Postscript

I've come across my old youth hostel souvenir stamp book which shows hostels I stayed at. This includes a place in Ontario called Orillia on the shore of Lake Couchiching, which was actually on another trip, a short one, a year later. I'd forgotten about that.

 

Back to Rochester, NY

On her way out, M reminded me to lock up as I leave. Unfortunately I let the door slam with still one item of my baggage in the flat. As luck would have it, it was the one with my passport. I couldn't get back into the States without that. I didn't want to bother M at the office and I couldn't stand the idea of staying in Montreal another day. So I tried the landlady. Unfortunately she was out shopping. The neighbours didn't know when she would be back. The neighbours didn't speak English well, so it was fortunate that I could make conversation in French. To my relief, the landlady appeared in a few minutes and didn't make any fuss about having to open the door for me. I felt bad about bothering the landlady because M was already under suspicion of not being a "nice tenant". The night before she had let the sink overflow and she thought some water might have leaked into the landlady's flat.

I had promised to buy a six-pack of beer from Canada for my housemate J so I picked up half a dozen Molson Goldens in a little village before the border. I crossed on the Vermont side of Lake Champlain because I wanted to pass through Burlington and visit the original Ben and Jerry's there. The border official was a woman and waved me through after looking at the contents of my trunk.

Ben and Jerry's make some of the best ice cream in the northeast. Their secret is lots of cream. Their ice cream contains much more butterfat than normal ice cream and is noticeably heavier. Their Burlington's shop gives a 10% discount because they feel that they should give a little back to the community. I also had a late lunch at the local Woolworths before desert.

I crossed into NY at Crown Point, near a campground where I stayed several months before on my way to Boston. My route was through the Adirondacks and back to Rochester via 104. I had underestimated the amount of time it took to drive through the park and was still in Watertown by nightfall. It was the longest day of driving I had done in a long time. I didn't reach Rochester until about midnight.

Montreal 4

M went out to work early so I breakfasted with the German girl. She suggested speaking in German. She must have missed her mother tongue. I didn't get very far with my German.

Her flight was not until afternoon and she knew where to get her moccasins. We took a long walk towards the city.

The Tandy leather shop did indeed have what she wanted. I bought a leather belt at the same shop. (Tandy originally started off as a leather shop and then branched into electronics parts.)

We both had the same idea of getting M a present for letting us stay with her. We settled on records. Her gift was Peer Gynt and mine a collection of Chopin. 

She also wanted to buy some "dried lobster pieces" to take home. After a while I figured out she meant the prawn crackers we had in the dim sum restaurant. 

She made the flight in good time. In the evening I met M for dinner.

After walking around and tiring M a little, we ended up at a French restaurant.

Back in the apartment I packed up in preparation to return to the US the next day.

Montreal 3

Sunday was a quiet day.  I suggested dim sum in Chinatown. We found a noisy restaurant and superb food. The German girl didn't find all the food to her liking, but M liked it all. I promised to cook a curry for dinner and I got all the necessary ingredients in Chinatown, although I had some trouble finding chicken.

We repaired home. The weather turned cold so M had a little problem drying her laundry. The curry was a success.

I finished reading Voltaire's Candide. I promised to take the German girl to Mirabel airport Monday.

Montreal 2

It was Saturday so M didn't have to work. We went sightseeing.  It was faster to take the bus and transfer to a subway at Iberville so we did that. Straight down the the Expo 67 site, Man and His World. (A sexist name these days for sure.)

Unfortunately it was closed, so we walked around a little and took a few pictures outside the booths and then walked back to Montreal over the Pont Jacques Cartier.

M had a good idea, she would show us the old city.

So all afternoon we walked through crafts and curio shops.

There was a funny bilingual street conjurer who said in a pretend aside in English that he was making a joke about the French, and in French that he was making a joke about the English. The bilingual people in the audience laughed the loudest.

The German girl was looking for a pair of moccasins, not the finished product but a DIY kit, for her boyfriend back home. She missed home, she cut her holiday short so that she could fly back on Monday.

After dinner, I wondered if there were any good shows in the cinemas. The Decline of the American Empire had a intriguing title, but it was in French.

I suggested to M that I might risk my spotty French. The German girl declined to join us. The film was at Cremazie, a suburb not too far away. Unfortunately this show was very popular and the tickets for the first screening of the evening were sold out. So we bought tickets for the late screening and waited it out in a cafe. M and I had an interesting conversation there.

The film was good, and the cinematography wonderful, but the French, and Canadian French at that, too fast for me. So I resolved in frustration to see it again later. A similar thing happened to me years before in Stockholm with Fitzcarraldo, which was in German and subtitled in Swedish. I got to see this in London. Decline was good enough to cross the border and arrive in Rochester several months later so I did understand it all finally.

Montreal 1

It started off cold and drizzly in the morning. I finished off the rest of my provisions for breakfast. I wondered what the girls planned to do, but it looked like they intended to wait out the rain a little. So I bade them farewell and set off.

Highway 20 was fairly boring and the dreary weather only made it more so. Once I pulled over at a road stop to rest. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do for the rest of the day. I had a vague idea to explore a little more of Quebec but I didn't know what I could see in the rain.

