Day Three

Today I slept in, or at least tried to, while my drama queen of a roommate complained loudly into her cell phone that she desperately needed to get to her psychiatrist appointment but didn't have enough money for a taxi. I offered to pay her fare, eager to be rid of her, but she refused, choosing instead to call her psychiatrist and complain--again, loudly--to him until he agreed to pay the driver upon her arrival.

So I got up and headed across the street to a coffee shop, where I spent what was left of the morning reading the NY Times and sipping a latte. After that, I walked down to the Pearl District where I spent a good part of the early afternoon chatting up some gay boys in a little kitchen shop with the most extensive cookbook selection I've ever seen. Next, I had lunch (at their recommendation)with a bunch of Stepford wives and other beautiful people at the Everett Street bistro. It was good, and not nearly as expensive as you'd think, in spite of the Stepford wives.

I really like Portland. It's a very friendly town and pretty affordable compared with a lot of other places. Still, I've met (actually exceeded) my spending limit, so I'm ready to head home.

See you all tomorrow!

Day Two

This was supposed to be my big Powell's Day, and it was, in a way, but to be honest, I only made it through the New Releases and Cooking sections before becoming quite overwhelmed. The place is almost like...a city of books, or something. I then moved on to Whole Foods, where I stumbled across a VERY exciting find, which I'll tell you about when I get home. I can only think of two people who will be as excited as I am, and one of them knows about it already. Still, I'm pretty pleased.

Not much else to report. I've pretty much reached my spending limit, so I'm not exactly sure what I'll do tomorrow, but I'll figure something out.

Five hours, forty-five dollars...

Three glasses of pretty-darned-good cote du rhone, one order of really good goat cheese ravioli, one order of REALLY good pork medallions in spiced-apple sauce, two glasses of more-than-pretty-good Nebbiolo, and one out-f***ing-standing pizza funghi e prosciutto!

I started my evening at Lucy's Table and finished at a place called Touche (all within 4 or 5 blocks of my hostel). In between these two establishments, I turned down a dinner offer from an old man named Scott, whose business card indicated that he was affiliated with the "Universe University." I was tempted to accept his offer for a "free drink from an old, strange man", but I resisted. I ate my pizza alone and made my way back to the HI Northwest Guesthouse, which is clean, friendly, and almost empty. I'm sharing my six-bed dorm with two Japanese rommates (no Australians in sight, for once!), and all is quiet.

So here I am, safe and sound (Mom!). More tomorrow.

Home! (second try)

After twelve or so hours of travel, I'm back and ready to crawl into my own (non-inflatable) bed. My last day in Quebec was lovely. I walked through most of the old city, had lunch at a Lonely Planet-recommended restaurant which was hosting its 2nd annual "Grilled Cheese Festival", took the Funiculaire back up the hill, and then returned to the hostel for a short nap followed by a glass of wine and dinner with two fellow hostellers from Switzerland (I'm starting to think that I REALLY like the Swiss, based on the handful I've met) and a long evening in bed with--no, dear readers, NOT the Swiss girls --THE HUMMINGBIRD'S DAUGHTER, a novel which I had picked up thinking it would be good, fluffy vacation reading, but which is actually fantastic.

It was quite an adventure, and I'm flattered (and somewhat surprised) to hear that so many of you (aside from the "usual suspects") enjoyed reading about it! Stay tuned for "Mer's 30th in Paris" (assuming that financial circumstances don't force me to downgrade it to "Mer's 30th at the Parkway Tavern"), coming some time between June and December of 2008 ("Big" birthday celebrations should start at least six months in advance, shouldn't they?).

Bon Soiree!

My clothes from yesterday still arent dry, but...

The clouds have parted here in Quebec City, at least for a while, so I may get a chance to actually SEE some of the town today.

Yesterday, after posting my last message, I walked over to the Basilique Notre Dame and, mostly to get a break from the rain, took a guided tour of the church. It ended up being one of the best cathedral tours Ive taken. Ive noticed that the Quebecois seem to favor drama and heroism over accuracy and fairness in their historical accounts, which is great if youre looking for entertainment more than education. After the basilique, I visited the Museum of French-America, which contains a number of exhibits chronicling the heroic journey of the French in North America, their trials and tribulations, their battles with the savage natives and the evil Brits. Not a bad way to spend a rainy afternoon.

