stepping off the edge

Ah, Quebec City, as Mrs. T put it… “almost like being in a different country.” No comment.
[Editor’s note: I believe I said European country, but never mind]

We braved the always slightly terrifying border crossing with the friendly but stern border guards. Not exactly like crossing into some heavily armed post into an Eastern bloc country, but nerve wracking still. It seems that we are usually chosen to “please pull into the inspection lane.” This is always surprising since old age has imparted on me my childhood fantasy of actually being invisible. We do not exactly present as the typical terrorist, drug dealer, ne’er-do-well. But it seems we are a target to profile nonetheless whenever we cross into kind, gentle, friendly Canada. At least due to current events we can chalk it up to just keeping an eye on those folks from the States.

As we entered the city, the road runs along the St Lawrence River. Beautiful drive, people strolling and biking the entire way. This would be a good time to note that the entire time throughout Canada, one thing was consistent; the care and deliberateness of the bike and pedestrian pathways. We actually felt safe renting bikes in a Canadian city further along and spending the day on the bike paths.

Our home exchange was in a neighborhood of Quebec City named Limoilou. I always pronounce it lemilou, but it seems I just do not understand French spelling, well, or the language for that matter. Speaking of French, yes, it is the language of the entire province, especially here. No, we were not met with distain or ridicule when we either spoke English (which is oftentimes accommodated by the Quebec citizens) or tried our feeble pigeon French. Bonjour was easy and the standard greeting, especially when spoken with the first syllable a note higher than the rest. But after the greeting we were mostly lost. A few high school French vocabulary words would sneak into my speech but never with the best results. We were met with smiles and welcome engagement wherever we went. A particularly pleasant and informative few hours with our hosts for cocktails gave us an excellent picture of the Quebecois’ sensibilities and viewpoint. Quebec first, Canadian second. A common viewpoint but not in any way hostile or elitist. It seems to have more to do with the preservation of the culture, to which I can relate. Before you are reluctant to embark on a visit, let me just say that this is not the Parisian French experience which causes some tourists to cringe.

Oh this city… just look…

From the historic to the whimsical…

And the clever flower “pots” everywhere…

The sculptures both ancient and modern; doesn’t this one just scream French ladies …

The remarkable bakeries to the curio shops…

No Mr. T, you are NOT getting the titty Hawaiian shirt!

The art along a bridge crossed on our daily walk into downtown…

One fine morning we decided to walk the river path. It brought us to an area we had yet to visit, the working portion of the river with large barges and ships as well as a wonderful Cafe Du Monde, reminiscent of New Orleans. But, instead of beignets we went for the French onion soup… marvelous…but, never fear. Even though we had the river path to follow from the harbor region to the bridge home we did, confession, under my skillful leadership, manage to get lost. I will be reminded of this adventure for many days and weeks to come, believe me.

As you have surmised we were taken by this city. So gentle, so warm, with just a touch of metro bustle. A place anyone could call home.

Onward into the next Canadian adventure, Montreal.