Au revoir Montreal...
After leaving the concert hall, feet firmly floating above the ground, we returned to the car park and set off on the drive back to the city. We talked about the possibility of paying a return visit, and what we would do if any one of us won some money on the lottery. Suffice it to say that if such an eventuality occurred, we would be booking flights from Volgograd as well as the UK! I have since suggested to Luce that she should come to play at The Sage in Gateshead, and she has confirmed that she would love to perform in England. Now there's a challenge!!
As we drove closer to the city Sylvain pointed out the Olympic Stadium in the distance, and was kind enough to detour off the main road to let us have a closer look at this spectacular building. It was interesting to note that the citizens of Montreal are still paying for the stadium, erected for 1976 Summer Olympics!
We then drove into the 'downtown' area of pubs, bars and night-clubs - it looked so familiar! Just like South Shields or Newcastle on a Friday night, with young females only slightly less scantily clad than on Tyneside! And then it was on to Sherbrooke, and soon we were outside the hotel. We said farewell and au revoir to Louise and Sylvain, and soon the white Dodge van with the 'Habs' flag fluttering in the breeze disappeared in the traffic. I do hope we meet again, whether it is in Quebec or the UK. I know for certain that we have made good friends.
Entering the hotel lobby, I checked with the chap on duty whether it was OK to use the computer in the breakfast room (with a printer attached) at this time of night (about 12.20 a.m.) "Of course. Help yourself," was his cheery reply. Returning with the correct code I was able to let myself into the breakfast room, log on to t'internet and sign in to the British Airways site to check in, select seats and print out boarding cards for both the journey to London Heathrow and that from Heathrow to Newcastle. This proved to be a good thing. Then upstairs, or rather up on the ascenseur, special edition blog and a swift email to Daria (it turned out that she had been waiting up to hear news of the concert!)
Saturday dawned...destined, it seemed, to be an anti-climax. As we sat in the breakfast room, gazing out at the good citizens walking to their destinations through heavy rain, we munched our way through our sultana bran, with added sliced banana, and planned our last day on this side of the Atlantic. Because of the weather we decided to return to the vieux cité, to visit the Basilica de Notre Dame, and then return underground to explore the reseau. By the time we had everything packed and moved downstairs to the storage room where it would stay until we returned to collect it later in the day, it was check-out time - 12 noon. We ordered a taxi to collect us from the hotel at 7.00 p.m. so that we would be at the airport in good time, hoping to avoid the masses moving to the nearby Bell Stadium where the Canadiens were playing the Philadelphia Flyers in the semi-final series of the Stanley Cup. It was to be a make-or-break game - defeat was unthinkable for the Habs.
As we left the hotel the rain had stopped, and we decided to use our highly-developed natural navigation skills to walk down to the old city, We walked through an area which had lots of establishments merchandising 'fourrures' in all shapes, sizes and guises. Canada is famed for its furs, and you can understand why such good use was made of furs to protect against the bitter winters. We also passed a strange restaurant, with a haunted house theme - bodies hanging out of windows, and various ghouls strategically placed around the building. looked like a fun night out. No, some people might like it.
Further on we recognised varuious street names and actually found our way quite easily to Notre Dame. Paying the $5 entry fee we went in to this beautifully decorated building, witha huge apse behind the high altar and reredos. We sat down near the back of the nave, to gaze around, (and rest the old feet). Whilst we were sitting there, there was an upsetting incident behind us. The young lady who was taking the entry fees and issuing tickets was making sure that anyone who claimed to be visiting the chapel at the rear of the basilica to pray or light a candle did so. It appeared that it was possible to enter without paying, if your sole intention was to visit the chapel. Apparently one lady on her way to the chapel, had paused to point out something to one of her companions, and therefore was asked to pay the admission charge. She objected strongly, but the official was in no mood to back down or be conciliatory. "You can go to the chapel. but you mustn't stop and point out things. I saw you pointing out things, so you must pay!"
"So now it's a business!", said the visitor, by now in tears
"Ok, you can go now."
"Oh, so I can go now."
I think it could have been handled better.
Having paid our $5 we were allowed to wander around this beautiful building. I was surprised that it was so 'new' - built as it was in the Gothic style in the late 19th Century.
Leaving the Basilica we walked on to Square Jacques Cartier, which is surrounded by restaurants of various types. By now it was mid afternoon, and we thought that if we ate now, we wouldn't need anything else before getting on the flight home. We turned right into rue St Paul, walking past the Kashmir, where we had lunched on Thursday. A little further down the street was an establishment called "Les Trois Brasseurs" (The Three Brewers). It seemed that there was a micro-brewery on site, and this proved to too much of an attraction. We entered and were shown to a table by the young lady acting as receptionist. The menu was fascinating, and I finally decided upon a "Flammkeuchen" - a thin oven-baked flatbread with onions, lardons and cheese spread on it like a pizza. Audrey chose a steak sandwich with frites. To accompany the food we selected from the beer section of the menu. I chose the dark brew, with hints of caramel and chocolate , whilst A. selected the amber ale. Food good. Beer good. The place was crowded and quite noisy, and I guess many of those there were preparing for the match, and had been doing so for quite a while, it seemed.
