the world has its unsavory parts.
The morning of the next day (Saturday) was misty, with a promise of the rain close by. We spent the morning walking the streets, visiting Notre Dame, taking pictures. Lots of them!!
For dinner we decided to stay close by and were attracted by Modavie (1, rue Saint Paul, tel 514-287-9582) that advertised live jazz. Unfortunately, all tables on the second level (where the musicians played) were already booked for the night and the restaurant did not allow drifters like us to just come in for the music. So, one flirtini and a couple of Molson Exports later, we crossed Saint Paul to Le Steak Frites de Saint Paul, a brand new establishment with license pending. The name pretty much explains the restaurant’s specialty. Again, we were much impressed with the clipped, elegant manner of the waiting staff (anyone who addresses me as Bon soir, madame automatically scores highly in my book) and the simple tastefulness of the food. As for the b.y.o.b., that was easily obtained at the dépanneur next door.
Early morning of Sunday, the 7th of May, saw us packing for the second part of our voyage - Québec. We made a very short transfer from the hotel to the rail station, checked our luggage and boarded the train. The train idea came from a trade show I attended in late March in Chicago, where I chanced to run into a representative from the Québec bureau of tourism. I am glad we opted for a train ride rather than renting a car as there is not much use for the car in either Montréal or Québec unless one intends to venture outside of the city limits. VIA Rail was efficient, comfortable and entirely trouble free. In the end, it probably also saved us some money.
Our base camp in Québec was Auberge Saint-Antoine (www.saint-antoine.come) nestled in the lower part of the Old Town which is where we headed from the train station. The morning of our arrival was sunny, breezy and cool; the sky - postcard-quality azure blue. The fairy tale town rose before us in steep terraces, like a picture in a pop-up book, unreal almost in the North American context. The quality of air - crispy, fresh from the close proximity of the great water - reminded me of my beloved Stockholm.
Saint-Antoine greeted us with the funky atmosphere of a mountain chalet updated to the latest standards of modern hospitality. The most interesting feature of the hotel built atop archeological excavation sites is that every little broken fragment of a dish or a vase found on site has been carefully preserved and is proudly displayed in the numerous lighted display cases built into the hotel wall. Every guest room is identified by such an artifact. The room, although not as spacious as at the Nelligan, was filled with light and contained every commodity necessary for a comfortable stay. An unexpected luxury was the heated floor in the bathroom that immediately made a life-long fan out of me. The line of featured bath products, we live like this ®, deserves additional praise (www.pacificdirect.co.uk) as I became instantly addicted to its aroma of ginseng and macadamia. The hotel’s location at the base of the cliff makes it a perfect starting point for your walks up to Château Frontenac through the winding, climbing streets of Old Québec.
Discovering Québec was a treat as every twist and turn in our path revealed yet another quaint courtyard or exquisitely painted building, a small but perfectly proportioned church, a battlement, an old gate. The cool but sunny day was perfect for walking as, trust me, negotiating the steep climbs would make you break a sweat. A couple of street musicians, French speech all around, excellent food and a prospect of yet another day in this enchanted place made us mellow and heedless of time.
The food in Québec is, perhaps, a bit too exotic for an average visitor. Although you can certainly obtain fish and steak and conventional poultry, their specialties center around game: caribou, stag, buffalo, quail, pheasant. If you feel adventurous to try, be prepared to be rewarded with rich flavors of dishes you most likely won’t have at home.
L’Échaudé was our harbor for that night’s dinner (www.echaude.com), a quiet, elegant place with an upscale feel to it. People-watching is one of my favorite occupations. The table not far from us contained a young family with a girl who appeared to my trained eye to be about one, and a couple of their friends. At first I was impressed how well-behaved the little girl was: she sat calmly in her high chair clanking some toys, chatting, smiling. I couldn’t help but compare this serene child with a few forays into dining out that we have made with Eleanor, who doesn’t last in her high chair more than 10 minutes and then wants to come down and explore. My free-spirited child does not like being constrained in any way, or having her perspectives limited by convention. She would walk up to patrons, strike a conversation, peer out of windows. After a few necessary outings we stopped trying. Perhaps some day…
However, this little girl got tired of being “good” fairly soon also. With jealousy I watched her unruffled mother seamlessly pass on the care of the child to the father who walked with the little girl around the restaurant while the others at his table enjoyed their dinner. No one seemed agitated or stressed-out as I would surely be. As the mother unhurriedly finished her dinner, they switched and the dad now took his place at the table. I envied their calmness, their acceptance. Something I certainly need to learn. The mother’s pace never quickened even as the child became cranky. She just as calmly bundled the little girl up into her Peg-Perego that was kept tableside, all the while continuing to talk with her friends. The child’s cries soon subsided and she seemed to be asleep even before they exited the restaurant. Where, or where does one find this remarkable tranquility? What did this French Canadian mother possess that I did not have in me? Should I be drinking more wine?...
