Montreal Part Deux

Whoa, that was a pretty long time to leave you all hanging on the Montreal trip, eh?

And by "pretty long" I mean an obscene amount of time has passed between blog posts and this is not something that will build my online empire of followers. By "you all" I mean my family, Amber and Lisa Fine (hi, Lisa!) who are the only ones reading this.  By "hanging" I meant to imply that there are people out there clamoring for news of my life. I am outrageously crafty, no?

Anyways, now that so much time has passed, some of the details of the trip have begun to fade. Fortunately I still remember the big important things, and these I will share. Starting now.

Saturday morning found us feeling ambitious. We set the alarm for something in the 7s (Thank you Mr. Steven "We didn't come to Montreal to sleep in" Hamill) and took turns in our little shared bathroom. We were on the streets before 9, steaming steadily toward coffee and a breakfast nook called Fruits Foley where we were promised options ranging from chocolate crepes to fruit and granola.

Check out the giant banana and chocolate crepe in the background. We'll call it "Before"

"After" Nicely done, Stevo!

After the walk the night before, the streets by day seemed overly wide and littered with, well, litter. I forgot that it was so early and felt vaguely disappointed that Montreal wasn't as "lived-in" a city as I thought it was. What a lovely surprise to emerge from breakfast and find that I was wrong. Everyone was just sleeping it off, it turns out! Clearly Stevo wasn't in charge of planning everyone elses' days.

Between breakfast and lunch (enjoyed at the very European hour of 3 pm) we moseyed through town. Having been to Montreal many times before, Stevo and Lisa knew all the good spots for walking and we spent a fabulous day doing what Montrealers do: roaming the Plateau. I think the Plateau is to Montreal what Brooklyn is to Manhattan. Its the funky, lived in, it-helps-to-be-rich-but-you-can-squeak-by-if-you're-not part of the city and it was alive with grocery shoppers, bike riders, brunch eaters, coffee drinkers, stroller pushers and dog walkers. 

Stevo accused me of taking a picture of his butt here. I would not do that. I was trying to (non-creepily) photograph the beautiful baby in the stroller.

Time to refuel: coffee in the park, served by the friendliest, most  hilarious barrister you've ever met. I wanted a simple beverage and very nearly ordered a second (huge) breakfast just because I liked him so much.

Roaming ever onward, we began to discuss lunch. Where, what, how much, when, all the important food-related questions. By the time we dragged our now-starving carcasses across McGill University, we had some serious needs: first, find a bathroom (dang that last cup of coffee) second, find some sustenance.

We stumbled out of the McGill campus and onto a busy street where there was a Borders-esq book shop on the corner. Stevo took one for the team and acquired the key (without buying something, as the sign insisted!) and while we all took turns in a bathroom for the second time in one day, I read the first book I could find to keep my mind off of the hunger that was sending me to The Bad Place.

See my pasty complexion? That's hunger's pallor.

But soon, we were here, seated on a second storey balcony, enjoying fresh guacamole and french-Canadian wine, watching the people on the sidewalk. Bliss:

Shortly after this photo was taken, Stevo went to get a haircut from someone named Pasquale, apparently the only person he truly trusts with his tresses, while Lisa, Nicole and I went on to walk the main tourist drag and check out Simon's, the very trendy, very crowded department store that everyone from grannys to teenagers shops at.

That was exhausting, Simon's, I mean, and once we reestablished contact with post-haircut Stevo, we took the Metro back to our hotel for NAP TIME. Yeeessss, good sense finally prevails!

While some of us napped (me) others of us read the Lonely Planet on Montreal (everyone else). Turns out we'd walked 5.5 miles already, and we were about to head out again to see the old town. Hey, that's a great guess - Old Town IS the oldest part of Montreal. Point for your team.

Old Town was pretty darned cool. Cobblestone streets, historic buildings with crooked stairs leading to brightly painted doors and windows with that bubble, squiggly glass they used back when people like Laura Engalls Wilder rode into town with Pa on the wagon.

See, cobbles!

Montreal is the home of Cirque du Soliel. We did not see a show as we did not have hundreds of extra dollars just laying around. But we know they're pretty cool. And hey, they have a neat tent. 

Left:The original market  in Montreal, located on the canal where ships docked after traveling across the Atlantic and up the St. Laurence Canal to bring treasures and creature comforts to the New World. 

Right: The National Bank? State House? Maple Syrup Monument?

How sweet that something so European should be right here in North America.

Left: Wine List! (Saturday Dinner) Right: Fresh Pastries! (Sunday Breakfast)

After our grand foot-tour of Montreal on Saturday (8.8 miles of hoofing, people!) we thought we should reward ourselves with fresh pastries and cafe au lait for breakfast Sunday. We checked out of our hotel and drove a couple of miles to the Atwater Market where we enjoyed some absolutely delicious bread products and imbibed enough coffee between us to caffeinate a whole suburb. Bliss.