After a quick nap back at the hostel, I went downstairs to the hostel bar and sipped a pint of Quebecois beer while chatting with the first sober Australian Ive met on my journey so far. After that, I went in search of dinner and ended up choosing a near-empty Moroccan place just down the street from the hostel (Steve, in response to your comment: in QC, Moroccan seems to be the new Vietnamese--cheap, friendly, reliable, and tourist-free). I chatted with my bored waitress while sipping my harira (perfect on a cold, wet night) and nibbling on lamb kebabs. At the end of the meal, she brought me Moroccan mint tea and perhaps the best baklava Ive ever tasted. After dinner, I returned to the hostel bar for another pint and had a lovely conversation with two young women from Japan (also my roommates) who had just finished an ESL program in Vancouver; this morning, while I was at breakfast (I went back to Le Petit Coin Latin for their giant bowl of cafe au lait and a fantastic ham and cheese bagel), they left a note on my pillow which read Nice to see you! Now we gonna go to Montreal. Thanks!

Now I'm off to make the most of my last day in town. If all goes well, I will be back in town tomorrow evening.

Cold, Wet Greetings from Quebec City

I arrived yesterday afternoon, and, as expected, the computers at the hostel are indefinitely out of order.

The train ride from Montreal to QC was beautiful. Once you get an hour or so north of Montreal, the flat farm land turns into rolling hills, and this far north, the trees are just beginning to change color, so it was a lovely trip. The weather was beautiful yesterday, but today its (again, pardon the lack of apostrophes) windy, rainy and all-around nasty. Not surprisingly, being a Pacific Northwesterner, I'm handling it much better than everyone else.

The hostel here is enormous and much more hotel-like than Le Sous-bois, but it is clean and I have found no sign of fleas. Even better, theres a bar downstairs where you can get a pint for just $4! That's a real bargain around here!

Last night, because I was tired and unfamiliar with the city, I chose a so-called French restaurant on the main tourist drag for dinner. Afterward, I felt the way victims always feel--violated, ashamed, as though I should have known better, as though I could have somehow prevented this from happening to me. Now, I feel the only thing I can do is educate others. So if you come here, no matter how enticed you are by the handsome waiters lingering outside the front door, no matter how romantic the accordion music coming from within may sound, no matter how hungry you are, DO NOT eat at Cafe Paris. If you do, you will find yourself sipping a $10 glass of Yellow-Tail-ish wine (no, I'm not saying theres anything wrong with Yellow Tail, but those of you who drink it know that a BOTTLE of the stuff doesn't cost $10) and nibbling on leathery meat and a dessicated, foil-wrapped (yup, I'm serious) baked potato while the accordionist hovers near your table playing Moon River for the seventh time since you sat down. If you order dessert, you may get a slice of cheesecake that is ABSOLUTELY NOT cheesecake and a really lousy cup of coffee (and bad coffee is pretty hard to find in these parts).

The food situation improved greatly at breakfast. As much as I hate being tied to a guidebook, I have to admit that the Lonely Planet folks know what they are talking about when it comes to restaurants, so I chose a spot called Le Petit Coin Latin for breakfast; here, I had a fantastic omelette and a perfect cafe au lait for about $10 (thats about $9 American--not much more than Id pay for breakfast at home).

The rain appears to be letting up a bit, so Im off to explore--and find an ATM. I FINALLY figured out that my debit card troubles were due to the fact that cash machines here accept EITHER Visa or Mastercard, but not both, and Mastercard is more commonly used in Canada. Finding an ATM that accepts Visa takes a little more time, but once you find one, theres no problem.

Until tomorrow...

Bagels and Poutine

Today I've been taking advantage of the comfortably cool weather and walking all over the city. I started the day in Mile End, which was for many years a predominately Hasidic neighborhood. Today it's still known for having the best bagels in town, which was my main reason for going. I stopped off at St. Viateur Bagel, where a hot-from-the-oven "Montreal style" bagel costs fifty cents. Delicious! The neighborhood is also fantastic for people-watching: how many places on the West Coast can you see orthodox Jews in traditional garb driving Hummers while text-messaging?

