Can a da? Yes it can!
As you may have guessed, I am back from Canada. It was, as predicted, awesome. Though we did not find ourselves waist-deep in powder, as I had hoped - indeed, it was fairly icy, giving credence to the existence of a "ski season" which has just begun - that element remained both good and very inexpensive. This was the case for everything else there as well, excluding perhaps the food, which in some cases only fell under the first descriptor.
The drive up was longer than I had hoped, but buoyed on a wave of Queen and assorted other classic rock, a genre which has lasted several dozen years and could thus easily withstand another eight or nine hours. This trip was made no shorter when Pizza Hut poisoned me; fortunately, they had not counted on my ninja training having built a powerful resistance to most venoms, and miscalculated the dosage. In another cunning assault, the Border Guard attempted to Find Us Out; but he, too, was outsmarted.
Border Guard: So, whose car is this?
Seb: Mine.
Border Guard: And what do you do, sir?
Seb: I'm a student.
Border Guard: Nice car, for a...student.
Seb: Oh, well, it's actually my mom's.
Border Guard: [Nods; smirks knowingly.]
When this ploy failed, he resorted to trying to turn us back - and toward this end worked to sow discord and lower morale. Upon finding that we were going skiing at Mont-Sainte-Anne, he said, "Pssh! Yeah, there might be some snow up there. Maybe." His tone indicated that perhaps he had confused this position with his previous one as a border guard in Ecuador; regardless, we continued onward, undaunted.
In navigating the final several kilometers to our motel, we used the following items:
The rooms were nicer than I expected, which I suppose is often the case with motels. It would appear that I traditionally fail to give them the appropriate credit. This one especially had the opportunity to suck, indeed it should have had little motivation not to, at less than $30 per night; and yet it went beyond the call of duty with hot showers, good heating, and mattresses hewn from stone - a classy touch! Our continental breakfasts were some toast and coffee or tea, which I suppose is accurate in that you would not be hard-pressed to find these things on any continent, but which definitively did not provide for a voluminous meal. It was, however, very good toast.
I have already discussed the skiing conditions, and so will not prolong their treatment unnecessarily. Though we slid in just a few days before the real season began and the crazy discounts ended, apparently such seasons do need a bit of time to get rolling, and at that point it was not much different from skiing in New Hampshire - but cheaper, and everybody spoke French. That said, a good game of skiing-tag has the capacity to enliven even mediocrely-snowed slopes. Furthermore, reverse-mountains are cool; that is to say, Le Massif (to which we discovered, upon arrival, that our Sainte-Anne tickets gave us access) has its parking lot and main lodge at the top, whereupon you ski down. Brilliant! They also give you food vouchers which, at the cafeteria, are exchangeable only for a carrot or some pâté - but which at the bar you can trade for a pint of beer or a bowl of coffee. Yes, like coffee soup. It is good.
When we were not skiing, we played a good deal of Super Smash Bros. whilst blasting Led Zeppelin in the background, which is always good. And we chilled - the more accurate term may be 'froze' - in Quebec, which is similarly good. Wandering about in brief, spasmodic intervals, we achieved many things. Andrew joined the ranks of the bears, and Seb, too, strained to win their favour. More wandering, sometimes in hats, brought us an unforeseen honour. Before we knew it, we found ourselves face-to-face with the King of Cakes, lord of that which is sweet and baked, his crown a golden testament to his glory. We stood there for several minutes, awed by his imposing majesty.
If there's one thing that Quebec has, it's good food. If there's another, it's good drinks. If there are numerous things which Quebec has, and there are, one of them is surely cheap, cool stuff. For less than $20 USD each, I obtained not only a pocket watch, but also a knife. Blade detail! Watch out, Roger. Maddy also got something of great coolness, but which for the moment is TOP SECRET, and I will allow her to reveal it in her own time and journal.
Canada has a prevalent chain of stores called, if you know French, "Sleep Late." Three out of the four of us, however, do not speak French, in which case these stores are known (after a slight Anglicization of spelling) as "Couch Tards," typically interpreted as individuals with Down syndrome reclining on sofas. For the duration of our visit, we pursued a healthy obsession with the chain, going so far as to attempt to purchase the employees' official Couch Tard shirts when such items were not ordinarily available (we failed).
On the way home, we drove past a Rest-o-Coq, truly a sight for sore eyes to us guys. We rested our coqs for a while, and it was very satisfying. Then, all hell broke loose! Oh no! While I'm on the subject of Engrish, here is some from the bathroom:
You have style ? Got 2 different condoms !
Two dollars later, my senses were electrified by a mysterious gel, and I lost consciousness. I now believe it was intended for women.
When I came to, it was snowing hard, and we were plowing through snow drifts that blanketed the highway like a tundramatic quilt. Well, that may be a bit (or a tun) overdramatic, but it was snowy. Apparently, once you cross a particular line of latitude, people stop plowing the highways on the assumption that if you live up there, you can bloody well deal with it. This is just the sort of thinking that resulted in vehicles sliding to and fro across the road in front of us like whirling bumper cars, though ultimately they missed their targets (invariably our car, as I have already made clear the Canadians' ill will toward our worthy band) and ended up getting pretty cozy with the dividers. We braved the deadly conditions and, shockingly, returned home alive. Whereon I did a bunch of other stuff, just like I did between the last post and this one - stuff which, when you come right down to it, I could write about, but will not. Adieu, as it is said.