We then decided to make for the entrance to the underground network in Square Victoria, but on arriving there it seemed that this section of the underground city closed down early on Saturday - at about 3.00 p.m. We walked on, past the Berlin Wall (beside The Inter-Continental Hotel) and through the Palais de Congress, on to the Place des Arts, where we found the shops and cafes still open. By now the feet and legs were beginning to feel the pace, and by the time we made it back to the hotel, we were ready to sink into the armchairs in the lobby for a rest. By then it was about 5.00. As we sat there watching the world go by, it dawned on us that it might be better toget a taxi a little earlier, so that we would not get caught up in the ice-hockey match traffic. I approached the desk, asked if they could change the time of the taxi from 7.00 p.m to 6.00 p.m. No problem. No sooner had I wheeled the trolley containing our luggage into the lobby than the doors swung open, and a cheery taxi-driver swept in. "You go airport? You go now?"
This was startlingly swift service, a mere two minutes after the call was made, and it was just 5.30! We glanced at each other and nodded in agreement. At which point our taxi-driver leaped forward to wheel the luggage trolley out of the doors, and unloaded as much as would fit into his boot (trunk). The rest went into the car with us. What a contrast! On our arrival the taxi-driver had barely grunted at us, and spent most of his time talking into his bluetooth hands-free set. Our new driver was the total opposite,. pointing out things of interest.
" See here, this is very good street. There are very good hotels here - very good quality. You want nice shops? There is very good shop with nice things, very expensive, like Christine Dior and other peoples like that."
I asked him about the match traffic.
"Oh yes, lots of peoples is coming early for the game. It is big game, very important. For you, I drive past the Bell, where is the match taking place. You see this man, waving the orange flag at side of road - he is showing parking, and saying, come and park here. That;s why he waves flag. You see there is Bell, where Celine Dion appears, and the Canadiens playing tonight. Very important game. You have football in England, yes? Manchester United, Arsynal"
He didn't seem to recognise Sunderland, but had heard of Newcastle.
Ah, yes, yes, Newcastle. "
As we drove further out into the suburbs he explained that this would be his last job of the evening, because he lived out by the airport, and after dropping us off he would be going home to watch the match on tele. This enthusiastic guide to all things interesting then pointed out some very large heaps of something by the road.
"You see, you see! That is snow, yes it is snow, which they are digging out from the city and putting here, out of way."
The snow piles were dirty and looked more like slag heaps, but we took his word for it.
On arriving at the airport our Tunisian driver leapt out, unloaded all of the luggage on to two trolleys, making sure that "the lady has the smallest". I paid him the regulation $35, plus a good tip. He smiled broadly, shook my hand, shook Audrey's hand, wished us a good journey, turned and came back to me, shook my hand again, saying his farewells like a long-lost brother. And drove off, still turning and waving until he was out of sight. He was worth the tip, every cent!
We went into the airport, dropped off our bags at the Fast Bag Drop Off Point and made our way through passport control and security. There was something they didn't like about my hand-baggage, so they put it through twice, and swabbed it for explosives. All was eventually OK, and we made our way to the departure lounge, which was to be our home for the next four hours, as a display announced that BA Flight 94 to London Heathrow was now due to take off at 10.00, rather than 9.40.
Time passed slowly, and my attempt to purchase a bottle of Crown Royale whisky at the Duty Free were thwarted at the last moment, when the lady behind the counter asked to where I was flying. If I was simply flying to Heathrow, no problem, but because we were flying on to Newcastle there was no duty free for us. I guess it's logical - no liquids more than 100 ml allowed on in carry-on bags, but we lose out again. Never mind, we had two drinks from the bar near the gate, which cleared out the last of the Canadian dollars, particularly when the bar-tender looked knowingly at the change when he put it down in front of me.
The BA aircraft finally arrived at 20.40, but unlike the Air Canada flight from Las Vegas, which turned round in just on 45 minutes, the 777 required considerably more time, and we didn't start boarding until almost 10.00. By that time the match was nearly over, but the last score I had heard was 2-1 to the Habs. Sadly for Montreal, they were unable to retain the lead, and finally succumbed 2-4. Out of the cup - disaster! Commiserations to Sylvain and all of the other Habs fans, We Sunderland supporters know all about such disappointment.
And so, with the sun set, and the game lost, BA Flight 94 lifted off into the night sky some 60 minutes late, cutting into the time we needed to transfer from Terminal 4 to Termnal 5 at Heathrow. Would we make it? Would our luggage make it? What would we be served for supper? For the answers and more see the next posting!