Next, as promised, I walked back down to the Plateau du Mont Royal to relax with a beer and an order of poutine (french fries with gravy and cheese curds) at a tiny hole-in-the-wall called Patati-Patata. The poutine, not surprisingly, was decadent and wonderful, and thanks to the hearty dose of Pepto-Bismol I took beforehand, I'm feeling just fine.

Now I'm headed back to the hostel to plan out my last night in Montreal. The only neighborhood I've yet to visit is the Latin Quarter, so that might be my destination for dinner (though it will probably be quite a while before I'm ready to eat).

Tomorrow I catch the train to Quebec City. Assuming that the "free internet" there is as unreliable as it is here, it may take a while to find an internet connection, but I'll be in touch as soon as I can.

Parc Du Mont Royal: EVERY LAST INCH OF IT!

Now that I've purchased another hour of internet time, here's the rest of the story from last night. After Luis, Cristian and I had finished our dinner, Luis left to catch his train to New York. Cristian went to see him off, so I was alone with the snotty Aussie girls and some newcomers, a group of three underaged sailors from New York who were already very intoxicated and behaving like, well, a bunch of drunken sailors.

Then I met Rebecca, a bubbly (or so I thought--later I discovered that she was just drunk) 20-year-old from Ireland and her quiet, sober companion, Kira. They, too, had been shunned by the Aussie girls, so we quickly formed an alliance. After introductions and small-talk, they told me that an "interesting" guy named Roy (you all remember Roy) had offered to take them to the St. James oratory to check out the best view of the city. They asked if I wanted to go along, and I reluctantly agreed after rounding up another male hosteller (James, the quiet guy from Wales) to go along (partly to be polite, and partly because Roy is "interesting"--I figured another male presence couldn't hurt). We took the Metro to St. James and began the long, long hike to the top. The view was indeed worth the hike; from here, the highest point in Montreal, you can see the entire city on a clear night. After taking in the view, Roy asked if we would prefer to keep walking or to go back down the hill and find a place for a late-night coffee (by this time it was after midnight). I was more in favor of coffee, but the Irish girls (especially the drunk one) were REALLY excited about more walking. Being on west coast time, I wasn't tired, so I agreed. Long story short, we arrived back at the hostel just after four o'clock this morning after having walked to the top of the oratory, through ALL of the Westmount neighborhood AND the Parc du Mont Royal, and, because the Metro was no longer running and the buses were running irregularly, most of Downtown. Roy, the one who "knows the city like the back of his hand, was mostly to blame for this. Today, my legs ache, my feet are torn to shreds, I'm still dehydrated, and I am no longer speaking to Roy.

I'm headed back to the hostel now to change for dinner. The heatwave broke last night, and today has been sunny and warm without a trace of humidity. It should be a good night for wandering around--even better now that I have money.

Tomorrow I'm planning to attend a service at the Anglican Church of St. James the Apostle, then (finally!) set out in search of some bagels.

Still Here...

I've been out of touch for a few days because the free internet at the hostel is, well, pretty much what you'd expect from free internet. Nonetheless, after just two hours of walking and metro-riding, I found an internet cafe that was actually open. So here I am!

Life at Le Sous-bois hasn't been a picnic these last two days. For one thing, there was a heat wave, which just ended last night. It was 90/90 (90 degrees, 90 percent humidity) Thursday and yesterday, which would have been miserable even if I'd had an air-conditioned room to go back to. I didn't. The rubber mattresses didn't help the situation any. Secondly, there seems to be a bit of a problem with FLEAS. Thankfully, they haven't made it to my end of the building yet, but the other side of the place is infested, and the people sleeping there are miserable. Last but not least (wait til you hear this), the place has no COLD water. I've been bathing, brushing my teeth, and washing my face with scalding hot water. Something tells me that in the winter, when it's bitterly cold, there's no hot water. It would only be fair wouldn't it.

