Monday 1st May
The night before I had returned to the room to grab something during dinner and when I got back to the kitchen I'd said to Charlotte, “we've got a potential snorer in the room”. Low and behold, we were both awoken at around half 1 by the sound of a chainsaw ripping through the room. We could clearly hear that we weren't the only ones struggling to sleep but nobody else wanted to get up and smother the guy with a pillow. Eventually, I did, then we fled to the border. Just kidding! I attempted to shake the bed but the guy was so heavy, it just wouldn't shift. I got back in to bed and rammed my earplugs as far into my ears as I could but it made no difference. In the end, something happened, by which he probably rotated his bulk and the snoring stopped and we all quickly took of advantage of the peace and quiet and made sure to catch sleep before he started again.
He had started by the time we woke up at half 5, but by that point we just didn't care. We left him to the others in the room and whatever consequences befell him. As we were leaving so early, we'd asked at reception if we could grab some bagels but they were being stubborn and just wouldn't let us, so we dumped our keys and headed out the door into the fresh morning air. The bus stop was only a 10 minute walk away and it was probably one of the better ones we'd frequented over the past month (we’ll be train spotting next! The buses were listed above the doors, so we could settle into our line safe in the knowledge we would be getting a seat together. Once aboard and departed at 7, we spent the first 2 hours catching up with the sleep the snorer had prevented us from having the night before. After our stop at a place called White River Junction, we fuelled up on coffee and managed to stay awake for the rest of the way to the Canadian border, which we arrived at around 12:45. There is absolutely nothing to like about border crossings and despite having nothing to hide, we were absolutely dreading the experience. Fortunately, it was Canadians behind the desks and not Americans and after a few quick questions, our passports were stamped and we were sent through to await the remaining passengers. Once we'd all been stamped and there had been no issues like on the train at El Paso, we all got back onboard and finished the journey into Montreal. We were bang on time, which was a surprise considering Charlotte had kept an eye on previous buses and they had all been delayed crossing the border. Ahead of us was a 35 minute walk to our hostel, through absolutely awful weather. The skies had been the colour of lead since we'd left Boston and at moments while we were travelling through Vermont, it had actually looked like it was more likely to snow than rain. Eventually, the look of snow went and the rain started just as we were approaching the border. The rain had continued on our short journey up to Montreal. The rain had slowed to spits when we exited the bus station but due to the length of the walk, we still managed to get pretty wet and were pretty miserable by the time we found the hostel. We instantly took a disliking to the hostel. It was in shabby condition all over the place and we were stuck on top bunks completely separate from one another. Despite the weather, we were just desperate to get back out of it, so dumped our things, grabbed a map and headed out. I'd read about a place called the underground city, which was a series of tunnels that contained shops, restaurants, cafes, hotels and metro stations and seemed like a sensible place to spend a rainy afternoon out of the rain. The only problem was that we couldn't find it. Google maps took us to a place where it reckoned it was but there were no stairways leading to the underground city. We were giving up when we joined back up what seemed to be the main street of Montreal, when we noticed loads of people ducking through some doors that had Gare Centrale written above them. My French isn't the best but I know Gare means station and we knew that some stations were linked to the underground tunnels, so we took the punt. It turned out we just had to follow the locals. We did something else the locals seem to do a lot when we got downstairs and that was visit Tim Horton’s. Tim Horton’s is a coffee shop and bakery that is as present on the streets of Canada as Dunkin’ Donuts or McDonalds are in America or Tesco Expresses are in Worthing. Charlotte and I had both been semi frequent visitors in our previous visits to Canada, so we stopped by for a Hot Chocolate each, in order to warm us through. After our short break, we continued through the underground streets but found nothing worth stopping for and decided to see if there was anything more entertaining above ground. There wasn't, as it happens, for now at least, so we found a tourist shop and wrapped up the pin badge, before hunting down a supermarket that was