The drive up was longer than I had hoped, but buoyed on a wave of Queen and assorted other classic rock, a genre which has lasted several dozen years and could thus easily withstand another eight or nine hours. This trip was made no shorter when Pizza Hut poisoned me; fortunately, they had not counted on my ninja training having built a powerful resistance to most venoms, and miscalculated the dosage. In another cunning assault, the Border Guard attempted to Find Us Out; but he, too, was outsmarted.
Border Guard: So, whose car is this?
Seb: Mine.
Border Guard: And what do you do, sir?
Seb: I'm a student.
Border Guard: Nice car, for a...student.
Seb: Oh, well, it's actually my mom's.
Border Guard: [Nods; smirks knowingly.]
When this ploy failed, he resorted to trying to turn us back - and toward this end worked to sow discord and lower morale. Upon finding that we were going skiing at Mont-Sainte-Anne, he said, "Pssh! Yeah, there might be some snow up there. Maybe." His tone indicated that perhaps he had confused this position with his previous one as a border guard in Ecuador; regardless, we continued onward, undaunted.
In navigating the final several kilometers to our motel, we used the following items:
- Three roads, indistinguishable from and parallel to one another.
- One woman, who spoke only French and was convinced that we were trying to find Quebec, in spite of Maddy's best efforts to dispel this myth.
- Yahoo! directions, which in fact led us to the opposite side of the Earth from our destination. Literally.
- One giant mountain, with icy roads running straight up it at forty-five degree angles. We took several of these, for lack of anything better to do than to die.
- One giant cathedral, as tall - and this is not hyperbolic, like the Yahoo comment - as the mountain beside it.
- A waterfall, right by the road. That's Canada.
The rooms were nicer than I expected, which I suppose is often the case with motels. It would appear that I traditionally fail to give them the appropriate credit. This one especially had the opportunity to suck, indeed it should have had little motivation not to, at less than $30 per night; and yet it went beyond the call of duty with hot showers, good heating, and mattresses hewn from stone - a classy touch! Our continental breakfasts were some toast and coffee or tea, which I suppose is accurate in that you would not be hard-pressed to find these things on any continent, but which definitively did not provide for a voluminous meal. It was, however, very good toast.
I have already discussed the skiing conditions, and so will not prolong their treatment unnecessarily. Though we slid in just a few days before the real season began and the crazy discounts ended, apparently such seasons do need a bit of time to get rolling, and at that point it was not much different from skiing in New Hampshire - but cheaper, and everybody spoke French. That said, a good game of skiing-tag has the capacity to enliven even mediocrely-snowed slopes. Furthermore, reverse-mountains are cool; that is to say, Le Massif (to which we discovered, upon arrival, that our Sainte-Anne tickets gave us access) has its parking lot and main lodge at the top, whereupon you ski down. Brilliant! They also give you food vouchers which, at the cafeteria, are exchangeable only for a carrot or some pâté - but which at the bar you can trade for a pint of beer or a bowl of coffee. Yes, like coffee soup. It is good.
When we were not skiing, we played a good deal of Super Smash Bros. whilst blasting Led Zeppelin in the background, which is always good. And we chilled - the more accurate term may be 'froze' - in Quebec, which is similarly good. Wandering about in brief, spasmodic intervals, we achieved many things. Andrew joined the ranks of the bears, and Seb, too, strained to win their favour. More wandering, sometimes in hats, brought us an unforeseen honour. Before we knew it, we found ourselves face-to-face with the King of Cakes, lord of that which is sweet and baked, his crown a golden testament to his glory. We stood there for several minutes, awed by his imposing majesty.
If there's one thing that Quebec has, it's good food. If there's another, it's good drinks. If there are numerous things which Quebec has, and there are, one of them is surely cheap, cool stuff. For less than $20 USD each, I obtained not only a pocket watch, but also a knife. Blade detail! Watch out, Roger. Maddy also got something of great coolness, but which for the moment is TOP SECRET, and I will allow her to reveal it in her own time and journal.
Canada has a prevalent chain of stores called, if you know French, "Sleep Late." Three out of the four of us, however, do not speak French, in which case these stores are known (after a slight Anglicization of spelling) as "Couch Tards," typically interpreted as individuals with Down syndrome reclining on sofas. For the duration of our visit, we pursued a healthy obsession with the chain, going so far as to attempt to purchase the employees' official Couch Tard shirts when such items were not ordinarily available (we failed).
On the way home, we drove past a Rest-o-Coq, truly a sight for sore eyes to us guys. We rested our coqs for a while, and it was very satisfying. Then, all hell broke loose! Oh no! While I'm on the subject of Engrish, here is some from the bathroom:
You have style ? Got 2 different condoms !
Two dollars later, my senses were electrified by a mysterious gel, and I lost consciousness. I now believe it was intended for women.
When I came to, it was snowing hard, and we were plowing through snow drifts that blanketed the highway like a tundramatic quilt. Well, that may be a bit (or a tun) overdramatic, but it was snowy. Apparently, once you cross a particular line of latitude, people stop plowing the highways on the assumption that if you live up there, you can bloody well deal with it. This is just the sort of thinking that resulted in vehicles sliding to and fro across the road in front of us like whirling bumper cars, though ultimately they missed their targets (invariably our car, as I have already made clear the Canadians' ill will toward our worthy band) and ended up getting pretty cozy with the dividers. We braved the deadly conditions and, shockingly, returned home alive. Whereon I did a bunch of other stuff, just like I did between the last post and this one - stuff which, when you come right down to it, I could write about, but will not. Adieu, as it is said.