But there's good stuff, too. Thursday started out as somewhat of a disappointment. I slept in, then took the bus to Little Italy and walked around for an hour or so until it became so oppressively hot that I decided to head back. I napped for an hour or so, got up and went out for a walk. For dinner I had an over-priced ham and cheese crepe and an even more over-priced bottle of Quebcois beer (which was excellent, by the way). Things got MUCH more interesting, though, when I returned to the hostel. The NEW group of Aussie girls (not nearly as friendly as the first group) had left for the bars (makeup applied, big hair and halter tops in place), and I was left with a small, eccentric group who had stayed behind either because they weren't interested in the club scene or because they had no money.

So I spent the evening sipping beers on the patio with Roy, a middle-aged Canadian who was born "overseas" and lived in the U.S. for many years. He's hoping to go back as soon as he "clears some things up". We were later joined by David, a native of Quebec City who's just found work in Montreal and is staying at the hostel while he looks for an apartment. David moves furniture for a living, but he's only doing that until he can save enough money to fulfill his life-long dream of producing a film about human encounters with extraterrestrial beings. He thinks he has absolute proof of alien life and wants to share such proof with the people of Canada. His film would never be shown in the States, he insists, because "the government wouldn't allow it." Finally, we were joined by two college students from Mexico named Luis and Cristian--two charming, polite boys who a) speak very little English, and b) have camera-phone footage of their best friend's encounter with an alien. Don't think for a moment that I'm making this up, or even that I'm exaggerating. I was awake until after 2am translating--it had been years since I'd had a lengthy conversation in Spanish, and suddenly I was having to come up with translations for terms like "magnetic field" and "government conspiracy"! But all is well: the three have exchanged contact information and David has promised to give them a cut of any profit he makes from his film. (side note: the video was, I have to admit, pretty damn creepy; Luis is going to e-mail it to me when he gets back to Mexico).

Yesterday I had lunch with Abby from Philadelphia at a mediocre burger place on Rue St. Paul. After lunch, we sought refuge in the air-conditioned Museum of Modern Art, and later in an air-conditioned coffee shop while sipping American-sized iced beverages. After that, we took the Metro back down to Atwater Market to buy ingredients for the dinner I was planning to prepare with Luis and Cristian later that night. The meal (penne with baby eggplant, baby zucchini, cherry tomatoes, and a bunch of other stuff I couldn't resist buying at the market) turned out great, and since there was so much left, several other guys from the hostel (who had been outside smoking their "special cigarettes") offered five dollars a plate for it. I agreed, mostly because I hadn't been able to find an ATM that would accept my card and I thought the cash would come in handy (Mom: this problem has been resolved; we won't have to resort to Western Union).

NEXT INSTALLMENT: ME, ROY, TWO DRUNKEN IRISH GIRLS AND QUIET WELSHMAN ON MONT ROYAL.

The Australians are All out Drinking...

So I'm pretty much alone here at Le Sous-bois, with nothing much to do but write about this evening's activities.

I started with the "Light and Sound Show" at Notre Dame, which was horrible in an entertaining sort of way. As you enter, you are given a headset with audio commentary in your language of choice. You see that the altar and all of the stained-glass windows are covered with enormous sheets. The lights go out, and a video begins; it starts with Christ on the cross, then jumps ahead 1600 years to when the French send missionaries to the New World to save the native savages. It's not just propaganda; it's badly-acted, dubbed propaganda. At the end of the film, the curtains drop, and you see the cathedral in all its glory. It's gorgeous, and you're allowed to stay for fifteen whole minutes to look at it. The film, by the way, is entitled, "And then there was Light." Enough said.

