Winter a là Montréal

I just got back from a trip to Montréal, Canada; I had never visited our fair neighbors to the North, so when a friend of mine, Emily, decided to throw her 27th birthday bash in Quebec's capitol, I was jumped at the chance to go. We left bright and early on Saturday morning in the midst of a pouring rainstorm. As we took turns inching the car through mountain fog so thick you couldn't see past the hood, we were starting to wonder if the weather had it in for us. The clouds thinned as we approached the boarder about three hours later, and I handed our passports to the stern woman manning the crossing station. This was my first encounter with the odd Qubecian accent - the mix of French and hardcore Canadian is one I don't think I could hope to replicate or even describe properly. Suffice to say, I had to concentrate to understand her, as I spit out answers as to where we from and where we were going, why, who to see, the name of our hotel, how long we'd be staying. When they asked if we had a reservation, I paused for a millisecond, thinking about the crash space on Emily's floor we were planning on inhabiting, before just spouting "yes!" much to the relief of my car-mates. She waved us through, and Bethany and I switched places and headed into Canada.

Now, I had known Quebec was a French-speaking province, but I was completely unprepared for just how foreign, and un-Canadian it was. I had seen pics of my brother's trip to Niagara falls in Ontario, and my grandmother's vacation to Vancouver. Both of those had been more of what I had expected from Canada: a very American-like place, only more friendly, if not always better looking. But Quebec was completely different; I felt like I had when I had landed in London.

First of all, it is not a bilingual place. Despite their French origins, I had assumed that Quebec (or at least Montréal) would also be English speaking, considering that the rest of Canada spoke English and they were so close to the U.S. boarder. As such, I also thought that written signs would be in both French and English, kind of like signs are in Boston's Chinatown. Not so. As soon as we crossed the boarder, all of the road signs were completely in French, and the measures for distances and speed limits in km. It was a good thing both Bethany and I speak French, or we would have been completely lost. It was a fascinating experience to navigate, and I found I remembered and understood a lot more of the language than I had thought.

This European vibe got stronger as we arrived in the city. We managed to find our way in without a problem, but had to ask directions to get to the hotel in Centre-Ville. The city was quite beautiful, although not as nice as anything I had seen overseas. By then it was 3:30 pm, and we still hadn't eaten all day. After checking in at the lovely Plaza Hotel, we took to the city streets in search of some holdover food before we met Emily and the rest of her entourage for dinner at 6. It had begun to snow lightly, which made for a much nicer atmosphere than the rain we had experienced earlier. The architecture was strange; a complex mix of the old, the new, and the ugly. The city was somewhat mishmashed that way, which made for a questionable effect overall.

However, what really made Montréal feel European was the people rather than the place. Everyone spoke French, everywhere. I managed to make it by with my decent conversational French for the most part, but on the occasions when I had to speak English, the people I spoke to struggled with it. No one seemed put off by English, however - they were all quite friendly and helpful - they just clearly had almost no experience speaking it. Also, the style of dress was very fashionable in a continental European way. I'm proud to say I fit in on this front; a few European childhood friends of mine go to school at McGill, so when choosing my clothes for the weekend I asked myself what they would wear.

We ended up at the really cute Café Vienne near our hotel to eat; I was able to recall enough French to order some hot chocolate and a cheese croissant. We settled in at a table by the windows, reading the Quebec newspaper (en français!) and did some people watching. It was a blast just to sit back and allow the exoticness of the place to just waft around me, listening to snippets of foreign yet understandable words drift past, the smell of a cigarette the table over. If there's one thing I really miss about being abroad it's good cafés.

We also explored the city's Metro which was very clean, efficient, and easy to understand despite the lack of English. I had no more trouble navigating it than I do the T, which, considering that I am slightly directionally challenged (despite that I'm a really good navigator - figure that one out) is saying a lot. Definitely much more user-friendly than New York's system or the London Underground. The stations were cool and very futuristic, spouting plasma screen TVs over the tracks with news and weather broadcasts, and also timers showing the passengers how many minutes until the next train arrived. ALL SUBWAYS SHOULD HAVE THESE! It was awesome. We also got a free ride since no one was at the ticket booth when we got on, so we just jumped over the turnstile. When we returned there, the ticket guy was back with a couple of cops, looking through security footage and watching the people who came out. We booked it rather quickly. We may be wanted for freeloading in Canada now.

After our minor adventure, we went back to the hotel to change for the evening's festivities. After primping for a bit, we met up with Emily and the rest of the gang and headed to a trés chic Thai restaurant a few boulevards away. We sat at a long table, covered in oil candles and flowers floating in water. At the head sat a large Buddha statue covered in flowers. I chatted with the people sitting around me, and met a couple of really interesting post-docs as I sipped at my wine. We were starved by that time, and I was determined not to get drunk before I had eaten properly. Finally the waiter came around with our meals, enshrined in blue and white porcelain display dishes and pots. They were eerily similar in appearance to the set my Mom has from England. The food was fantastic despite my hunger; I had gotten chicken roasted in peanut sauce with a side of thin, crispy spinach and white rice. It was the best Thai food I'd ever eaten.

By the time we were done it was only 9-ish, so we headed to a local bar to kill some time before the party started at 10. I hadn't had a white russian in ages, so I downed a few of those. Since we were the only ones in the bar, we convinced the bartender to change the large screen TV from the local hockey game to the Patriots playoff game (how did we do that in Canada!) and watched them slowly lose. Luckily, I was getting tipsy enough not to care.

At 10 we walked over to "The Nest": a loft over an egg-packing factory which Em had rented for the party. It sounds sketchy and it was - at first. We walked up to a nondescript door in the middle of an alley. The panel on the door slid back to reveal Emily's eyes like an old speakeasy. The atmosphere changed considerably once the door swung open, however. We climbed a flight of stairs to reveal a spacious loft, which would have made a kickass apartment had it been one. It had nice wooden floors, white columns, and a high ceiling. One wall had a large window which looked into the small room off the back - Emily had covered it in white paper and had set up her computer to project a slide show of all her photos onto the window all evening. Her DJ friends had set up an awesome system and were spinning tunes, and there was a full spread at the bar, complete with B-Day cake and a piñata.

So we danced, drank, ate cake, and whacked at the piñata until almost 4 in the morning before stumbling back to the hotel and falling into an exhausted sleep. This morning we woke to find it was gorgeously sunny out, albeight freezing. The temps had plunged during the evening and the wind was whipping. We had to leave by noonish to get me and Ari home in time for work, and I regretted not being able to play tourist as I gazed out at the view from our 17th floor window. We headed to our new favorite café for a delightful breakfast before beginning the long drive home. I drove 4 hours of the trip, and got into a slight pickle as the salt from the road blinded the windshield as I changed lanes, and Bethany's window washing liquid dispenser had froze shut. We managed to limp off the highway to a gas station and unfreeze it manually using a pen.

We got home about 5 minutes before I had to be at work, but I had a blast and met some awesome peeps. I really want to go back and see more of the city.