hidden inside a huge mall. Going off a hunch, we decided to try our luck with baked beans in tomato sauce for the first time in a long while. We were sceptical at first, as the supermarket didn't appear to be too big but after we turned a corner, it opened out and was actually huge. To our relief, we did find proper baked beans for a reasonable price. We quickly shelved any plans for other dinner and picked up some beans and pasta. There was nothing else we really needed, so we checked out and started heading home. As we were walking home, along Rue Sainte-Catherine, we couldn't help but notice some chanting and noise up ahead of us. We also saw lots of policemen dressed up in riot gear. It turned out the noise was from a march making its way down the road, who's members were holding banners with the communist hammer and sickle emblazoned on it and at least the word “capitalism” written on it too. We couldn't understand the chanting or the rest of the words as our French was (is) just too poor but it was clearly some sort of pro communist march, which seemed very odd, in a country that isn't necessarily associated with communism. Some of the participants had their faces covered and the riot police looked ready for action, so we hurried on past in case anything got a bit heated. After we returned home and tucked in to our beans and pasta, which was fine but didn't quite reach the heady heights of previous versions, we googled and came up with that it was a group of students with communist ideals who were doing the marches and previous ones had gotten violent, with injuries and arrests. We were pleased we'd probably caught it early. After dinner, we got scrubbed up and set ourselves out in the room a bit more comfortably as, despite not really liking the hostel, we knew we had to tolerate it for the time being. Once the beds were made, it did actually end up quite comfortable.
Tuesday 2nd May
Breakfast was between the very generous hours of 7 and 12, so we considered the idea of getting up early, eating breakfast then returning before 12 and helping ourselves to more for lunch. In the end, we didn't get up early, so that plan went out the window. The breakfast was still good though and we couldn't quibble about the selection of cereal that was on offer. After brekkie, we decided the plan and headed out. Charlotte had come down with a cold in Boston, so we decided to take it as easy as possible. We wandered slowly down to the old town and port, which took us around 40 minutes. On the way, we passed the Notre-Dame Basillica, which had a pleasant square in front of it, that a few people were enjoying on what was quite a nice morning. Not ones to frequent churches, we continued down into the old town. We'd been curious during our stroll where all the tourists were but realised when we arrived that the old town was the obvious answer. Where we were staying was the modern downtown area and had nothing, bar a few churches, to write home about. The old town was pleasant though, if a bit touristy. There were cobbled streets and old buildings, now housing souvenir shops and clothing boutiques. We walked along rue de St.Paul before reaching Place Jacques-Cartier, which was a square leading down to an entrance to the old port of Montreal. The square contained a statue of Lord Admiral Nelson, standing atop one of his columns with his back to the water as well as Montreal City Hall. From the square, we walked to the old port, which is where Charlotte started to recall some memories of her previous trip to the city. They just weren't clear memories and our attempt to find a u shaped tree that she had been photographed on, failed. We did find the clock tower though, which was worth a quick photo. We spent an hour or so wandering the old port, enjoying the fresh breeze that was coming off the St.Lawrence river and keeping an eye out for the elusive tree. Once we'd seen enough of the port, we walked back up the the main street and picked up a fresh baguette and some pepperoni. It was the first time we'd had one of our ‘make at a bench lunches’ in a long, long time and it was a nice change. We had some pepperoni left over, so we walked back to the hostel to store it in a fridge before heading back out. The hostel had been a convenient stopping point, as our next destination was in a completely different direction than the old port had been. It took us about half an hour to reach the main viewing area of Mont Royale, which is a small mountain overlooking the Montreal skyline. We spent some time appreciating the view while nearly falling asleep on a bench before deciding it was time to get Charlotte back to the hostel for some much needed rest. Dinner was an odd concoction of pasta, sweetcorn and carrots mixed with mushroom soup as a substitute for sauce.
... Mike, November, Oscar, Papa ...
James and Charlotte
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