At the Corner of Knollwood and Garland: Ooooo Canada!

Since realizing we were all knocked up and such in February 2011, we have talked about our next vacation. And by vacation, we meant "going somewhere new without a child in E, on E, or... near E." Because otherwise, it wouldn't have been a vacation. It would have been a trip.

Originally, we wanted to go to France. But that would have cost us two days in travel and probably another three days in salary. So we chose the next best thing: French Canada. It's a shorter flight than NYC, you need a passport to get in, and the official language isn't English. Now, I know what you're saying: "Is Canada really a different country?" You're the reason the terrorists hate us.

After years of planning, waiting, anticipating, and more waiting, it finally came on a Friday night. We arrived at the hotel at around 11:30, which was the perfect time to drag a thoroughly exhausted E to a pizza place. The pizza was average at best **USA ALL THE WAY** but the ten minutes sitting across the street on the steps of a building from the 1600's, waiting for the pizza while watching the surprisingly hot nightlife of Old Montreal unfold, was amazing. It was a terrific, special moment.

Old Montreal was fantastic. It felt very Old World European, and was a great walking city. Everything was in French first, but English was still readily available--when locals spoke in English, you often could not detect a French accent, everybody greeted us with a "Bonjour! Hi!", and most signs were in both languages. This was different than what we eventually experienced in Quebec City, where not everyone spoke English, most accents were heavily French, the standard greeting did not include English, and signs were in French-only.

While in Montreal, we stayed at the San Soucy, a nine-room boutique hotel built in the 1700s. It was nice, but not nearly as nice as the manager. He was the hotel manager you always dream of, assuming you dream of hotel managers. Which neither of us ever have because that's bizarre. He knew everything there was to know about Canada. His dinner recommendation was divine. His pastry shop recommendation was even better. And he told us what to do and look for when we got to Quebec City. We love him and miss him everyday. What we do not do everyday is refer to him by his real name, which we never bothered to learn. He looked like a Peter but sounded like a Franco.

After two great days in Montreal, which included being disappointed by famous Montreal bagels but having our minds blown by famous Montreal poutine, we took a romantic evening train ride to Quebec City. When we arrived at the station, we took a harrowing, grossly negligent, but I must admit, really efficient, cab drive to our hotel, Delta Quebec. We were excited to stay at the Delta, which is a popular Canadian hotel chain that we thought would be on par with Sheratons here in the States. And it was, albeit Sheratons in the 1970s. For Pete's sake, the escalator stair case was painted cinder blocks. But the bed was comfy and the 10th floor view of residental Quebec City was prestine, so we took it.

When we originally planned this trip, the idea was to go to Montreal, with a quick day trip to Quebec City. However, as we told more people about it, we kept hearing we should go to both cities equally. So we did. Which we probably wouldn't do again. Quebec City was cool--the fortified portion of the city is very European, and really, really old. But it is also painfully touristy. There are t-shirt shops everywhere. Just like during the French Revolution.

That said, Quebec City did have St. Jean Street, which featured oodles of quaint little cafes and grocery stores. Among the cafes was Le Hobbit, which is now my favorite restaurant in the world. It was basically just a little French cafe with sidewalk seating. The food was fabulous, the coffee was fabulous, the atmosphere was fabulous, and the people watching was fabulous. So yeah, we liked it.

Quebec City features the most photographed hotel in the world, the Chateau Frontenac. We considered staying there, but decided there were better ways to spend $400. So instead, we just planned on getting a drink there on our last night. We talked about it the entire trip and really looked forward to it. We then got there, saw the bar was full, walked around, saw it looked just like every other 100 year old luxury hotel in world, and left. It does get high marks for being enormous and extravagant. And the view of the hotel, which is in the Upper Town, from the Lower Town, was like something out of a Disney movie. A Disney movie about a Canadian town without a hockey team. It would make zero dollars and zero cents. But the Cinderella-like view of the Frontenac would still be awesome.

So, that was our trip in a nutshell. We loved it. It was slow, it involved a lot of zoning out, and we were together. It was exactly what we wanted. When it was over, we got back home to Matthew sprinting down the driveway and giving both of us explosively celebratory hugs. Thea gave us similar hugs, although her sprint was more of a wobble. Not too shabby. Not too shabby at all.

And know, photographic proof that we were there:

Place (read: plaza) d'Armes and a statue marks where French settlers defeated Iroquois warriors

Notre Dame Basilica of Montreal

La Maison Pierre du Calvet (Calvet House)
A 17th century building first owned by a French Huguenot family that supported the American Revolution. He met with Benjamin Franklin at this site in 1775. Calvet ended up in prison for 3 years because he gave money to the Americans.