We spent the first day making fun of the Chateau Frontenac - bellowing "Frawnt-en-nawc" in our snootiest accent. It'll set you back 500 Clams a night (500 US clams? Canadian? Does it matter?). It's a big gawdy castle, and I'm sure it was drafty in there. There are 600 rooms over 18 floors, and there's an ice cream place on the boardwalk next to it. In other words, it's a place you brag about staying, without necessarily enjoying your stay there.
Walkin'
If there's a common theme to what vacation spots attract Amy and I, they are places you can walk in. You don't need a car to go across 7 lanes of traffic to get ... well, across the street. But some stair climbing might be involved - see left. Part of the walled city is actually a giant hill. Very convenient, if you're a wall builder. You'll be building this wall down and - blammo - there's this giant cliff and you get the day off!
Our host is a native Quebecois whose husband is from Morocco. On both mornings, our breakfast table is bilingual, and there's almost no clues as to who will speak what. There are couples from New Jersey, Toronto, Ottawa and close by ... the guy from New Jersey speaks very fluent French, but his wife none at all. A few Quebecois speak both, and they switch between them. I catch bits and pieces of the French portion.
But here's the thing. When you try to jump in with survival-French, a bilingual will just switch to English. I might not sure why - it may be for comfort, but it may also be a cliquey sort of "we are a closed club" and they don't want you to join. (Parisians will speak to you in French patiently, even if yours is crummy.) There is a strained, long history of Franco-English relations ... and it feels like I've stepped in a flaming bag of dog poo.
Speaking of dog poo, we spent a day with modern art. OK, cheap shot. The Musee National des Beaux Arts de Quebec had once been the home to ancient art masterpieces, which Montreal slowly pilched over the years. Left with beautiful museum buildings (actually their former prisons, but whatever), Quebec filled them with 20th century modern art, which Amy and I both adore. The ant sculpture to the left is a quote from one of the paintings, and the color is weird and wonderful. They had a great exhibit of Paul a Quebec, the semi-autobiographical comic strip that's very richly emotional. Our favorite artist was Jean Paul Lemieux, who in a certain sense, is the most classic of the modernists there. His images are stark and there doesn't seem to be a lot of detail until you look really closely. He is very fond of human beings, but he doesn't let them off the hook. The third day, we visited the Museum of Civilization - very thoughtful, but all over the map. There are native exhibits mixed with the history of Quebec. The carriage exhibit was a real hoot. You think that designers put a lot of thought into cars, but carriages were beautiful and sweeping in their own right, and will probably last longer.
Vegetables?
OK, if you're a vegetarian, you'll starve in Quebec. It's survival of the fittest. If you've got snow six months of the year, and an Elk is staring you down for that last potato ... you gotta do what you gotta do. Still, a Canadian carnivore doesn't eat the volume of a meat as, say, a Texan. It's respectable - more European.
We ate at Le Hobbit the first night. No lembas here - the owner just named it that because Hobbits love food and drink. Understandable. I had duck duo - a nice filet on one side of the plate and confit encrusted in pistachios and deep-fat fried. Oh so good! Duck is not quite the dense delicacy it is in France, but it comes close.
The second night we ate at Restaurant La Guelle De Bois, which means "Hangover" in French. The walls were filled with strangely cobbled-together art, and the menu was very small, "but everything is good," said our waiter. Indeed! We started with Elk Carpaccio mixed with radish coins in a mustard sauce. Then a fresh yellow beet salad ... wait, we didn't order that. But mmmm it tasted so good! About 5 minutes later the waiter came out and said, "Ooops, that was for another table. But enjoy!" For the entree, Amy had duck and I had venison. Lemme tell you - if the deer hanging out in our backyard could taste as good as my entree, I'd be out wrestling them to the ground.
Butchering the Language
So Amy had booked us his-and-her massages at a Spa in the walled city Very cool. I changed into my bathrobe and figured ... well, we had 15 minutes, so I decided to relax by the pool. I figured Amy would come in. But after while, no one had arrived. I picked up my towel and to show off my French, I said to the pool attendant - "J'ai oubliee ma marie" - I lost my wife. She laughed.
Two days later we were in the car going back to the Adirondacks. Amy was practicing her French. "Wow, this is interesting," she says. "The word femme means both woman and wife, but the two words for man and husband are separate - l'homme and le mari."
"Oh crap," I said. "I told the pool attendant 'I lost my husband.' " Oh well. I guess it was funny either way. I reached into a bag of poutine Ruffles and thought "C'est la vie."
