On my way to the dome car at 5am, I encountered the attendant who greeted me in French. He responded to my blank look with something more comprehensible to a mono lingual merikan. This was an oft repeated routine in Montreal. Occasionally, we would greet someone in English and receive the same blank stare. Lisa had to resort to pantomime to find a pack of cigarettes. I spent a few hours over the last couple of weeks listening to an audible French lesson. If you give me 5 minutes I can probably manage "I no understand not the French.", but with a Spanish accent at best. Most likely, anything I say will sound like, "Bonjour, y'all." Still, this isn't really France and I read that the Quebecois appreciate an attempt to speak the native tongue of this foreign land in the middle of North America. We'll see if I have the nerve to test the theory and whether or not they'll let me survive.

Our car attendant was the most thoughtful person I'd ever met. I'm afraid that if he hadn't been able to please us he would have thrown himself under the wheels of the train. As he brought our breakfast to our room and whisked our luggage to the platform, he searched our eyes for any sign of discontent. He found none.

Happy Camper.

We chose our hotel, La Reine Elizabeth, because it was above the train station. We didn't even go outside. Since we had changed our train and arrived at 8am instead of 4pm, we planned on leaving our luggage at the desk and killing a few hours until check-in. The desk clerk greeted us with "Happy Anniversary! Your room is ready." We had also been upgraded to an "Entree Gold" room on the 18th floor that is listed as costing nearly 4 times what we were charged. Thank you, Laurel (our travel agent) for including the comment about our anniversary on the reservation.

We checked out the lounge on the 19th floor, available only to Entree Gold roomers, then went back down to find the underground city. A part of it is just below the hotel. As exciting as it sounds, what difference does elevation make to a mall. We managed to spend some colorful money and exchange some blank stares. How odd to suddenly be an alien. We started snapping at each other and abandoned our halfhearted quest for food and returned to our room. We ordered magnificent room service - Canadian Pea Soup, Onion Soup (of course it was French, no need to specify), brie and ham croissants, and a non-alcohol Molson (my favorite, no longer available in Gig Harbor). Then we spent the rest of the gorgeous sunny day sleeping. Resting up from our stressful train ride, I guess.

La Reine Lisa

When we were well rested and civil, we ventured out again. We stopped at the lounge for free food and views. There was a bizarre blue ball in the middle of the park next door. The concierge offered to tell us anything we wanted to know except what the blue ball was. She had no idea. It is part of a festival of lights that we can find almost no information (in English) about. We went down and orbited it a long time watching the colors change, designs roll around and spacy or native music blaring from speakers hidden all around. Many pedestrians glanced at it while racing off to the hockey game. Let there be no mistake. We are tourists.

Since we're downtown, almost everything was closed at 19:00. I'd read about a skating rink in the bottom of a 'scraper with a food court around it. We meandered around and found it, even though it was completely unsigned. On the way someone asked us directions to the hockey game, "Bleh, bleh, bleh Molson Centre?" I knew! and answered with what undoubtedly sounded like, "Blah, blah, blah Molson Center." We watched a few skaters, but Dunkin Donuts, VegieRama and all the empty storefronts were closed. This was not a thriving centre. We were starting to get hungry and Lisa was getting tired of walking. All we saw open was fast food and hotel restaurants. Not the way I want to experience Montreal. Then we passed Sala Thai, a deserted but open Thai restaurant. I responded Bon Jour to the waitress before entering the blank stare zone. English was probably her third language, but she worked very hard to communicate with us. While enjoying a delicious, inexpensive meal (spicy seafood soup, spring rolls, chicken wrapped in some sort of leaves and more spicy seafood with rice), we discussed our trip, kids and religion, contrasting Christianity and Buddhism. Her parting words were to tell Jake that if he follows Buddha, to be sure to follow the true Buddha.

We floated back to the hotel, savored some decaf and the dark chocolate on our pillows and checked out tv. I confess that I enjoy watching South Park, but there's nothing like South Park in French.

Watching Sud Parc

We slept as well that night as we had all afternoon. I went up to the 19th floor for more free food for breakfast. The pastries, coffee, juice and fruit were very good but the muesli (yogurt, fruit, and granola like substance) was incredible. I took my laptop to avoid eye contact with the suits. They were fine with that and I got much of this page written. The waiter dude asked if I had a busy day planned. Obviously fooled by the laptop. Glad I wasn't playing solitaire. I said, "No, not at all." and he left me alone, too.

Cathedrale Marie-Reine-du-Monde, viewed from the 19th floor

Lisa had ordered breakfast for about 9, so I went down to let them in. He rolled in the cart and asked if I was ready to eat. I waved at the lump in the bed and told him she would wait. He was startled that there was another creature in the room and excused himself, leaving the sterno to keep the food tepid.

We finally rolled out a little before noon and headed for the Musee de Beaux-Arts de Montreal. (Wouldn't it be cool to know how to pronounce some of these names?) There was a wide variety of exhibits. A lot of Inuit relics, along with African and Oriental. An exhibit of early lithographs which weren't very exciting or well preserved but had big names attached. (Gauguin to Toulouse-Lautrec, French Prints of the 1890's) The permanent exhibits included many Monet's, Renoir's, Picasso's, etc. Most of my favorites were artists I hadn't heard of. (Lots of Gagnon's if Joe and Diane are reading.)

Just another church. Across the street from the museum

A huge collection of Christian art was awesome. My favorite was of Abraham's sacrifice of Isaac. Abraham's arm was around his son. His other arm was raised with a knife and restrained by the angel. Isaac was beautiful, head bowed and totally trusting in his father and surrendering to what must be done. Abraham was aged and racked with pain and resignation as he looked up at the angel. The angel was a handsome but filthy flying street urchin with a death (or life) grip on Abraham's arm. He was pointing at a lamb that Abraham should sacrifice instead. The painting was very dark. We had to look at it for a long time from all angles before discovering that much of the detail still existed. It appeared that the boys were originally nude and had been draped during some modest era. Much of the draping had either been cleaned away or just faded over the centuries. There may have even been another painting underneath. There was an amazing depth to it's darkness. This has always been a Bible story that fascinated and troubled me. Obviously, I'm not the only one.

We lunched at the museum cafeteria and found many prints in the gift shop we couldn't live without, mostly by the guy that did the poster we've had for 25 years, The Golden Cherub, whose name I can never remember or pronounce (Bougearau or some combination of similar letters. I have so little class.)

I strolled and Lisa hobbled back to the hotel through rush hour madness. Although Montreal had been very cold and gotten many centimetres of snow while we were on the train, it was now warm enough to start melting with a little rain thrown in. Lisa's arthritis was killing her with the damp, Seattle-like weather and we never managed to stop for snacks and rheumatiz medicine, even though there were plenty of opportunities. While Lisa was clawing through her real medicine, I recited hotel literature, "pool, whirlpool and steamroom". These magic remedies helped immensely and we were soon looking for more food.

I'd read about Marche Moovenpick (wish I could do the little accent marks and oomlats), "with over 33,000 square feet of culinary innovation...open till 2am" and tried to find it the night before without success. It was supposed to be in the underground very close to the hotel, but I have a hard time finding my own ass with both hands, even harder if the directions point to my derriere. However, I persevered and succeeded. It didn't hurt that everything else was closed and I could just look for any movement. I left baguette crumbs and found my way back with Lisa. Boulliabaisse, blended fruit drinks (with and without alcohol), sushi, mochaccino, cheesecake, flan and a few other things later, we waddled happily back to the room.

Life is good. (La vie c'est bon? Y'all?)

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