Volume 6: Pete in Canada Part 4. Beaver Las Canada. 1 Continent, 2 Blokes, Infinite Weird Sh*t
Day 7 – Montreal
After the huge day and nights activities of the previous 24 hours we decided today should be a chill out day. The best way to chill out is to find an island and relax, so we headed for the Parc Jean-Drapeau which was made up of 2 small islands. Brad was keen to see the Casino de Montreal so we made that our first stop. After some confusion on entering the casino caused by what we believed was the bouncer motioning for us to remove our hats, turned out that he was motioning for us to put our backpacks in the cloakroom. It seems Canada is not only bi-lingual in it’s spoken words, but also in it’s body language; either way I wasn’t understanding much of the French in any of its forms. I was keen to use the Playboy slot machines but unfortunately they were all taken by old folks with their membership cards on attached cords plugged into the machines, much like being attached to a life support machine. This reminded me of all the senior citizens at the casino in Melbourne, and how depressing it is to see old folks with nothing else to do but spend the day on the casino life support machine. Thankfully, the pounding my liver would take on this tour from excessive alcohol consumption means I’ll never reach their age and therefore the depressing lives they live. I eventually found a free slot machine, put a quarter in, played 2 spins, won a $1 and then walked away feeling good about myself and how I could tell people back home I came out in front when I went to the Casino in Montreal.From there we decided to go for a walk around the Gilles Villeneuve Formula One track. The track is named after the former driver who died in a crash in 1982, unfortunately meaning he never got to see his son, Jacques, win the Formula One world title. However, on the upside it did mean he wasn’t around to see he’s son bring disgrace on the family by dating the plastic Danni Minogue (if Johnny Young was dead he’d roll over in his grave at what’s become of one his former Young Talent time stars). On the track we both got novelty photos of ourselves pretending to drive cars through the final chicane, and felt pretty happy with ourselves. Of special interest is the fact the casino and track are both situated on the southern island of Île Notre-Dame, which was created from the 15 million tons of earth and rock excavated when the metro was built. Ideally, that 15 tons of earth and rock would have been used to bury the western suburbs of Melbourne, but the island is still a nice result.
From the track we slowly ambled back towards the metro, but not before purchasing a beverage and chilling out watching the children on this hot day running through water being shot from the ground by small jets. Most amusing was a fat boy who had boobs that bounced when he ran. Behind us the scaffold stadium seating used for the swimming World Championships still stood, which made me think back to the Montreal Olympic Stadium and snigger.
Well chilled out, we decided to head back into the city to get some dinner. Almost without having to confer with each other, we headed back to Peel pub for dinner and a pitcher of beer. I did some quick math and by my estimation we’d spent a total of 8 hours at this great venue, or approximately 10% of our 78 hours we’d spent in Montreal.
After dinner, in an attempt to stay away from alcohol and chill out some more, we went and saw the “Dukes of Hazzard” movie. This was truly a movie that contained dialect even Shakespeare would have been proud to call his own. The lame plot was more than made up for by the fact Jessica Simpson had her boobs out in every scene she was in, including a memorable pink bikini scene that will stay with me to the day I die.
As we were heading for Quebec City the next day, we called it an early night and were home by 10pm.
Day 8 – Montreal to Quebec City
Today we were up early for the trip to Quebec City. Fortunately our French hippy hostel was only a few hundred metres from the Centrale de l’ Autobus so it wasn’t too much strain lugging our backpacks there.
I used much of the 3 and half hour bus trip to sleep, a skill I had acquired and mastered while spending 21 days on a bus in Europe and 24 days on a bus through the US in 2003. Before drifting off I witnessed a tremendous act of niceness by a young girl that unfortunately is driven out of most of the population by the time they’ve left high school. An even younger girl travelling with her mother was going to be forced to sit on her mothers lap for the entire duration of the journey to squeeze everyone on the bus. In a nice touch, the older young girl siting with her brother, who I figured were both under 10, asked the girl sitting on her mothers lap if she wanted to play dolls. So with a grin from ear to ear the little girl bounced off her mum’s lap and squeezed in with her newly acquired friend and brother. I’m sure if laps could smile, her mother’s lap would have shared an equally huge grin knowing it had just avoided 3 and half hours of pain. The girls played dolls for the duration of the trip, it looked liked a lot of fun and had me wishing adults could be so welcoming (although, it’s highly unusual to find many adults getting around on a bus with dolls).