Now to the good stuff. I had dinner at Boris Bistro on Rue McGill. This place has been written up in every guidebook imaginable. I think this is generally a good reason to avoid a restaurant, as such write-ups usually mean the place will be swamped with tourists who have read about it. But since there appears to be NO ONE in Montreal at the moment (except Australians, and their even rowdier counterparts, the Kiwis), I decided to give it a try. It was a good call. The place was practically empty, so my incredibly adorable, incredibly flirty waiter had little to do but shower me with attention. He complimented my wine choice (even though they were out of that particular wine--he brought me another one that he thought was "suitable"), applauded me for finishing my duck risotto AFTER eating the goat cheese with caponnata, and encouraged me to order dessert ("It's small, and you don't have to eat it all"). When I requested a glass of port to go along with the dessert, he brought me approximately eight ounces of it. Finally, when I finished the dessert, he commented with a wink, "It's easy to finish, no? It doesn't have to be big to be intense." Oh, to be able to pull off a double-entendre with such class!

Then I walked, very slowly, back to Le Sous-bois, where the drunken Australians/Kiwis, who had not only decided that they LOVE me, but also that my name should be Priscilla (not in reference to any Queen of the Desert, but rather to the "Priscilla" for whom someone had repeatedly been calling on the hostel's public phone), were about to set out for the bars on Plateau de Mont Royal. I imagine they'll be back around 4am, so I'd better get some sleep before I have to serve as guardian for an 18-year-old who needs to get their stomach pumped.

Tomorrow: Supposedly, I'm TOTALLY having lunch with the Australian girls (you know, because they LOVE me). If that doesn't work out (meaning if they forget how much they TOTALLY love me and how they HAVE to have lunch with me before they leave), I'll be heading directly to the Plateau...in search of that classic quebecois treat: poutine! I've got 38 out of 40 Pepto-Bismol tablets left. BRING IT ON!

NOTE: the keyboard has suddenly switched to German, so I apologize for any weird punctuation issues.

I Made It!

As some of you know, yesterday did not start out well, and as the plane was about to land, I found myself wishing I could turn right around and go home. Then two things happened: as the plane touched down, all of the french-speakers around me (and probably all the french-speakers on the plane) burst into applause; next, the little girl seated in front of me looked out the window and shouted bon jour, Montréal! I realized then that if the natives were this happy to be back home, it must be a good place. Things began to look up.

The taxi ride from the airport was the most uneventful (i.e., least terrifying) I have ever experienced--the driver never went more than ten miles over the speed limit, and, to top it all off, he was friendly!

My hostel, Le Sous-bois, is located in a great neighborhood, right between Notre Dame Cathedral and Place Jacque Cartier. It is a terribly hip place, and everyone here is a LOT younger than I am. Also, the bunks are equipped not with actual mattresses, but with inflatable ones (Aerobeds!), so I am essentially sleeping on an ice cube coated in rubber. Still, it is clean, and most of the aforementioned teenagers are not American, which helps, but I am thinking I may have to reconsider my accomodations in Quebec City. I think my hostelling days are officially over (all it took was one rubber mattress).

So I started my morning with cafe au lait and pain chocolat at the coffee shop next door. My barista was handsome and amiable and, upon learning that I live near Seattle, wanted to know all about Starbucks: how many are there, are there any coffee shops besides starbucks (private ones), what do the locals think of it, etc. (note: this is a french keyboard and I cannot figure out how to make a question mark). Then he asked, do you want a good cafe au lait, or an excellent cafe au lait (question mark). Obviously, I wanted the excellent one, which he promptly prepared for me while sharing his views on why Starbucks sucks.

Next, I walked along Rue Notre Dame to Marchè Atwater, Montréals (note: the apostrophe key does not work either) giant public market, where I spent several hours gazing longingly at imported olive oils and vinegars (looks like I will be checking my baggage on the way home...), giant hunks of every kind of cheese you can imagine, tubs of seasoned olives and pickled vegetables, and enormous baskets of about 500 kinds of bread. I made my way back to the hostel (on the subway this time, as the map had made the market look much closer than it actually is) with a chunk of cave-aged gruyère, a petite bagette, and two small containers of olives. I am nibbling on what is left of those as I write this.

Other things I like about this city: the people are VERY friendly and there seem to be very few Americans here (although there are lots of Australians, and I have to say that they are nearly as bad as we Americans are when it comes to loudness, crankiness, and outright refusal to learn even one word of a foreign language).

Tomorrow I will report on the much-talked-about light and sound show at Notre Dame Cathedral and this evenings dinner.

Lots of love!