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  Lyn
and Jesse flew from Florida to Boston then onto Montreal. They
arrived around 3pm. I left Chicago at dark and arrived near 10pm.
Both of our flights were uneventful. My flight flew over our old
stomping grounds from Chicago past Kalamazoo, Dearborn, Detroit, up
the 401 past Toronto and landed around dusk. I sat on the window with
a French speaking husband and wife sharing my row. I tried to enjoy
myself with the french language, but they managed to treat me like a
Martian trying to steal their wallet. Sadly, exactly what most would
expect from the oxymoron of French Ambassador.
Lyn and Jesse had bizarre experiences with the shuttle bus (dropping
them off at distant curbside during rush hour traffic) and with the
sandwich they walked to Rue St Catherine to enjoy (Lyn called it
rude, I cannot say what portion was language based confusion). My
arrival was straightforward, my bus tour uneventful, and I arrived at
the Montreal
Marriott Chateau Champlain after dark, seeing the cityscapes
shown here backlit. I was pummelled with the stories of their travel
experience, and they were both ragged and ratty and ready for bed. I
excused myself for my own snack, and took an hour to myself and
walked Rue St Catherine in search of a sandwich of my own. |
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 My
walk was delightful, as I stopped for some post cards and to read
every single french sign in every window. What a delight! I began to
write down the more complex or incomprehensible ones to look up when
I returned to the room. I walked the length of St Catherine, then
turned and followed the same straight line back to the Marriott. The
Subway shop with "frais pain" (fresh bread) and the record
store with "ribons" on their signs (literally
"ribbons", the french euphemism for cassette tapes) were a
delight along with a half dozen others. I passed a french language
cinema showing, sadly, dubbed versions of the current Hollywood
flotsam ("SouthPark" and "Mystery Men"). Several
blocks right downtown, between the Westin / de Jardains (literally
"the Gardens") and the Art Museum were blocked off
for a Franco-phone concert festival. I stood shoulder to shoulder
with hundreds of city dwellers enjoying the individual stages with
performers singing french songs in the style of Folk here,
Rock-and-Roll there, and even Rap group a block further down. A man
in the mime outfit (black pants, black and white stripe shirt, red
suspenders) played a sad accordion while singing about what could
only be a lost love. All of it simultaneously unintelligible and
delightful to my Anglo-phone ear. I picked up a "creme
glace" (ice cream) and headed home and to bed. |
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Original Web Upload December 2000
Last Update: April 4, 2001 |
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Flights and Dinner in Montreal