Tag Archives: french


From Quebec City we travelled to Montreal – the second largest city in Canada, the fifteenth largest in North America, and the second largest French speaking city in the world after Paris.

Once again, our skills in booking accommodation in foreign countries online proved to be satisfactory, but not outstanding.  Despite booking months in advance we were given a decent enough room, but on the basement level of the hotel.  This offered new insight to the often overlooked functionality of curtains and the street floor level windows, when combined with our location on a busy street corner, a healthy amount of pedestrian traffic, and my unabashed comfort with the natural state of the human body, led to several mildly amusing incidents.

It is hard to tell if it is the area in which we stayed or if it is the status quo of larger cities in North America in general, but Montreal, like other cities we have visited so far, has an odd mix of old-world charm, modern development, and a quasi-liberal attitude that gives one a simultaneous admiration of the individual freedoms enjoyed, and a slight disgust at the apparent disparity in quality of life enjoyed by her people.

That’s an odd sentence, but to put it plainly; it seems that people are largely free to do what they want within reasonable bounds and free from persecution as long as their behaviour does not impact others – this extends to people openly flouting any number of minor laws that might otherwise be prosecuted harshly in Australia and broadcast on prime-time television.  However, homelessness and general poverty (possibly just because of the area in which we stayed?) are rife.  I’m not implying that the former is somehow a cause or effect of the latter, but the apparent effects of the latter on lifestyle (that is; businesses geared towards affordability, low cost food, economic diversity, semi-legimate goods) do appear to promote a much more Bohemian culture in general.

I digress.

Montreal is diverse; architecturally, culturally, ethnically and economically.  One could spend paragraphs attempting to explain the intangible, but screw it, here’s some pictures instead.

Montreal from the Mont Royal Chalet
Montreal from the Mont Royal Chalet
Montreal streetscape
Montreal streetscape
Montreal Urban Jam - just down the street from our hotel
Montreal Urban Jam – just down the street from our hotel.
Also, a pride festival was on in The Village a few streets over
Also, a pride festival was on in The Village a few streets over.  
The old downtown
An old building in the old downtown center – this is Superman’s Fortress of Solitude from the 30’s or something.
Habitat 67
Habitat 67
Knoxville Wigsphere (a.k.a  The Biodome)
Knoxville Wigsphere (a.k.a The Biosphere)
The Biodome
The Biodome – a glorified zoo.

French but not French

I’ve always held a fascination with the history and legacy of French colonialism in North America, so where Daniella had her Rockies experience on the west coast, I was to have my Francophile indulgence towards the west.

If you’ve been reading our blog posts in order, you’ll know that we kind of bitched about Calgary feeling like America.  It’s always a very poor reflection on anyone to compare new experiences to something familiar, so, call us broke – Quebec feels a lot like France.

I’d like to say it’s not that people speak French (Australians speak strined English but aren’t “English”), but it is… even if a little bit.

It’s the French, and it’s the rows of stucco’ed stacked townhouses with claustrophobic, six-foot ceilings and wrought iron balconettes, and it’s the rich choice of local fresh cuisine, and churches peeking round every corner of a winding, cobble-stoned street, and the romantic feeling of being somewhere old and knowing that – for a moment – it feels like that romantic vision of Hollywood tripe you could easily digest and still have enough room for crepes afterwards.

So, what’s not like France?

I guess the wait staff are generally less like French staff off the tourist route in that most are bi-lingual and extremely accommodating of our  poor French, though in retrospect this may be due to their close proximity, regular interaction and the better neuroplasticity of youth in regard to linguistics, and proximity to their English-speaking neighbors and countrymen.

It also seems to cost a little less.  Which is nice.

Stepping outside of the popular tourist boundary of the old city wall of Old Quebec City we expect to find something closer to the real experience.  So we walk, and walk, and walk, and find (withing reasonable walking distance) nothing but what seems like European charm in old tenements, churches and mansions.

Historical charms on every corner that seem to largely go unnoticed, gardens and new growth in any and every spot of dirt anywhere, greened copper and bright zinc roofs and shady avenues.

The bad news?

Despite seeing poutine advertised across Canada so far, we’d made the decision to delay indulging until we were in its cultural birth place of Quebec.  Two large orders of poutine (chips topped with cheese curds and hot gravy) for lunch at a recommended restaurant left us a little disappointed –  good, but not great.  I’m sure the poutine was good, but I have an unfortunate habit of creating elaborate expectations of experiences via self-denial and delayed satisfaction that are rarely fulfilling when lived.

Here’s the image dump.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAChateau Frontenac by night.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA…and by (an overcast) day.




OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAParliament (“Quebec de las un politico de assemblianiana casa” or something)