So, after scrounging around for cat sitters, making sure the Saturn had enough oil in it, randomly throwing stacks of clothes into a dufflebag, and 3 hours of sleep (more like 1/2 an hour), I began my long roadtrip at 2:15am, July 2nd, 2005.
I went from Virginia around DC to Maryland, through Baltimore, into Delaware, New Jersey, then into New York. Going through New York was the longest bit of the journey. Driving through the Adirondacks was beautiful - miles and miles of green mountains. Eventually awe gave way to paranioa as I got nervous about not having any cell phone signal and the condition of my car.
When I finally got to the border, I had to wait in line for an hour to get through customs. I didn't ask what information the customs officer wanted - I just handed her my passport, insurance card, driver's license, and auto registration. Can't say which of the documents I submitted were actually necessary, though. The border guard was an attractive young lady who seemed slightly suspicious that I drove up there with no set schedule, no plans to visit anyone in particular, and no hotel reservations. She had no problems letting me through, though - I s'pose that's because I had more than the requisite documentation.
Just beyond the border, the landscape changed dramatically. All of a sudden, the grassy fields were rougher looking though they were dotted with wildflowers. No longer measured in miles, speed limit signs and mile markers were in kilometers.
Traffic in downtown Montreal was worse than anything I've ever seen, but it turned out to be the result of detours due to major street closures for the Montreal Jazz Festival.
Because of the heat and humidity, all day Sunday was spent like this:
- walking around the city for 2 hours
- going back to the hotel to
- cool off
- shower
- change clothes
- repeat
The two most enjoyable places in Montreal for me were Old Montreal and Rue Saint-Denis.
Old Montreal:
Old Montreal was founded in 1642, and the evidence this city is 363 years old is everywhere
in its narrow brick streets. Most of the shops are restaurants and trinket shops. I got my
fill of t-shirts and fridge magnets.
Rue Saint-Denis:
Rue Saint-Denis is in the Latin Quarter of the city. What makes it the Latin Quarter, I've no
idea. Everyone here looked and sounded the same as everywhere else in the city. This is where
many of the best restaurants seemed to be. I stepped into a cyber-cafe and bought internet usage
time and sent dozens of emails saying "Guess what, y'all, I'm in Montreal!"
Note: If you go to Rue Saint-Denis, there's no need to go beyond Boulevard Rene-Levesque -
it's pretty much the red-light district. Try and stay on Rue Saint-Denis between Rue Ontario and Boulevard Rene-Levesque.
While walking up the street, a pretty but noticably
messed up woman slurred her words as she asked me if I'd like to get a room for an hour. I politely
thanked her, but said, "no thanks." I was a little too polite to tell her she smelled like she'd already
had her fill of rooms that day.
Blacque Jacque Shellacque
Note: this image borrowed from this site: http://tultw.com/pics/bjs.html
The most interesting person on the trip I met was a 65 year old man in Les 3 Brasseurs named Rod or Ron, or something. He had such a thick, almost caricature french accent: it reminded me of the cartoon character Blacque Jacque Shellacque, who once locked horns with Bugs Bunny.
He told me his life story, including how he came from a family of 21 children. During the 1940s, the Canadian government was giving out 500 acre plots of land for every male child a family had, so there would be men to work the lumber. He mentioned that their nearest neighbor had 24 children, the first 9 of which were born as triplets over the course of three years (not 100% I believe that). With no doctor in this wilderness area of Quebec, they had a nurse responsible for delivering the children, and is said to have birthed over 5000 children during her career. Rod (we'll call him) spent his early years working heavy equipment.
Rod said that he feels that the split of Quebec into its own country is inevitable, as more and more young people are fighting for it. He is looking forward to the day. His rationale was that when a country gets too big, it can't fully represent everybody. The example he gave was the former Soviet Republic. I tried to interject that there's quite a difference between the massive former Soviet Empire and the comparatively small Canada, but it was impossible to get a word in edgewise. It was great talking to him, though.
It was one of the highlights of the trip - that and eating a dish of poutine. Poutine is a heavenly mix of french fries, gravy, and cheese curds.
Here are some observations of Montreal: