We had a photo opportunity, a quick look at the Museum then it was off to be regaled by the Canadian Mounted Police.
Old Dudley Do Right would have turned in his animated grave. A total waste of time, I am afraid. We waited in a room that consisted of posters of mounted policemen, a model of a horse and carriage and the smell of horse shit for about 45 minutes, then our edge of the seat tour began. I thought, rightly or wrongly, possibly both, that a display of the finest Canadian mounted policemen would at least involve us seeing a man in a red jacket and a peaked hat. On a horse.
No. Did not see a single one. Zilch. No Mounties. We saw the arses of about a dozen horses in their stable, one particular arse doing what it does best in the middle of the group, then "are there any questions?"
Yes, I have one.
Why are we here?
Only the "top" royals can ride in this carriage
Silver lining was having 45 minutes to kill I got to ask the tour guide Gem for the location of a good medical centre, close to the hotel to try to sort my hip issue out. So, we did that. After an hour fifteen wait, I saw the little Muslim lady doctor who was lovely. I discovered that my blood pressure was high, probably due to the amount of anti inflammatories in my system. So she prescribed some muscle relaxants. Hoping they help.
Michele went out and saw some great tree sculptures.
Confession time. We ate Maccas for lunch. Not bad either.
Our night out was ok, a local pub, some local brews, a fair meal.
Ottawa was a surprise. Very little build up from our guides, so its beauty was unexpected. Loved the national pride we saw here, it is genuine. The English/French divide is in the centre of the town, the Ottawa River divides Ontario from Quebec. Our next venture will be interesting, travelling into the state of Quebec where it becomes French/English.
Parliament
Quebec
The journey to Quebec was pretty, but to be honest, the countryside here is quite flat and uninteresting. I would compare it to the drive from Sydney to Newcastle along the freeway, but with pines instead of gums. I feel like Mrs Richards complaining about the view from her window. "What do you expect to see from a bus driving through Canada? Sydney Opera House? The Hanging gardens of Babylon? That is Canada, sir." However, a little side journey brought us to Notre Dame Du Cap, a really strange little oasis where a weird looking church sits in the middle of a wide expanse of park (or perrk as our guide would say). The stations of the cross are impressive.
Big buggers. Almost as impressive as the black squirrels that I watched peeling and eating almonds like humans. They are Canada's cane toads, feral and everywhere. They come up close when you eat, like seagulls, it is a little bit creepy. They are just a little too confident if you ask me. If they teamed up with the raccoons all hell could break loose over here.
Our hotel in Quebec is a long way outside the old walls of the city, but it is ok, apart from the unreliable lifts. They have a mind of their own, like something from a Steven King novel, closing on people, going up when the arrow points down and generally messing with our minds. Luckily we are only here for two nights, because by October I reckon they will have taken over the hotel in a blood soaked orgy of violence. (Note to self: check medication dosage).
Michele and I ventured across to a Sports Store across from our hotel and bought a hiking pole for me to use as a walking stick. Guess who is feeling a bit old and grumpy? I feel like grandpa Joe, but if it works I don't care.
We ubered into Quebec City. It is magnificent. It is a European city in the middle of North America and we all loved it from the start. The Chateau Frontenac overlooks the wide St Lawrence River at its narrowest point (Quebec means narrow neck) and the quaint little streets are pure France.
Music playing in the streets, great little shops and eateries, green spaces and beautiful architecture. A funiculaire took us, the funiculees I suppose, down to the lower, oldest part of the town where we found a neat little bar and downed a couple. Then we funiculaired back up with a funiculaire full of funny full Aussies, just like us. Marty started to sing "Climb every Mountain" and the funiculair filled funsters all sang along, the last note went on and on as we stopped at the top. We all went our separate ways. It was insane. Alcohol, the social lubricant, we salute you.
Our next day was a tour with a local guide. He was engaging and interesting, with his quirky little accent. The big message was that this place is FRENCH, baby, not English, FRENCH. As French as ooh la la, Moulin Rouge and Gabriel Gateau. He sniped at Toronto and Montreal and put down the Brit history as often as he could, which is all a little mysterious. Very few signs are in English and I was flabbergasted to find there were people who had minimal English. They are French Canadian, not Canadian French! He was so proud of his city, though and rightly so. His tour showed us the old city walls, the battlefield park, Parc Champs du Bateille, the statue of Joan of Arc and spectacular views of the river.
That night we went out via Monmorency Falls for our tour dinner to the island of Orleans, whose rolling green hills were seen to advantage via our front seat in the bus. Oh, the magic of seat rotation! Had elk stew. Delicious. And Sugar Pie, which despite the dubious sounding name, was good. The best of this was getting to talk to Steve and Gem, some interesting insights into Canada, as well as telling them a few things about Oz. Once more, the fear of Australia's deadly creatures!! What is that? It's like Aussies are in a constant battle just to stay alive, battling through spider webs and crocodile infested storm water drains on the way to the office. Incredible.
Sugar Shack/Montreal
Off to the sugar shack for the silliest breakfast I have ever had. A mad French lady runs the sugar shack where all things Maple are made and sold. She explained how maple products are made from the extracted sap of the maple tree, then we had a huge breakfast family style. She ran from table to table, yelling at us to eat more, while a little goateed man sang French songs and played the accordion, urging us to sing along. We gave it a good shot, despite our limited knowledge of French folk tunes. By the time he handed out the percussion instruments we were full of maple syrup and caffeine and got stuck right in. Valderee Valderah got the treatment a la John Bonham as we percussed ourselves silly, belting out the chorus. All this at 8.00 am! The maple syrup high does some strange things to the unwary traveller.
Following this weird old excursion, we set off for the big smoke, Montreal.
We arrived in Montreal and lunched in a lovely park, where I was cornered by a strange little man on a park bench. Our chat was going well, until he slipped in that he was having conversations with CIA agents who had inside information on how the USA want to invade Canada.
Marty and Michele rescued me. We wandered Montreal, ate, then we toured the city with a guide. He was good, but I am toured out and wanted to just find somewhere to sit. But, all that aside, Montreal is big, busy and really lovely. We found a great bar that night, with a mural of The Last Supper of Rock Stars and a top blues band. It became a pub crawl.
A late night.
Michele and I said our farewells to John Debbie Marty and Maryanne this afternoon. They are off to the West Coast and Vegas and we are about to embark on our next stage. Iceland. Rug Up!!
Over 30km of underground shops. Subway station entries are inside buildings, not on the street. Six months of winter with -35 the norm, you can understand why.
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