True patriot love

Sharon, Carl and I went to Canada on Sunday.

It was the first time for me, and as typically happens, I found myself in subculture rather than Culture: Quebec, in this case.

It was the first time I've driven in a foreign country. (From this, you may also derive that it was also the first time I've paid any attention to the km markings on my speedometer -- and a loose attention, even so.) I was surprised by how different it felt to see alternative street signs and line markings on the highway and Montreal roads; I was perhaps more surprised by my feeling of being a boorish American (with CT plates) as I realized -- with Sharon's constant help -- that I was two lanes right of the exit I wanted, or that 63 mph is a mentally difficult speed to maintain, resulting in stutter-passing cars to both sides.

Once we got into the city, though, we parked Betty and said good-bye, preferring to walk from our (lovely) hotel toward all that downtown Montreal had to offer us.

It turns out that on a Sunday afternoon, Montreal has approximately the same amount of stuff to offer as any other place that shuts down on Sunday afternoons.

To be fair, we were not demanding folk -- our focus was mainly to find good food, which we did(!) -- and the day was lovely. We just didn't happen across any poetry slams in Quebec-accented French, or improv comedy or jazz, or anything that was happening one time only! on April 13. Which was fine. We were there to see Montreal in all its quotidian glory.

We headed first down to the harbor, where the Montrealese keep a giant defunct factory consisting of silos that are now (apparently used) as a silo-phone (get it?). People can talk into their phones or whatever newfangled internet technology transmits sound, and hear the echo across one of the giant silos making up this enormous rusting hulk on the Montreal harbor. (Needless to say, I was totally enamored with this factory. I love looking at large and rusty things.)

Across the river were two interesting remnants of Montreal's shot at the World's Fair in 1967: a biosphere (looking like a fragile and halved Epcot ball), and one of the most interesting buildings I've ever seen, Habitat '67.

Go ahead and take a look at Habitat '67. Apparently, units can be rented or purchased; with the current condition of American real estate investment, you might want to consider buying abroad...and inviting me to visit.

Or live with you.

I'm just sayin'.

By this time, it was mid-afternoon, and we hadn't eaten since breakfast, so we began searching for a tea room we had seen on the way to the harbor.

The tea room was lovely. We each ordered a different tea and were presented -- really: a presentation was involved -- with separate pots, steeping cups and teacups, and extra water for refills. We also each ordered a vegetarian option from their minimal menu. My tofu wraps were just enough to dull my hunger until dinner.

We wandered the streets, noting Notre Dame, the town hall, the courts of Justice (including a monolithic structure that I described as "totally 2001-ing me"), and the various places we might stop for dinner. In the end, we went back to the Crepe Cafe, which had only been opened two weeks, but where clearly the staff knew what they were doing. I had a dinner crepe with eggplant and chicken, and a dessert crepe with bananas, strawberries, nuttella and whipped cream.

We returned to the hotel via bitterly cold and windy streets, foregoing the night lights of the city for the warmth of our hotel room and conversation.

I said, at one point in the conversation, "we'll have to think of something fun to do next time."

Sharon looked at me in horror. "What do you mean?"

"We'll have to think of something else to do, for next time."

"What sort of things are you talking about?"

"This, but again, and somewhere else, probably -- to have something else to look forward to."

Sharon, who had thought I was saying we should do something "exciting" -- like bar-hop, or enter ourselves in The Amazing Race, or try a new kind of bungee jumping or something -- was reassured by my insistence that I only wanted more of what we had already been doing. (Or, by some definitions, not doing.)

If this is what all of Canada is like -- the thrills limited to great food, friends, walks and talks -- then count me in. Or, rather, out: I'm expatriating.