Once off the bus at the bus station adjoining the Gare du Palais, I noticed the bus tickets we’d purchased in Montreal had an expiry date on them. That expiry date was the same as the day we had purchased them, today. This provided us with a potential problem given we intended to stay around 4 nights. This led to the following chronological events:
1. Ask bus driver if bus company uses the expiry date
2. Get confused stare from bus driver
3. Bus driver takes random guess and says “yes”
4. As bus driver not overly convincing, go inside bus station and ask someone at front desk
5. Person at front desk be equally as confused as bus driver
6. Get person at front desk to ask the only person in the bus company who knows anything about the expiry dates that appear on tickets sold by bus company
7. Wait for only person in the company who knows about the expiry dates to answer a different query from another customer
8. Come to understand there is only one person in entire bus company that is competent
9. Competent bus company employee tells you his company ignores the expiry date
This was an event that would happen many times on tour. Ask someone for information one day, ask a different person the same question the next day and receive a completely contradictory answer.
The one thing to keep in mind about Quebec City is that it was an old citadel. The thing to keep in mind about citadels is their major purpose is to keep people out. One great way to do that, besides putting a bunch of walls up, is to put it on a tall, steep hill. This made the trek from the bus station, which by some act of city planning was at the bottom of the hill, to the HI Hostel inside the city walls on top of the tall, steep hill incredibly gruelling as the 30 something degree sun belted down on us and over our backpacks which seemed to grow all the more heavier with each step. Thankfully, once we reached the Hostel we were greeted by a hot French chick at the desk and all pain seemed to disappear.
After checking in we went for a walk around the Old Quebec City, which while retaining much of it’s old world architecture, had lost much of its old world charm which had been replaced by people employed to dress in old world clothes for the many tourists. Sure, it was a pretty city, but the efforts to dress in old world clothes (apparently a pirate like theme was big back in the day in Quebec City) to entertain the tourists made it all seem a little contrived and a little too touristy.
As it was a warm pleasant day we decided to do some male bonding on a cruise up the St Lawrence River. The quest to find the port where the cruise departed from turned out to be harder than we thought it should be, with us covering much of the port area and including a walk through what I believe was the funny hat district (it would appear living in Quebec City in the 1600s it was against the law to not wear an odd looking straw hat judging by the number of people in the Old Lower Town getting around in them). Thankfully, in the long quest we stumbled across a petrol station that sold beer, so we stocked up in anticipation that drinks on the cruise would be inflated. After a long walk we eventually found the departure point and boarded the ship.
In a strike of good fortune, this cruise would not only be about male bonding, but also an educational adventure as some bloke in a gay purple pirate outfit gave us a running commentary on the sights and history of Quebec City. While I’m sure Buddha wouldn’t have seem so enlightened if he got around in a gay purple pirate outfit, this gay purple pirate bloke was quite knowledgeable. He told us that the city got its name from an old indigenous word; “Kebec” which I think loosely translates into “look out the French are coming, they’re armed and smell like onions” (although some books will tell you it actually means “where the river narrows”). He also told of how Benedict Arnold and the US had tried to invade the city, but had been unsuccessful. After I’d climbed the hill to Old Upper Town with just a backpack and found that difficult, I could see how it would be somewhat more difficult with people shooting at you and being doubled over from laughing at the city’s inhabitants who would have been dressed as pirates (or so I’m led to believe by the current inhabitants). After the invasion la citadelle was built, only to never be used, thankfully meaning the city’s supply of straw hats and pirate attire remained safe until this very day. The gay purple pirate also told us that the many white houses we were seeing on the shore line had that colour by order of the government (as an military strategist will tell you, white is far more concealing than say, the green of the surrounding trees, and therefore is an ideal colour for cover against the enemy). He also told how the early houses had steel roofs, which would heat up from the fires burning inside leading to the snow melting on the roof. The problem with that is the snow then becomes water (quick science lesson) which then gets into the rock used to build the house. That water then later freezes and becomes ice (quick science lesson #2), and as ice expands it tends to break the rocks and therefore your house. To get around that problem the locals use some sort of powder (not doubt cocaine, which explains the white houses helping to conceal the evidence of the powder).
As learning is a thirst-inducing act, Brad and I had purchased our first beer on board from the bar as we noticed all beers were being consumed from plastic cups. For those less learned than Brad and I, this is a necessary task as had we not bought the first beer on board we wouldn’t have had a plastic cup, which would’ve meant we would have had to drink our beers from the bottle, meaning the cruise staff would have noticed we’d smuggled beer on board (it’s exciting isn’t it? Just like smugglers from the old world!). But as we now had plastic cups, we could covertly pour our smuggled beers into the plastic cups and no one was any the wiser. As we’d purchased the beers at the petrol station for $1.65, and as we were getting little change back from $5 from the beers purchased on the cruise, we sat back contently thinking we may well have been the smartest blokes on the earth that day. A true male moment.