The following day, our last one in Québec, was spent climbing the steep terraces of the Old Town. We sat on the green, near the battlements, awed by the vistas that unrolled suddenly before our eyes as the tin roofs of the town stepped quietly aside: the magnificent stronghold of Château Frontenac with its numerous flags flying in the wind dominated the view, presided over the city, beneath it opened the widening estuary of the Saint-Lawrence River, and beyond - gently rolling hills, more tin roofs and spikes of many church steeples. The departure here from all things shiny, new and North American was ever so evident.
Some day, I thought, we would come back, with Eleanor a long-legged, pig-tailed, gawky seven-year-old. She would be thrilled to see the fairy tale castles, and I would rather she sees these timeless streets than the plastic primary-colored version presented by Disney World.
We shopped, we ate ice cream in a little courtyard while listening to a street musician, we mingled with the crowd roaming aimlessly through the narrow streets. We were part of this charming place for just little bit longer before the trains, planes and automobiles carried us back to the reality we had left behind.
We had afternoon drinks at Château Frontenac, perhaps in the same lounge where Churchill and Roosevelt smoked their cigars in 1944. The atmosphere there is clubby, flirtinis are entirely passable, but the best feature is the view of Saint Lawrence River. Our gourmet finale took place at Aux Anciens Canadiens (www.auxancienscanadiens.qc.ca), a charming restaurant housed in a building circa 1645! If you wish to experience the traditional Quebecois cousin, this is your place. As I opted for caribou ragout, Tim chose a trio of filets: stag, buffalo and caribou. Delicious! So was the dessert. So were the garlic toast slices that the waitress continued to bring to our table.
And so it came to an end, our much anticipated and much needed getaway. As the US dollar continued to plunge, it became perhaps a bit more expensive than we had originally anticipated but worth every copper penny. Québec now has firmly taken its well-deserved place on the list of my favorite cities, and I do have a strong feeling that I will see it again, in not such a distant future. I feel enriched having been able to visit it, knowing that this gem is entirely within reach, a negligibly short distance away, waiting - there is so much more to discover. Au revoir, Québec!
At this point, friends and strangers, let us all say a silent thanksgiving prayer to the goodness of the Internet and those who take time to populate the travel blogs! Our entire trip was booked electronically; the choices we made were affirmed by fellow bloggers leaving their words of wisdom in the wide blue yonder. I must say, our choices were all around excellent! C’est fantastique! And while the Quebecois dust is still clinging freshly to the soles of my Yankee shoes, let me share with you our humble but enjoyable experience.
To preface, our objectives for this trip were (please note the priority order, although my husband, who is not co-authoring this, may disagree):
1. To catch up on sleep. Those of you who have kids under the age of 10 would appreciate the ever evading luxury of waking up when your body and mind are ready to deal with the world, not when Junior yells to you at six in the morning on a perfectly lovely Sunday, as the cool spring breeze caresses your face, and your body stretches languorously under a down blanket, “Wake up, lazy bones!” Spell broken, you march half-blindly, with the labored gait of an invalid, to your child’s room to pick the precious bundle that’s not yet old enough to speak in complete sentences out of bed, change her diaper, jump-start the day…
2. To eat fabulous food. (In my husband’s opinion, why else does one travel?)
3. To have some couple time (wink, wink). Remember what if felt like when you were dating? When you could throw yourselves into each other’s arms regardless of the time of day, without constantly listening for Junior’s footsteps lest the apple of your eye finds you in a compromising position and asks in imperfect toddler English: “Mommy, Dada, are doing?”
4. To see and experience things we have not yet seen or experienced. Together!
I hope this modest list does not offend avid museum-goers or architectural aficionados, who would, perhaps, cringe at the thought of wasting the time and opportunity on such basic needs. To them, every minute of the day should be packed with sightseeing and admiration of artifacts and learning and historical tours. Yes, yes, and hats off to you for following your ambitions. To us, however, this trip meant the proverbial R&R, but we wanted to R&R in style, with the French accent, if you please…
And thus we arrived in Montréal in the morning of Friday, May 5th. A quiet airport greeted us, almost deserted it seemed after the bubbling bustle of Chicago’s O’Hare. Getting through passport control was a breeze, although those of you residing State-side who still consider that travel to Canada is no more than crossing a state line between Illinois and Iowa, should think about obtaining a passport: you will need one come January 1, 2007!
Just a short taxi ride from the Trudeau airport (about 15 minutes) delivered us to the front steps of Hotel Nelligan at 106, rue Saint-Paul (www.hotelnelligan.com). Don’t be discourage by the unassuming façade of the old building without a grand canopied entrance hovering over a circular drive, for inside you will discover a nest of luxury where North American generosity meets European style. The room was large enough to accommodate a sumptuous king-size bed with luxurious down comforter and pillows and still leave the space to move around without knocking down furniture or bumping into your partner. The bathroom was in the back of the room (not right at the entrance as it is typically in most hotels), and that made it feel more private, more like home. Let me now rave about the size of the bath tub for it was enormous and enormously comfortable: a real soaking tub to relax and rejuvenate. It called for some Provençal soaps and bath oils (sold in a smart little shop further down rue Saint-Paul). The exposed brick wall added unexpected grace to this elegant abode. Artwork was tastefully understated. The only tiny little minus was that our room overlooked the hotel’s narrow atrium and therefore received no day light or fresh air. Be mindful of that if you need to request specific accommodations. Hotel staff was polite, efficient and polished without being too bubbly in the worst cheerleading fashion. Their lightly accented English was charming, their French - disarmingly attractive. In my professional life, I’ve stayed in some top hotel properties in the United States and beyond, and this little gem proved to be not inferior to some of the best of them. Its superior location in Vieux Montréal (just steps away from Notre Dame and a short walking distance from place Jacques-Cartier) adds more stars to its overall rating. A truly inspired choice!
That morning we tried to get our bearings in Vieux Montréal, as well as some nourishment for our rumbling tummies (remember Priority No. 2). Our somewhat sporadic walk yielded a fortunate find in the form of cozy little café nestled in the curve of rue Saint-Paul, not quite as far as where it crosses with rue McGill. The place was bustling with activity as lunch hour was rapidly approaching. Inside, the tiny space was adorned with hanging hams, roosters, garlands of flowers, baskets of freshly baked baguettes. One could eat in or take out. We opted to stay and were served a roast-beef sandwich for Tim and a smoked salmon one for me. Everything was fresh, tasty, wonderfully presented. Note again to those of you traveling from south of the border: RELAX! Leave your frenetic pace behind, along with expectations that will not be satisfied. Expect service that will be courteous, efficient, but “slow” by US standards. Look at it this way: no one is trying to rush you out, so chill and enjoy your superb meal, and maybe - what the heck! - even have an easy conversation with your traveling partner. How’s that for a concept? If you need assistance in the relaxation part, order Belle Guelle, local beer that is delicious even to a non-beer-drinker such as moi. It’s light, with just a hint of sweetness. Très bien!
A restorative nap that day felt almost decadent (refer to Priority No. 1, with a bit of Priority No. 3 thrown in for a good measure). As Tim went to expend his surplus energy at the hotel’s exercise room, I ventured out for an afternoon walk around town as well as to find some Claritin (my allergies were unexpectedly active so far north). The overall feel on the streets of Vieux Montréal was that of an old European town as the obligatory glass-and-steel modern buildings of downtown clustered off to the side and out of view. Pedestrian steps resonated sweetly on narrow cobblestone streets. The unfolding perspectives revealed a town seeped in history, indeed fermented in it as the famous confit de canard served virtually in every restaurant here. A sense of admiration for the Quebecois asserted itself in my mind, a respect for their stoic ability to carve a niche for themselves - and their future generations - in the surrounding predominantly English-speaking world of our part of the North American continent. Their stubborn allegiance to their culture, language, traditions, indeed the entire way of living inspired appreciation. Is it the powerful mix of frontier survival skills and the French indignation at all things non-French that helps this unique wedge of Canadian soil persevere in its mission to be different? Whatever may be the case, the Europhile in me stood hatless and deferential before the Euro-themed theme park known as Québec. Maybe I just like to be called madame (en français) as opposed to madam, or even worse - m’am… Does that make me a terrible snob?
The Provençal soap shop was a bit draining for my checkbook: $80 dollars (US) for a vial of lavender essential oil, sandalwood bubble bath, and three cakes of soap. Oh well, but they smell so good in my linen closet!
Claritin was obtained in a corner convenience shop (dépanneur), along with some dark chocolate (amen!) and a couple of bottles of Belle Guelle for my calorie-burning hubby.