While at the market, we also purchased some items for a picnic lunch in the Adirondacks on the way home. We left with a fresh baguette, a small wheel of local, organic cheese, a box of Boreal beer (the most cherished of Montreal beers) and a beautifully wrapped, locally made dry sausage. 

Atwater Market - if I lived near it, I would be obese. And happy.

The market (left) and the feast (right.) Stevo looks mad, but he's just so excited about our picnic supplies he's struggling with his emotions.

All in all, it was a wonderful trip. It was great to spend time in a beautiful new city with a few of my favorite people. Driving home, I napped and read my book about Amazon explorers and then we stopped for ice cream at Ben & Jerry's (because we hadn't indulged enough during the rest of the trip...) and because we were all a bit sad about the end of the adventure. It did the trick. I highly recommend ending an adventure with ice cream -  how can you be sad with a cone of awesome delight in your hands?

Montreal: part one

Last weekend I visited Montreal with Stevo, Lisa and Nicole.

• Stevo is my boss/friend
• Lisa is his girlfriend/my friend
• Nicole is my cowoker/neighbor/friend.

Lisa (left), Stevo (center), Nicole (right), nervous homeowners (not pictured).

We had a fantastic time.

After a beautiful drive through the Adirondacks, a very long line at the border (amidst cars full of underage SUNY Plattsburg students eager to reach Canada, the land of the 18 y/o drinking age,) and a guard who seemed highly suspicious of the Australian in the US who wanted to go to Canada for the weekend, we made it to Montreal. Even though we'd planned and brought snacks in the car, the time was 9 pm and the collective bloodsugar was dangerously low.

So we checked into our hotel (the Hotel Lord Berri, sounds fussy but isn't,) dropped our bags and headed out into the night in search of food and perhaps a bottle of local wine to hearld a weekend in a new country. We found La Paryse where we waited in line on the sidewalk and soaked up the very European/North American atmostphere. It was strange to be in a place that was neither in Europe nor in America, yet bore classic traits of both places.

For instance: we knew we were in a European city because of the scarves, the mullets, the cigarettes and the occasional pair of rollerblades slung over the shoulder of a passerby. We knew we were in north america because of the  the abundance of Chevys, Fords and Kias on the road, the overly-loud conversations in small spaces and the ever-prolific coffee and hamburger chain stores snuggled between even the coziest, most independent cafes and boutiques.

During our first dinner, Stevo and Lisa insisted that we eat a Montreal classic, "Poutin." It is a dish of french fries, soaked in gravy, topped with cheese curds. It sounds questionable, looks horrible and tastes delectible.

Nicole, who is from Wisconsin (go midwesterners!) agreed that it sounded more like a dish with roots in the dairy state, not the birthplace of Hermes, the backdrop for Versailles and the home of perpetually slim, chic, black-clad women. And yet, here it is. I like it.

After a top notch meal we did my favorite thing: we walked home. Well, not home. But back to the hotel. There is nothing better than strolling home along crowded city streets with friends, full of good food, good wine and good conversation.  

(Stay tuned for "Montreal: part two" to discover the next day's adventures. Well worth the wait, I assure you.)

Love,

Sarah

Chemicals, please.

I'm writing this blog from a precarious place. No, I'm not balanced on a chair leg or on a barrel atop a telephone pole and I'm not in the crow's nest of a pirate ship, but rather, its 9:37 am and I've had no coffee.

I'm competely useless and am experiencing a sensation that's not far from the buzz that preceeds the beer that tells me I've had just enough. It would be fun except for the fact that I need to push through the fuzzy/buzzy feelings and string words together, accomplish tasks and be a captain of industry here at my desk so that I don't fail my boss, my coworkers and all the other people who expect answers, ideas and directions from my general direction.

The other drawback is that under it all, I'd like nothing more than to lay my head down and embrace the sleep that my caffiene-free brain insists is inevitable. Oh chemical dependency. How have we become such close friends?

It's telling that I'm out of coffee, for under only the direst of circumstances does this happen. It means it is That Time of Year, again. Whew. Spring is here and this week brought the first wave of new staff. Hooray for the fresh faces and the eager-to-pleasers! But of course it also meant the first 13-hour day of the year for my boss and I as well as the return of chaos to all things not-work in my life. Like my kitchen sink, my laundry basket, my refridgerator, my running clothes and the two books I'm partway through.

It's ok, though, really. I know that this season will be action-packed and fast-paced and challenging and fun and exhausting and hilarious and that then, it will end. And at its end is summer, which brings the days that are the closest to 9-5 that I experience in my job during the days where the sunshine beckons and water sparkles. And I'm excited for those just as I'm excited for these.

Now, where's that coffee pot I saw in the office this winter?