Nous voici à Montréal, mais il est alors très Français que nous pourrions être en effet en France déjà

French is their first language but everyone speaks English, in varying degrees of competence.  But all infinitely better than our French. Their menus, television, street signage are all in French. But mercifully the national newspaper is in English! In 1969 then PM Pierre Trudeau officially made Quebec a bilingual province, and so everyone speaks French first and foremost. We are very much the tourist. What an embarrassment that we speak only English.  It’s sort of weird that we are in such a French environment with such an American ‘culture’.

We arrived in Montreal to everything snow and ice covered, much as it was in Toronto when we arrived, but thicker. Montreal is on an island on the St Lawrence River, and the river was largely frozen when we arrived. This is the river view from our delightful hotel room

However, we have seen a dramatic decrease in the ice between arrival on Tuesday and departure on Friday. It is astonishing how quickly everything defrosts, making the streets wet and slippery. Mind you, some things don’t defrost quickly enough, and have to be helped along.  From this

to this

in a mere 40 minutes.

Once again, booking.com and TripAdvisor have excelled. We are staying in an Auberge in the old port and it is absolutely lovely with really friendly and efficient staff. Full breakfast is included in the very reasonable rate, which sets us up for the phenomenal amount of walking we do in this city. Christine is deeply impressed with her chemotherapy doctor, because indeed her knee is holding up particularly well to the exertion. There is such a difference between Old and New Montreal. Nothing really to recommend the new part…just another high rise city but old Montreal has been protected from all development and is charming, accessible and an area we love to just wander around, with its narrow streets and laneways.

We decide it’s time for some culture, so on Wednesday night we go to a concert at the glorious Maison Symphonique de Montreal, opened in 2010. It is a 2100 seat concert hall with magnificent acoustics and comfortable seats. We are at the Orchestre Symphonique de Montreal, conducted by their resident musical director Kent Nagano. The program comprises Debussy’s Jeux, Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No 3 in C Major Opus 26, with an astonishing 25 year old Russian Daniil Trifonov on piano (keep your eyes, or should that be ears, out for him – this boy is amazing) and the second half was Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring. The printed (and complimentary) program acknowledges financial assistance, public, corporate and private, in excess of $85m. And, the bespoke organ paid for by a private donor. Oh, the difference in cultural enlightenment between Australia and the rest of the world. Shameful. Michael Lynch’s speech is well timed, although I don’t expect Malcolm to hear it.

All in all, a most enjoyable evening, save for the loss of one of Christine’s beautiful pearl drop earrings, a gift from Cherrie many years ago. I expect that it came off when she removed Mrs Khrushchev’s hat as she got indoors. A search of the lost and found and security departments failed to turn up anything encouraging. Christine is now considering whether to emulate Vincent and cut off one ear, or buy a pair of drop pearl earrings. The major consideration is what she would do with her relatively new, and exceeding expensive, hearing aid. Stay tuned for the final decision.

The following night we went to our first ever (and very possibly our last ever) ice hockey match at the Bell Stadium, a short subway ride away. Sancha, we trust you are impressed with a concert one night and sporting event the next. What an experience the match was. Even trying to get in was a challenge. We had, thankfully, decided not to take our smart leather backpacks but rather consolidate into one small, rather fetching red nylon backpack in deference to our expectation of the possibly shonky crowd, which Cherrie wore. Christine was busy concentrating on retaining both earrings. The match was to start at 7.30pm and we thought we’d do the whole experience so didn’t eat prior but planned the hot dog and coke thing. The first impediment was getting into the stadium. We queued with the very orderly crowd in preparation for passing through the security check, but Cherrie was pulled aside by a uniformed and officious security officer. I went with her of course (yes, I am aware I am shifting between the first and third person in these blogs, but hope you forgive that). Guess what? Backpacks are not allowed into the stadium, and whilst this is not advised on their website it is on the ticket. Which is in French. There are VERY large handbags clearing security but our little ineffectual back pack is banned. We remove Mrs K’s hat and gloves, the umbrella, Cherrie’s hat and wallet and put them in the pockets of our jackets, making us look more like the Michelan man than ever, rendering the backpack empty but still no joy. Our empty backpack is still banned. Meantime, handbags full of explosives and handguns are passing through in the hundreds. Cherrie is tempted to lose it, but Christine has visions of Guatonamo Bay so does her best to placate as we slink off in search of a locker. How ridiculous. There are no public lockers in North America. They were all done away with after 9/11. We walk back to the railway station and against all odds chat up a ticket clerk who is sympathetic and who kindly agrees to hold on to the little empty backpack until the end of the match. What a saviour he is. So, we return to the stadium (thankfully we had time due to our hot dog dining plans) and clear security. Our jackets are so loaded down with hats, gloves, scarves, wallets, camera that we barely fit through the security archway but no one cares, so long as we don’t have a back pack.