Our dinner choice that evening was the much acclaimed Au Pied de Cochon (www.restaurantaupieddecochon.ca) in 536, rue Duluth. We took a taxi to get there, and the ride revealed nothing exceptionally interesting once we trundled out of the cobble stones of Vieux Montréal and into some more contemporary areas of the city. Rue Duluth, once we reached it, looked to me like a more civilized (and, perhaps, more sober) version of Chicago’s own Rush Street, with restaurants and boutiques lining both sides. Au Pied presented itself as a bright, overpopulated, noisy and stuffy place - not at all what we imagined our first dinner choice would be on this romantic-slash-gourmet pilgrimage. Our interest in the “joint” was originally sparked by a show we frequently watch on the Travel Channel that is hosted by Anthony Bourdain (a hip “bad boy” NYC restaurateur and globe trotter with an obsessive abhorrence for ABBA). The recent show, focused entirely on Montréal, featured Au Pied and hailed it as a Mecca for foie gras lovers: here, patrons are free to order foie gras crêpes, foie gras steak frites, and everything else foie gras that no healthy person would normally associate with foie gras. Perverse, surely, but we only wanted to perch ourselves at the same bar where Tony Bourdain feasted so very recently on - what else? - foie gras and confit de canard, crunching frites, sipping Belle Guelle or Molson Export. However, it was not to be. Our reservations, made from Chicago, across the miles and the language barrier, seemed non-existent. And the whole atmosphere evoked associations with a corner Quizno’s store rather than a bona fide restaurant so that fighting for a table suddenly became hardly worth the effort. We left in disappointment, two pouty-lipped Americans abroad, and drifted next door to Vertige (cuisine de caractère), in 540, rue Duluth (tel. 514-842-4443). An understatedly elegant place, peaceful after the overexposed hyper-noisiness of its more famous neighbor. Having learned of our plight, the hostess made extra efforts to make us feel welcome. We were served complimentary flirtinis (а frothy and delicious concoction of vodka, triple sec, raspberry, cranberry and pineapple the color of smoked salmon - which is precisely the color my cheeks turned after I drank it). Dinner was superb, as was the wine, as was the background music - leaping effortlessly and without prejudice from a French chanson, to some Portuguese crooning, to the rhythmic percussions of a Middle Eastern melody.
We elected to walk back to the hotel. Crazy, drunken fools! We estimated the walk was around 3 miles, and it took us through some wild areas of Montréal, so unlike the serene and dignified Old Town. But, oh well, every city in the world has its unsavory parts.
The morning of the next day (Saturday) was misty, with a promise of the rain close by. We spent the morning walking the streets, visiting Notre Dame, taking pictures. Lots of them!!
For dinner we decided to stay close by and were attracted by Modavie (1, rue Saint Paul, tel 514-287-9582) that advertised live jazz. Unfortunately, all tables on the second level (where the musicians played) were already booked for the night and the restaurant did not allow drifters like us to just come in for the music. So, one flirtini and a couple of Molson Exports later, we crossed Saint Paul to Le Steak Frites de Saint Paul, a brand new establishment with license pending. The name pretty much explains the restaurant’s specialty. Again, we were much impressed with the clipped, elegant manner of the waiting staff (anyone who addresses me as Bon soir, madame automatically scores highly in my book) and the simple tastefulness of the food. As for the b.y.o.b., that was easily obtained at the dépanneur next door.
Early morning of Sunday, the 7th of May, saw us packing for the second part of our voyage - Québec. We made a very short transfer from the hotel to the rail station, checked our luggage and boarded the train. The train idea came from a trade show I attended in late March in Chicago, where I chanced to run into a representative from the Québec bureau of tourism. I am glad we opted for a train ride rather than renting a car as there is not much use for the car in either Montréal or Québec unless one intends to venture outside of the city limits. VIA Rail was efficient, comfortable and entirely trouble free. In the end, it probably also saved us some money.
Our base camp in Québec was Auberge Saint-Antoine (www.saint-antoine.come) nestled in the lower part of the Old Town which is where we headed from the train station. The morning of our arrival was sunny, breezy and cool; the sky - postcard-quality azure blue. The fairy tale town rose before us in steep terraces, like a picture in a pop-up book, unreal almost in the North American context. The quality of air - crispy, fresh from the close proximity of the great water - reminded me of my beloved Stockholm.
Saint-Antoine greeted us with the funky atmosphere of a mountain chalet updated to the latest standards of modern hospitality. The most interesting feature of the hotel built atop archeological excavation sites is that every little broken fragment of a dish or a vase found on site has been carefully preserved and is proudly displayed in the numerous lighted display cases built into the hotel wall. Every guest room is identified by such an artifact. The room, although not as spacious as at the Nelligan, was filled with light and contained every commodity necessary for a comfortable stay. An unexpected luxury was the heated floor in the bathroom that immediately made a life-long fan out of me. The line of featured bath products, we live like this ®, deserves additional praise (www.pacificdirect.co.uk) as I became instantly addicted to its aroma of ginseng and macadamia. The hotel’s location at the base of the cliff makes it a perfect starting point for your walks up to Château Frontenac through the winding, climbing streets of Old Québec.