Eventually the cruise wound its way up the river towards a green suspension bridge, not unlike the Lions Gate Bridge in Vancouver. What is the deal with Canadians and painting large bridges green? One day a plane is going to crash into one as the pilot is going to lose it in the background. The boat went right up to the bridge before turning, no doubt because the ships captain only just picked up sight of the bridge when getting within hundred metres. At the bridge was a nice view of the Montmorency falls, so I took a picture and got on with drinking my beer and being educated by the gay purple pirate.
At the conclusion of the cruise, we dinned in the Old Lower Town, before heading back to the Hostel to tidy ourselves up for a night on the town. After walking for a while we noticed that pretty much every pub in Old Quebec City was either an Irish or English theme pub, which I found frustrating as I was here for some French culture. After 1 or 2 pints at various pubs, Brad’s Virgin Mary Medallion eventually led us to a French bar. It was called Chez son Pere, and the entertainment that night was some local musician playing mostly French songs. As I don’t speak French, I just assumed the songs were about love, onions, and surrendering to the Nazis. As the beer was cheap, the crowd was young and French, I was a content man. That peaceful content was something that didn’t last. The musician had played a couple of English songs (the fans kept yelling for “Mr Jones” but thankfully they didn’t know any other Counting Crows songs) so Brad in a patriotic gesture went up and asked the musician to play “Down Under”. Minutes later Brad came back to me huffing and puffing with steam coming out his ears saying “Bloody French smartarse”. Apparently the singer had told him he didn’t speak English, which Brad couldn’t believe as he’d belted out Mr Jones. I tried to calm Brad by citing the La Bamba precedent, in that we knew the words to that song but we didn’t speak Spanish, but he was too angry to reason with. I don’t think it helped that I pointed out that the musician probably would’ve only taken him seriously if he had tits. Anyway, drunk and angry Brad was keen to leave, so we did much to my disappointment.
Thankfully, after a walk where I convinced him we were only surrounded by Irish and English theme pubs and that there were heaps of hot French chicks in the French bar, I convinced him to go back to the bar. Oh, and the fact some hot French chick had been checking him out as he left was also a contributing factor.Once back inside my eyes made contact with an attractive French lass. I said “Hallo” in my best Joey from Friends “How you doing?” attitude, she said “Hallo” with a similar attitude. Good start. Sadly, it all went wrong when I dropped a bit of “Parla vous Anglais?” on her. She didn’t speak English, and worse yet I think she thought I was English. She then fresh aired me and walked off. Her little, less attractive and annoying female friend then repeatedly reminded me “She does not speak English, don’t you wish you spoke French?”. While I thought “Shit yeah!”, I also thought of responding with “Perhaps she’d be more accommodating of German, much like the French ‘defence’ forces”.
All was not lost, however, as we slowly moved towards the hot chick who had checked out Brad. He was ecstatic when she initiated the conversation, only to discover she spoke little English, but thankfully had a willing girlfriend to translate for him. When they found out we were Australian, they welcomed us to their table and we spent the rest of the night talking and drinking with them. In all there were 3 chicks, Melissa, Manon and the “other one”, all from Montreal just visiting Quebec City. We got their numbers and email addresses as matter of course as we knew we’d be going back to Montreal.
After closing time, we walked with the chicks to get something to eat. It was while we where eating at Burger King that the chicks were convinced I spoke French, due to my clever use of responding to everything I didn’t understand them say by replying “Escosi Moi”, answering “oui” to other questions, and while trying to think of answers to other questions using a contemplative “ah…ah…ah” with a French accent. I also cheated by reading the Burger King food containers which were in French, so when Melissa was eating some chicken I asked “is that poulet?”. They were somewhat excited and insisted I spoke French. I insisted I didn’t, but was wrapped as I could see this was cutting up Brad. I don’t know why he was so cut up, he’d just been kissing a chick we described as the “Scandinavian looking Jessica Simpson”. She also became attracted to him because he had a French Connection t-shirt on that read “FCUK Montreal”, and as she’d miss read it as “FUCK Montreal” leading her to call him a “Dangerous Man”. Chicks dig dangerous men. James Dean wouldn’t have had such a huge fan base if he had did something safe, like a dental hygienist.
It must have been after 4am when we eventually parted from the girls. Good night that.
Comments