and it is almost difficult to remember the sensation of walking in several inches of snow during our short stay in Québec City. I intended to continue my account of the experience immediately after the first instalment of the blog, however, many things intervened. Thankfully I documented the trip in some detail offline, so hope to share some of the more pertinent facts and experiences here.
After a fine breakfast on the Saturday morning at our ancient and yet comfortable B&B, during which we ate blueberry pancakes, fresh fruit, cereals, breakfast muffins and a whole host of other good things, we decided to make at least one sortie before the falling snow made this impossible. What had initially begun as forecasted rain, had turned overnight into a heavy fall of snow. Thankfully, the temperature was hovering just below zero, so it was not uncomfortable to set out from our accommodation and head for the Plains of Abraham.
A bit of seasonal snow was not enough to deter the owners of the calèches which ply the streets throughout the year; although we were there as tourists, we’re not completely in agreement with the quality of life that the horses receive, so we passed this mode of transport up for walking on foot. Thankfully, the snow ploughs had cleared the paths up to the Plains, and we were able to have an invigorating walk up towards the old fortifications, in the teeth of continually falling snow. The view of the semi-frozen St Laurence was somewhat obscured by the weather, but if anything, the resulting aerial perspective was mellowing (below). The uncomfortable mix of architecture in the city (quasi-modern mingling with historic) reminded me of Guildford in the UK, where the historical castle overlooks a concrete multi storey car park and a modern cathedral.
We felt cold and extremely damp after wading through the still-drifting snow up by the battlements, so decided to visit the nearby tourist information bureau and find out where we could visit and still remain dry. Quebec’s tourism is an ultra-organised industry, and our informative guide gave us some great tips on where to dine, and attractions to see. We decided to make our way to the Muséé national des beaux-arts de Quebec http://www.mnba.qc.ca/Accueil.aspx as I had not yet explored the fine arts in my adoptive country. It proved to be a wonderful choice.
The museum housed a running exhibition on the artist Marc-Aurele Fortin, a name I had previously not encountered. I was pleasantly surprised to discover what a talent (and motif) this Canadian artist had, and to view numerous of his paintings and drawings. From the number of landscapes and cityscapes in his paintings, I came to the primitive conclusion that his style is an amalgam of Constable, Lowry and Turner. The figures in his landscapes, even his city views, are small and insignificant “insects”, walking with bowed bodies or seated beneath his towering trees and mountainous clouds.
It was an inspiring visit, and the time we spent in the gallery left us drier and more prepared to seek out our lunch. We did this at the recommended : http://www.cafekrieghoff.qc.ca/home.html
The cafe Krieghoff provided a simple but very well prepared comfort lunch, and also offered a local “pub” atmosphere. It was also surprisingly tourist-free, and we mostly heard French and local accents filtering from the bar. We dined late, and then sought out some replacement socks (the walk on the cliff had left our feet soaked, not being prepared for any depth of snow). We then walked, dried and refreshed, to see the Chateau Frontenac. The first, and lasting impression I have of this building, would be summed up in the word “ostentatious”. It has little more appeal for me as a historian, tourist or new citizen, than Harrods in London had in the past, and we did not take the tour, contenting ourselves with exploring the route back to the main square, where we decided to book a restaurant for supper.
We were feeling slightly negative when we called at the Beffroi, a steak house built into a hotel in the central square of the tourist district, but this only slightly contributed to a disappointing customer service experience.
We simply felt that, as non-staying guests, the reservation was made in such a detached and indifferent manner, that we were not happy to return there for supper, and after spending a few minutes in a cafe nearby, watching people slipping over on the freezing rain-covered sidewalks, we decided to forget the unfriendly restaurant and make our way to a place nearer “home”.
http://www.entrecotesaintjean.com/flash/index_fr.htm
We decided on The Entrecote St Jean, in the old quarter just a couple of blocks from the guest house. Not only did we receive excellent service at an extremely busy time, with no prior reservation, the food was cooked to a very high standard and equal to any we have enjoyed in Montréal. It did not have the snob factor of the Beffroi, nor the ambience, but we were more than satisfied that the service made up for this, and it is a restaurant I would feel safe recommending to any friend.
The Sunday dawned with even less pleasant weather, a mixture of melting snow and freezing rain turning the sidewalks into treacherous skating rinks. We almost decided to stay at the guest house until departure time, midday, though this would have been a considerable waste of time. The effects of the chill and damp were also making themselves felt, and we both had colds. The only place of any interest within “winter walking distance” of the station was the farmer’s market.
We enjoyed almost every part of our experience of our stay at the Maison James Thompson, save one; we were not pre-warned that they accept no payment cards, only cash, therefore it was a partial relief to know that I’d packed the cheque book. Even so, this one negative experience was not enough to spoil our stay, where we were very well looked-after. Sylvie’s boots were even provided with a heater overnight to dry them out, a fantastic and sympathetic level of service.
Our trip home was a series of unsettling experiences; firstly, our taxi to the station had to be diverted when we discovered that there was a major fire incident in the old quarter, through which we had to pass. The taxi driver diverted up a steep and extremely slippery hill, and instead of easing off the accelerator when his front wheel lost grip, he simply piled on the gas, so we spent several fruitless minutes listening to shrieking tyres and smoke from the differential before we finally made more progress uphill than down. The farmer’s market proved to be interesting, but many of the products were identical to those available in Montréal’s better supermarkets. We did indulge in some locally-prepared nougat, which was comparable to that from Montelimar, and then made our slippery way to the railway station.
Thankfully the rail service was more efficient than the taxis, despite the weather, and we made acceptable progress Montréal bound. Two families of screaming kids incarcerated in the same carriage with us made it a far-from positive journey, as did the frequent stops to allow the Canadian National freight trains to pass our “lower priority” train on the single track sections, but we rolled into Montréal acceptably on time. The whole experience was a learning curve, but gave us plenty of ideas for future visits. We intend next time to:
- Hire or borrow a vehicle and not be shoehorned into a cattle wagon with hyperactive and undisciplined children,
- Take a trip at a more favourable season of year, though preferably not at the height of summer,
- Stay in a similar accommodation: affordable and comfortable, very quiet, and near to the “action” as far as tourism is concerned.
All in all: a very positive experience, though it left us both with severe infections- these were more likely contracted before we left, and in fairness, were probably provoked as much by the change in routine as by picking up “fresh germs”.
(Above) Mr Ghandi feeling the burn.
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