Montreal – OldPlaidCamper

Station to (service) station

We don’t travel by train all that often, and when we do, we think “why haven’t we done this for a while? It’s such fun!”

We went from Quebec City down to Montreal a couple of weeks ago (perhaps I’ll write about why we went in a separate post) and opted to take the train. Why the train? Why not! Also, lovely though Quebec as a province is, have you ever driven one of the two highways north or south of the river, Quebec to Montreal? Not ugly or dreary, but, to my mind, one of the most boring stretches of road to drive. There’s a train for that journey? Sold!

Not hugely interesting (most boring photo ever? Just wait…)

I don’t say that about the MTL- QC road being a challenge to me lightly – after all, I’ve driven the M5. If you’re ever on the M5 and find yourself thinking “time for a rest stop?” please don’t stop at Taunton Deane service station. There are never, ever, any good reasons, and that includes running out of petrol or needing a bathroom. What about Bridgwater services as an alternative to TD on the M5, OPC? Fair question, and sure, at least Bridgwater service station isn’t Taunton Deane. I guess it’s up to you – Bridgwater or Taunton Deane? Hemlock or arsenic? You decide! M5 services… shudder… (with a tip of the hat and a very close second place awarded to a certain pre-glasnost Soviet style service station found on the M6. If you know where, then you know where and you know to do all you can to avoid stopping. The M6 one is pretty grim, but the patrons at least appear to be alive, unlike the pod people encountered near Taunton Deane. Another shudder…)

Back to the not-so-bad-now-I-think-about-it road between Quebec City and Montreal. It’s not as though the road is particularly problematic. It’s not completely straight and flat, there are large fields, wooded stretches, glimpses of river, and an occasional spire reaching above the trees and towering over small settlements. We’ve never been unduly delayed due to construction. There are ample gas and coffee stops, and, on a sunny day, some of the outdoor rest areas are delightful, pleasant enough to stop and enjoy a picnic. As we sometimes have. Yet the road itself, to me, well goodness, it’s such a boring drive. (On boring, this tedious piece seems to be rather long on roads and such, rather than trains. For a post titled “Station to (service) station” could we get back to trains and stuff? I’ll try – sorry about that!)

Anyway, it was fun to take the train, knowing I could enjoy feeling drowsy without having to stop for a coffee. In fact, if you’d like a coffee, there was service at your seat! Same for a croissant. Or a selection of (slightly dubious looking but not Taunton Deane levels of dubious looking) sandwiches. Yeah, the train sandwiches did trigger M5 flashbacks, so I passed on those…

The departure station in Quebec City is not too shabby. Station? No, it’s a palace! The Gare du Palais – what a gem! Not all railway stations are created equal… I accept that there are plenty of wonderful, even grand and central(!) railway stations all over the world, but for a small city, the Gare du Palais is grand enough.

When I was a teen, and pretending to grow up, I’d sometimes travel from Reading to London Paddington on the train. It was a reasonably quick journey and always exciting to be headed to the big city. Paddington Station is a mighty terminus! Reading Station (it might be different now) is/was an important junction on the rail network, but could never be described as a palace. Or mighty.

My most memorable British Rail station has to be Stockport. My parents lived near Stockport for a few years, and I’d travel up by train from London Euston. Even if the UK was experiencing a heatwave, even if it was the sunniest day in the northwest of England since records began, I can assure you Stockport railway station would be the coldest place on the planet. Freezing in winter, and even colder in summer. Penguins shiver at the mere mention of Stockport station. I always had a wonderful time in and around Manchester and Stockport, but it often seemed quite cold. And it always seemed colder than anywhere else near Manchester on the platform of Stockport railway station. Manchester Piccadilly? Balmy! Cheadle Hulme? Tropical! Alderley Edge? Break out the sunblock! But Stockport? Brrr! I’d rather summer on north Baffin Island…(I’ve not been to Baffin, and I understand it gets coldish there, but not Stockport station cold…)

Chilly here, but warmer than Stockport railway station

Let’s warm up! To Europe, and let’s take the train! Our favourite railway journey – I may have mentioned this before, but if I can’t remember, then why would you? – was an overnight rail and ferry and then rail again trip from London Victoria to La Rochelle. We’d sent our bicycles on ahead the week before – so very trusting – and after a mostly sleepless Saturday night, and a bleary-eyed Sunday lunchtime to mid-afternoon wait (nothing, and I mean nothing, was open in Poitiers on a sunny June Sunday back in the 80s) we caught the the onward train to La Rochelle. Happy to have arrived, and clutching our little cardboard ticket stubs that proved we’d been foolish enough to post our bikes to who knew where, we set off in search of the luggage office in La Rochelle station. Well, to our great surprise and relief, there was such an office – and it was open! Our bikes were there, intact and ready for a week of cycling and camping adventures. (I’ve definitely written about the cycling and camping before, so to your great relief, I won’t go on about that again!)

“You know, if neither of you want to drive? I’ve seen PC at the wheel, so how hard can it be?”

Well, although this post appears to have been about travel, we seem to have gone nowhere in particular! Before we completely run out of road or go off the rails, here’s one more thing to share. I’ll leave you with a favourite somewhat railway adjacent track. Track, hehehe… (Oh, enough rattling on, PC – worse than a rickety carriage on old sleepers. Time for you to be shunted into a quiet siding. Off you go!)