I decided to take the ferry from Lévis direct to the foot of the old Quebec City.  The fare collector rattled off the price too quickly for me but fortunately there was a digital display.  The cars boarded the ferry broadside, on account of the strong river currents.  The ferry crossing was noisy but this did nothing to diminish the eerieness of seeing the St. Lawrence shrouded in mist. It only took a quarter of an hour to get over to the other side. I finished exploring the boat in that time and also managed to take a few pictures of the old city looming up in the mist.

Once on land I was lost for ideas again. I didn't want to see the old city, I had enough of that. Maybe some of the older quarters. Let's see, there was this recommended drive in the tourist handbook. This drive took me along the north bank of the St. Lawrence. The old houses are inclined so as to catch as much as possible of the weak sun of the latitude. The drive was slow partly because of the narrow streets but also because of the traffic lights and stop signs. Upon reaching the Basilique Sainte Anne-de-Beaupré I turned back. It was like a piece of provincial France in North America.

There were the Montmorency Falls. The water goes over the edge of a cliff into the St. Lawrence. There were very few people around. End of season and inclement weather.

I decided not to stay in Quebec City for the night. Montreal was within striking distance. Why not drop in on M a day ahead of time?  If that didn't work out there was always a hostel in Sherbrooke.  Anyway I was bored and that decided it.

Once again I crossed the Pont Pierre Laporte, but this time in thick mist. It was a little scary, not being able to see more than 100 metres ahead.  The outlines of the pylons were visible through the fog and faintly below, the broad river, but there was no time to gawk or sightsee. Vehicles had their headlights on and I had to watch on the red tail lights of the car in front carefully. I felt relieved to reach the other bank.

I had no idea where M's place was. I figured I'd get into the city, park somewhere and call her up. From the lobby of a hotel, I reached her.  It turned out she was having guests that night, the German girl M, and S. So we could make a foursome for dinner. The directions she gave were quite good but I had to make one correction. I got there quite easily.  But Montreal drivers, phew!

The German girl was making souvlaki for dinner. I offered to contribute dessert. So I went down to the corner shop and bought some peaches for crepes. Dinner conversation was quite animated. S had just had an offer to study Medical Illustration in Toronto and had to move soon. So all her plans were tentative.

Back to Quebec

The morning emerged, cold. I had a marathon drive ahead of me. The reason was that New Brunswick was almost devoid of hostels and those that existed were not on my way. So I had to make it to Quebec province by nightfall. Fortunately I would be crossing a time zone and gaining one hour.

I crossed into NB. A friend had said to avoid Magnetic Hill and I did. Holidaying in NB is a Canadian joke, he said, but I saw nothing wrong with the scenery. NB was backward because it had little modern industry, and still relied on timber and fishing.  But I saw signs that NB was trying to catch up. Near Fredericton I closed in on the St. John river. The other side of the river is Maine, USA. As the crow flies the shortest path to Montreal is through the USA, but I had to go through this narrow neck of Quebec to avoid crossing borders. Also I wanted to see scenery.

At Fredericton I decided to try to get my US money changed again. Half expecting to have to drag out a hard luck story I walked into a bank. But there was no fuss, they took the money and gave me Canadian dollars. I could have kissed the cashier, but no, no scenes. I was solvent again.

NB is not a province of pretty little coves like NS but there are grand vistas to be had from the tops of hills, beautiful lakes. The petrol prices got quite good near the Quebec border. Remembering the high prices near Quebec City, I filled up. By 6 in the evening I was past Edmundston. I stopped at a provincial park and made dinner with the rest of my luncheon meat and mashed potatoes on the propane stove. There were a couple of loud quacks nearby. I fed the ducks. They were so bold that they came up and snatched the bread from my fingers. The only problem with this park was flies.

I crossed into Quebec and Eastern Time Zone and gained an hour. The highway passes Notre Dame Du Lac, which was absolutely gorgeous in the evening light. At Rivière du Loup I decided to try to make the most of the extra time by looking for the ferry across the St. Lawrence. I had some faint idea of crossing to the north bank but the ferry didn't seem to be operating anyway.

But I got lost in the town and drove through some very French looking quarters. There was a beautiful sunset that I photographed from the car park of a hospital. A nearby car had overheated and the female occupants were wondering what to do with the steam coming out of the radiator. I couldn't do anything for them but give them a smile.

I reached St. Jean Port Joli after dark. The hostel took a bit of effort to find even though it was on the main road. The door was open and a note inside said to make oneself comfortable and to call a number and the warden would be along by and by. In French of course. I used my best French on the phone and fortunately the other side helped out in English. They were less fanatical about mono-lingualism than in France. Then the warden arrived, instead of the wardeness I had been expecting, with a group of three high-spirited French Canadian girls. They had been visiting their grandparents in Gaspe. That was the destination I had to sacrifice to see PEI—Forillon National Park and Cap aux Os. Sigh, someday, perhaps.

They invited me to have a beer with them and play a board game not unlike Ludo. Lots of giggling and joking with their broken English. It was fascinating to hear English idioms being spoken by non-native speakers with a strange accent. This hostel was one of the most comfortable I had used on my travels. Since there was a lot of room, I got a whole room all to myself and the girls got one upstairs.