- 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
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