Almost forgot the music: I travel – Simple Minds. It reminds me of all the times in the 1980s and into the early 90s when I could have but never did travel a lot more by train in Europe, and particularly to the newly opening Eastern European places. This song (and much of the entire album if you’ve the interest and stamina) reflects that period. Cue my moody and not at all pretentious European look to camera – in black and white, on slightly scratchy film stock please…

Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!

We are all connected

I wasn’t planning on writing about our Montreal trip again, at least not quite so soon, but recent events compelled me to do so.

One of the strongest impressions I had of Montreal was how very French it is. That might sound a little silly – of course it seems French, most people there speak French. What I mean is that I’d expected Montreal to be a large Canadian city that happened to have French as a first language. Instead, I discovered Montreal to be a very French city that happens to be in Quebec and Canada. I’d never before appreciated the French identity of this part of Canada. I’d read about the nation within a nation, but without a very clear understanding. I understand it a little better now. Experience is a great teacher.

Although this was our first trip to Quebec, I found Montreal to be strangely familiar. The advertising billboards, the waft of cigarettes, the music spilling out of cafes, some of the restaurants and cafes themselves, these are all reminiscent of some of the cities we’d enjoyed during our four years in France. Even the architecture of older buildings and the cobbled paving stones echoed old France. In the right light and with a bit of a squint, we could have been promenading in Perigueux or Paris, or strolling a boulevard in Bordeaux.

Bordeaux! A fine city, a large and attractive port, and not too far from where we lived back then. Parts of Vieux Montreal down by the St Laurent river could have doubled for Bordeaux. Hardly surprising historically, but still a pleasant surprise for us, provoking a pang for our time in France.

We are all connected. It might be through memory, history, family, friendship, travel, or simply through digital devices, but that connection is there. Naive I know, but wouldn’t it be something if we could appreciate these connections, promote them positively, and enjoy our sense of collective community? We have so much to learn from each other! Our connections to each other are far more relevant, valuable and human than our differences (I love our differences – think about it, we’d be boring without them – and they should be celebrated and respected) Oh, my naivety…

I far prefer to be out in wild landscapes than large cities, most likely because of the quiet and contrast. It’s not an escape as such, more a need for a different experience. They’re all real parts of my world, with the natural world a nose ahead for me. Yet I am happy enough to live in and visit cities where there is a vibrant and generally peaceful multicultural community. Places where differences are treasured, and the valuing of these differences binds the community, making it better for all.

I have to say that after recent events in a place we called home, it is hard to think positively, but we lose so much if we don’t. How I feel just now is hardly unique, and goodness knows, there are many experiencing far worse, and at first hand, all over the world. What a tragedy that these events might be what connect so many of us…

My Montreal morning…merveilleux!

Quebec! La belle province! Montreal! Don’t worry, this won’t be written in French, or my butchered version of French, that would be too cruel for lovers of language. This week, I’m writing an urban piece, but it has a flavour of the outdoors about it. So bear with me, and we’ll take a trip…on y va!

We were lucky enough to visit Montreal last week. Mrs. PlaidCamper was presenting at a conference, someone had to carry her bags, and I secured that prestigious gig (just to be clear, Dr. PlaidCamper is more than capable of carrying her bags, but I’ll do anything to visit somewhere new…) I had never been to Quebec, never mind Montreal, and was curious to explore a new (to me) corner of Canada.

While Dr. PlaidCamper was making her contribution to global health, I started the day by making a contribution to my expanding waistline. Although I do believe a cup of great coffee and a flaky croissant is a health food if consumed without a cigarette. Obviously, Mrs. PlaidCamper is the expert on the health front, but I want to help, and this next bit is for the smokers of Montreal – stop it! There are far too many of you doing this, and you are too pleasant a bunch of people to want to self harm in this way. I think I passive smoked my way through at least a pack and a half…

When the smoke cleared – to be fair, the smoking is all outside (but it is hard to walk down a street without passing through clouds of exhaled smoke near the entrances of many buildings) – I set off for Mont Royal. I knew this to be a delightful park overlooking the city. It’s a place where urban dwellers get their outdoor fix, so I decided to head there to get my first real impression of Montreal, geographically speaking. The route I chose was delightful; mature trees shedding leaves in front of buildings far older and more architecturally interesting than I’d expected.

It is easy to find the park, looming over the city as it does. You catch glimpses at the far end of streets that rise toward the heavily forested hillside, with the huge cross and communications towers perched on top. Earlier, I had smiled to myself at the description of the hill as a mountain in some guidebooks. That seemed too grand a description. By the time I’d slogged my way to the top, via winding paths and seemingly endless wooden staircases, I was very happy to concede the title of mountain. It is steep enough, and an excellent workout if you’re so inclined, which I wasn’t, but it was an unexpected personal mini-triumph.

The air was clean, and heavily scented with leaf decay – far richer and earthier than alpine Alberta. It seemed to me a more familiar autumnal tang, reminding me of London and the parks I played in as a boy. Aroma driven nostalgia…autumn does that.

The views back down to the city and the St. Laurent river were wonderful. As autumn had hung on a little longer here, the leafy trees provided enticing and beguiling natural frames for taking photos of Montreal. I spent a while at the top, wandering wherever, and really enjoying the feeling of being in an almost wilderness – the green heart of a great metropolis. How wonderful for the people of Montreal to have this pleasant place, a beautiful space in the middle of their city. It was such a marvellous and colourful Montreal morning!

We are always grateful for the opportunities we get to travel and experience new places – it is energizing and rewarding to be able to do so. Thanks for reading. As ever, please feel free to share a story – maybe you have visited Montreal? – or make a comment, as they are always enjoyed and welcome, and keep your guy ropes secure.

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