November 11 - Montreal to Quebec City

It's strange how the internal clock works - having fallen into bed about 11.00 pm (04.00 at home), I still awoke at my normal time, sadly that was at 01.30 local time! Eventually went back to sleep and forced myself to stay in bed until 07.00. Ablutions completed I went downstairs, or should I say, descended by ascenseur, because I had a date with Cora.

Last November Louise took me for breakfast at Chez Cora whilst Sylvain and the lads went to Centre Bell for Les Habs' open day, and I hadn't forgotten the experience. So how could I pass up the opportunity to partake of the delights that Cora presents on a daily basis? I couldn't. I could regale you, gentle reader, with a lengthy description, but they say that a picture paints a thousand words, so:

Cora's Special, and you can't see the toast!

I suppose I should have taken an 'after' picture too, but as the waitress said:

"It must have been good, judging by the amount that's left!"

There may be some sensitive folk who could have been offended by such a remark, but I took it as a compliment!

So, ascending by the ascenseur, I returned to ma chambre and whilst Virgin Media Security checked my hard drive for viruses, I wrote yesterday's blog and packed up my belongings. The ViaRail documents I had received on booking my ticket to Quebec city stated that  needed to be at the Gare Centrale one hour before departure, to allow time to collect tickets etc. I'm not sure what the etc was meant to be, but being well known for arriving early, I left the hotel at about 11.15, allowing plenty of time to find the station, collect my tickets etc.

Those of you who are reading this, who live in or have visited Montreal, will know that finding the Gare Centrale is not too easy, because it would be very easy to walk straight past it without realising that it was there. Take it from one who has done just that, (did it yesterday, actually). The thing is, I am used to railway stations which date from the glory days of railway in the UK, where often the railway station was the grandest building in the town - Newcastle Central, Kings Cross, St Pancras, Waterloo, Gare du Nord, etc etc. Yesterday I knew exacly where the Gare Central was supposed to be - I had a map which showed it was within a few minutes walk from my hotel, and I had walked to within a hundred metres of where it should be. But where was the imposing entrance, the doric pillars, the gothic towers.....the taxis? Rien! So I asked two ladies who were waiting to cross the same road where I might find the Gare Centrale,  and they kindly pointed out that it was just 100 metres away. "Do you see The Hotel Elizabeth, monsieur? It's underneath it."

Of course, I should have guessed - Montreal, the city with a second city underground. So I walked to the aforementioned hotel, and still couldn't find an entrance. An employee of the rail services, at least he was wearing a uniform which suggested that he was an employee of the rail services was walking towards me, and must have summed up my situation by the puzzlement on my face. I needed to turn round walk 20 paces, turn left, walk 6 paces and turn left through a double door on to an escalator which would take me down to the Halles de la Gare. Wow, there it was.

I collected my tickets etc - the etc consisted of finding a seat and waiting until 12.30, when boarding of the 13.00 for Quebec would begin. I did, and read more of  "The Girl who played with Fire", whilst keeping an eye on the departure board. Everything seemed to be running on time. 12.30 came, by which time I was standing near the front of the queue, waiting by the entrance to Track 16. The gate was eventually opened, tickets checked and I decsended two flights of stairs to the platform, and on to the train. We departed on time and having glided slowly through the city and across the river, began to pick up speed. Some pictures:

The train arrived on time, having taken a circuitous route around the northern fringes of the city, which afforded some views north-westward to the first signs of hilly landscape. A short taxi ride to the hotel followed. The Hotel le Priori is situated in an area of the city which reminds me very much of an old European city - narrow, paved streets, and filled with restaurants, art galleries, up-market souvenir shops and craft shops. The hotel itself is very pleasant, with helpful staff. The receptionist claimed to be a fairy, more of that in a moment. The room is interesting, in a nice way:

Having spoken with the young lady in reception on arrival, in a mixture of  French and English, I soon needed her assistance again. Having found that there was a dvd/cd player integrated into the TV, I inserted the CD of Les Surveillantes into it, and then found that the remote control didn't seem to have any C D controls! And that meant no eject button! I went down to the reception and having spoken about the wisdom of driving to Jonquiere and back, the merits of The Barbary, L'Inox and Bistro Pape-George (blues every Thursday night), I returned upstairs with a remote control with remote control for the TV/DVD/CD player. Dommage, il ne marche pas!! (pas de charge dans les piles). Donc, j'ai appele 0, et.. oops don't know what came over me, Anne-Marie soon knocked on my door with a second remote control, pressed one button, and the strains of "La force de la gravite"  filled the room. "Did I tell you I was a fairy?" she said. There isn't really an answer to that.

It wasn't long after that that I looked at my phone/watch and realised that it was 19.10 - I needed to be on the move, to find Le Theatre de Petit-Champlain - the venue for Damien Robitaille's spectacle. I saw Damien last November, in his other existence as one of Les Freres Rivaux, at Bar L'Escogriffe in Montreal - that was a brilliant night. For la premiere partie last night it was a French chap called Nicolas Jules - when he came on stage he looked like Rudolf Nureyev on a bad night. (In a nice way!). He was very funny - combining witty lyrics with unusual guitar playing and the movements of a mime artist. He also emptied the contents of his bottle of water over the first three or four rows of the audience - and they still loved him.

Then it was time for Damien Robitaille, whose CD I am listening to as I write this. Damien is a very talented writer/composer/musician with a wicked sense of humour, which permeates most of his songs. check him out on YouTube. It was a great performance - two hours flew by very quickly. One of his songs is entitled Rouge Gorge - Robin Redbreast, and when he was kindly signing a CD afterwards, he wrote Robin- like Rouge Gorge.

Damien Robitaille and some old guy.

After leaving the Theatre I found my way to Bistro Pape-George, being greeted as I entered by the sounds of  Peter Shonk and the Southside Blues Band. I stayed until just after midnight, fortifying myself with a pint of Boreale Russe and a Ham and brie sandwich. The music was good, the ambience pleasant - worth the visit. I returned through largely deserted streets to the hotel, letting myself in my the helpfully signed door - la nuit. A nice comfy bed awaited - but I still woke up at  01.30