We don’t have a hot dog. The Bell Stadium is much more upmarket than that, although there are still 44 gallon drums of popcorn available. We settle for hamburger (Cherrie) and salad (Christine). Cherrie made the better choice.

The match was thrilling. Just to watch ice skating is wonderful – it is by definition a graceful activity. The referees are as entertaining to watch as the players, as they avoid the puck and the players by quick skating manoeuvres which often involve jumping on the air, as if advertising a Toyota. Canada Montreal vs the Buffalo Sabres. Buffalo scored the first goal, to dead silence. Literally. We were not quite sure what had happened and thought perhaps it was a foul. However, soon after when Canada scored its first goal, 27,988 people leapt to their feet and hollered. Then the final two stood. We felt advised to barrack for Canada.

It’s an action packed game, sometimes brutal

Every 10 minutes or so the match would be halted whilst a team of skaters came on with wide shovels and scooped up all the soft ice

Three periods of 20 minutes each, punctuated with two 15 minute intervals, make up the match. In each of the intervals, ice making machines come on and lay a think skim of ice, and repaint the goal area blue.
Canada won, 3-2. It was a great experience and we are very pleased we went. We were in the 3rd back row of the very large and very high stadium so a long way from the action but it was still terrific.

Our saviour had our back pack when we made our way back to the station.

Also in Montreal we went to…..well, guess where? Correct. The Botanic Gardens, a 30 minute subway ride away. We walk past the Olympic Stadium which brings back memories for Christine.

She worked here in 1987 or 88 with the International Opera Festival and Kevin Jacobsen on the stadium ‘spectacular’ production of AIDA, in preparation for the reproduction at the Sydney Football Stadium in 1988. Oh, the horror of that one.

The Botanic Gardens in winter (spring doesn’t start until 23 March in Quebec) don’t have a great display although once again we hear constantly what a mild winter they have had.

But, we spent time in the wonderful glass house displays. We went through the usual tropical, arid, succulent sections etc and everything was so beautifully displayed with really clever and evocative design. The penjing (bonsai) in particular were wonderful – including this Chinese Elm ulmus parvifolia, a staggering 110 years old

and this Japanese Maple acer pallmatum ssp.matsummurae , a pup at a mere 40 years old

There’s also an annual butterfly exhibition, with free range butterflies, which Cherrie spent ages in. Christine doesn’t like flying things near her, even pretty ones, so stayed away.

We also found this glove tree which amused us. I guess the attachments give it a hand to get through winter.

And of course we still love these little fellows

Our few days in Montreal has been another terrific time, with the two very special experiences of the concert and the match.

The gorgeous concierge at our hotel, with whom we have become buddies, checks us out and asks how on earth it is that an apparently civilised country like Australia could have voted in ‘that fool Abbott who was in Canada last year’. How embarrassing.

As we leave the hotel in our taxi it is snowing lightly, but the sun shines. Winter is over.

On the train to Quebec City now. Cherrie sips a Gin and Tonic and Christine allows herself to be talked into a Caesar, in place of her ordered Bloody Mary. The difference? A Caesar is made with Clamato Juice. Tomato and clam juice. Only in North America….the verdict….red wine next time please.

As we speed, train style, to Quebec we note the St Lawrence River still frozen over in places, frozen fields with old stubble sticking up through the ice, roofs snow covered, cars iced in, and we know we are headed to colder climes. Still a very mild year though……everyone recognises global warming and is concerned about it, but grateful for the relief this year.

As we move towards Quebec the landscape changes again. It is now like those snow covered prairies we saw from the trans-continental train. Snow everywhere, piled even higher in front of houses – how do they get to the front door I wonder. Here, as in Toronto, there is so much snow on the streets that they simply can’t shovel it so they bring in the ice melters. Enormous machines driven by one man which sucks the snow into its belly and then, once parked, melts it. The water runs into purpose built drains, away from the streets.
We’ve come upstream, still on the St Lawrence. There are great chunks of ice on the river now, as we are 10 minutes from Quebec City. Huge broken off ice slabs. This river was completely frozen over a few days ago.

Still, the sun shines.

Until next time, au Revoir!