Please welcome today's guest blogger, Tara Donaldson, from livingwiththetravelbug.com
It was love at first sight.
Well, more like love at first border crossing. The romance of the language and the province bid me bienvenue as I entered Québec, and the reassurance of bilingual signage bid me adieu in the same breath. Everything was in French.
I struggled to recall the high school French lessons that were hiding somewhere in my memory bank. Unfortunately, we had not spent any time studying road sign vocabulary. The only clearly discernible sign was one depicting a rather large moose colliding with a car. I understood: beware; there is danger of colliding with a moose that will be bigger than your car. I turned on the bright lights and opened my eyes a little wider.
We squeezed through the tiny cobblestone streets to reach our hotel in beautiful Old Québec. Our American-sized vehicle complete with overhead camper and rear bike rack was a hilarious intrusion on this quiet, charming town. The rather handsome gentleman behind the hotel desk welcomed me with the sweetest “Bonjour” and I fell in love all over again–with the city of course.
I sipped a delicious chocolat chaud at Le Casse Cou in the morning and had one of those flawless travel moments as I stared out the window; the ones where you stop and realize just how incredible traveling can really be. I was almost afraid to reach Montreal, for fear of falling deeper in love.
There was no chance. Montreal completely romanced me. It began with a simple pasta at L’Usine de Spaghetti and ended in a full-blown love affair. If you’ve ever imagined yourself sharing a bowl of spaghetti with a special someone, happening upon the same noodle, and slurping it until you are just close enough for un bisous, this would be the perfect setting. I strolled past stunning architecture and watched lovers, young and old holding hands in the streets. I received French greetings in the shops and restos until the blank look on my face indicated that I needed some English translation. To be mistaken for a local, even if only for a moment, is happiness for this traveler. I loved it.
Sometimes, one city is hardly much different from the next. They all come stock with tall buildings, pesky one-way streets, and a Chinatown. Although Montreal technically fits the bill of any other city, it refuses to remind you of any place else. It is perhaps like a kiss; for all intents and purposes, a kiss is just a kiss, but there are those few that just hold that extra spark.
Now that my love affair with the city has run its course and I must leave it behind, it has begun to whisper sweet nothings begging for my return. I fear Montreal may threaten to bribe me with a heavenly poutine avec bacon if I hesitate for too long. I will not…Québec, je t’aime.