Discovering Québec was a treat as every twist and turn in our path revealed yet another quaint courtyard or exquisitely painted building, a small but perfectly proportioned church, a battlement, an old gate. The cool but sunny day was perfect for walking as, trust me, negotiating the steep climbs would make you break a sweat. A couple of street musicians, French speech all around, excellent food and a prospect of yet another day in this enchanted place made us mellow and heedless of time.
The food in Québec is, perhaps, a bit too exotic for an average visitor. Although you can certainly obtain fish and steak and conventional poultry, their specialties center around game: caribou, stag, buffalo, quail, pheasant. If you feel adventurous to try, be prepared to be rewarded with rich flavors of dishes you most likely won’t have at home.
L’Échaudé was our harbor for that night’s dinner (www.echaude.com), a quiet, elegant place with an upscale feel to it. People-watching is one of my favorite occupations. The table not far from us contained a young family with a girl who appeared to my trained eye to be about one, and a couple of their friends. At first I was impressed how well-behaved the little girl was: she sat calmly in her high chair clanking some toys, chatting, smiling. I couldn’t help but compare this serene child with a few forays into dining out that we have made with Eleanor, who doesn’t last in her high chair more than 10 minutes and then wants to come down and explore. My free-spirited child does not like being constrained in any way, or having her perspectives limited by convention. She would walk up to patrons, strike a conversation, peer out of windows. After a few necessary outings we stopped trying. Perhaps some day…
However, this little girl got tired of being “good” fairly soon also. With jealousy I watched her unruffled mother seamlessly pass on the care of the child to the father who walked with the little girl around the restaurant while the others at his table enjoyed their dinner. No one seemed agitated or stressed-out as I would surely be. As the mother unhurriedly finished her dinner, they switched and the dad now took his place at the table. I envied their calmness, their acceptance. Something I certainly need to learn. The mother’s pace never quickened even as the child became cranky. She just as calmly bundled the little girl up into her Peg-Perego that was kept tableside, all the while continuing to talk with her friends. The child’s cries soon subsided and she seemed to be asleep even before they exited the restaurant. Where, or where does one find this remarkable tranquility? What did this French Canadian mother possess that I did not have in me? Should I be drinking more wine?...
The following day, our last one in Québec, was spent climbing the steep terraces of the Old Town. We sat on the green, near the battlements, awed by the vistas that unrolled suddenly before our eyes as the tin roofs of the town stepped quietly aside: the magnificent stronghold of Château Frontenac with its numerous flags flying in the wind dominated the view, presided over the city, beneath it opened the widening estuary of the Saint-Lawrence River, and beyond - gently rolling hills, more tin roofs and spikes of many church steeples. The departure here from all things shiny, new and North American was ever so evident.
Some day, I thought, we would come back, with Eleanor a long-legged, pig-tailed, gawky seven-year-old. She would be thrilled to see the fairy tale castles, and I would rather she sees these timeless streets than the plastic primary-colored version presented by Disney World.
We shopped, we ate ice cream in a little courtyard while listening to a street musician, we mingled with the crowd roaming aimlessly through the narrow streets. We were part of this charming place for just little bit longer before the trains, planes and automobiles carried us back to the reality we had left behind.
We had afternoon drinks at Château Frontenac, perhaps in the same lounge where Churchill and Roosevelt smoked their cigars in 1944. The atmosphere there is clubby, flirtinis are entirely passable, but the best feature is the view of Saint Lawrence River. Our gourmet finale took place at Aux Anciens Canadiens (www.auxancienscanadiens.qc.ca), a charming restaurant housed in a building circa 1645! If you wish to experience the traditional Quebecois cousin, this is your place. As I opted for caribou ragout, Tim chose a trio of filets: stag, buffalo and caribou. Delicious! So was the dessert. So were the garlic toast slices that the waitress continued to bring to our table.
And so it came to an end, our much anticipated and much needed getaway. As the US dollar continued to plunge, it became perhaps a bit more expensive than we had originally anticipated but worth every copper penny. Québec now has firmly taken its well-deserved place on the list of my favorite cities, and I do have a strong feeling that I will see it again, in not such a distant future. I feel enriched having been able to visit it, knowing that this gem is entirely within reach, a negligibly short distance away, waiting - there is so much more to discover. Au revoir, Québec!