Bonus Blog: Marti’s Montreal Memoirs - Post M1

Every forgotten raincoat has a silver lining…

I took off for a hike in the cemetery last Thursday.  That would be the HUGE Notre Dame Cemetery on Mount Royal. Today's history lesson:

The Notre-Dame-des-Neiges Cemetery was founded in 1854, is over 340 acres and is the largest cemetery in Canada (3rd largest in North America) with more than 55 kilometeres of lanes and one million people interred. The Notre-Dame-des-Neiges Cemetery site has over 65,000 monuments and 71 family vaults.

Do you understand now when I say HUGE!! And that's just the Notre-Dame des-Neiges Cemetery, which is primarily a French-Canadian Catholic cemetery.  There is also the adjacent Mount Royal Cemetery which adds another 165 aces with over 162,000 interments, which is primarily English-speaking Protestants.

But I get ahead of myself as I never actually made it to Mount Royal for my day long outing.....I forgot to look at the weather forecast.  The sun was shining and I had my backpack loaded with my camera - check; water bottle - check; map - check; bus/Metro pass - check; money - check; sunscreen - check; phone - check; apple - check; granola bar - check; raincoat...nah; umbrella ....ha!

I got on the bus and did what everyone does - plugged myself into my iPod.  45 minutes later I was riding the Metro subway system. I popped out of the ground like a gopher at Metro station nearest Mount Royal to find the sun had been overtaken by a rather nasty storm front while I was underground.  I reached for my phone to text Tom to ask him to check the radar for me, but just as I found it in my loaded back pack, it 'ding-donged' with an incoming message alert....it was Tom asking, "Did you remember your new $$$ raincoat?  Raining hard here".  My reply was simply, "Ahh...The sun was shining when I left!"  I could hear him roll his eyeballs......

As I saw very dark clouds approaching and heard thunder, I decided not to walk the half mile to the cemetery...I needed Plan B.  And then I saw it.  It's hard to miss St Joseph's Oratory, so when I caught sight of it in the looming clouds, I headed that way.  Saint Joseph's Oratory of Mount Royal, (French: Oratoire Saint-Joseph du Mont-Royal), is a "Roman Catholic minor basilica", but it looked rather 'major' to me. It's Canada's largest church (capacity over 10,000 and 2,400 of those get to sit!) and the dome is the third-largest of its kind in the world after the Basilica of Our Lady of Peace of Yamoussoukro in Côte d'Ivoire (Ivory Coast) and Saint Peter's Basilica in Rome.  Pretty major company!

A lot of other people without raincoats were scampering to Saint Joseph's, so my new best friends and I started the self-guided tour in the 1st level 'Votive Chapel'.  The first impression is of the warmth and the smell of 10,000 votive candles.  It instantly makes you slow down (not easy for me) and take it all in.  In addition to the candles and the many statues, is the tomb of Brother Andre (Saint Andre Bessette).  Brother Andre built the first chapel in 1904, but the congregation quickly outgrew that space. There were several expansions; 1908 and again in 1910.  But they needed something bigger for the ever growing congregation, so began the construction of the basilica.  The basilica is dedicated to Saint Joseph, to whom Brother André credited all his reported miracles. These were mostly related to some kind of healing power, and many pilgrims (handicapped, blind, ill, etc.) poured into his Basilica, including numerous Protestants. On display in the Votive Chapel is a wall covered with thousands of crutches from those who came to the basilica and were allegedly healed. Pope John Paul II deemed the miracles to be authentic and beatified Brother André in 1982. In October 2010 Pope Benedict XVI canonized the saint.

The sanctuary of the basilica has an art deco feel - very different from the Notre Dame Basilica in Old Montreal.  I attached a few pictures, but my photography doesn't do justice.  I walked around and took pictures, I sat and read, I sat and meditated, I sat and prayed.

Meanwhile, it was still raining hard.  I went to an observation deck and watched the rain and wind in the treetops.  There was a lady there who was obviously not from Nebraska...."Look at that tree blowing!  I think it's a tornado!".....not even close.

I had read all the English displays and decided to make a break for the Basilica Cafe and Gift Shop across the parking lot.  Being a good duck, I didn't mind getting a little wet.  I enjoyed a cup of soupe poulet et nouilles (sounds better in French) and waited out the storm.  About the time I finished the soup, the clouds cleared and the sun returned.  As I walked around the outside of the basilica, I noticed a trail tucked in the woods, up the hill. There were only a few other people hiking this trail as it was steep.  I followed it to find a fantastic trail with the 12 Stations of the Cross - all with larger than life stone sculptures. It was beautiful...and offered a beautiful view of the west side of Montreal.....I half expected to see a rainbow

When I was finished, I walked down, down, down the stairs to the entrance garden and noticed the statue of Joseph holding an infant Jesus.  The inscription said, ITE AD JOSEPH.  As all you Latin buffs know, that means 'Go to Joseph'......good idea on a stormy day!

It was time to go, but first I found a wonderful bakery (I may never bake bread while I'm here - they do it so well!) and then stopped at an outdoor market for fresh produce.  I loaded up my shopping bags and went back into the gopher hole to head home.....

Every forgotten raincoat has a silver lining.

Posted with permission from Marti Franti

Observations of a Budding Quebecophile – Post 3

Well, folks, it’s time for the long awaited “observations of a Quebecophile” post. I love Top Ten lists, but doubt I can put together that many poignant observations (yet), so will provide below an undifferentiated list, and let you rank them yourself. Here it comes…

 

Blondes have more fun. I mentioned in blog post No. 1 about my realization that I, a natural blonde with blonde instincts (no jokes out there, now), was surrounded by a seaway of brunettes and black-haired nations. Many people in Quebec are French-Canadian so the dark-haired look must come from heredity. To solidify this observation note that brunette is actually a French word. This observation has held true everywhere we have gone. Dark hair rules, except in the older generation. I am still a bit queasy about this, in fact, yesterday at the Farmer’s Market I saw a blonde-haired, Norse looking guy coming down the sidewalk at me and wanted to hug him.

Thin to win. Another physical observation about the largely French-Canadian population here in Quebec is their very good fitness. The thin body-type seems to be as popular as brunette hair. We’re not sure if they are more health conscious, more diet conscious, or just plain more conscious. We’re not sure if this observation holds across Canada, but here in Quebec they eat well and stay trim.

Poutine, what do you mean? This thin and trim fact flies in the face of the first uniquely Montreal food choice we encountered. This dish is Poutine, pronounced like pooh-teen.  It is not high dining, but rather a dish of French fries topped with cheese curds and gravy. Ugh. I won’t post a picture of this dish for you. This dish takes the American, “Do you want fries with that?” to a whole new level. If you don’t know what cheese curds are, they look like popped popcorn kernels, small, white, blobs of cheese. So, the Poutine Diet is likely not the one that keeps Quebec thin.

Bike Lanes. Quebecois love to bike, I mean, bicycle, early and often. There is a strong bicycle culture here with many trails, lanes, paths, and even the main road through Ste-Anne-de-Bellevue is a dual bicycle and car route. This particular roadway, Bord-du-Lac, or Lakeshore Drive, has stop signs very regularly – much more often than an American driver would tolerate – which cars, but not bicyclists, must obey (or, if the bicyclist should, they don’t). Cars share the road graciously with bicyclists, even with packs of bicyclists that ride as one. The bicycle club ride is very popular, especially on Saturday mornings, when groups of cloned-bodies of brunettes can be seen in colorful spandex bicycle suits riding down Bord-du-lac like a school of fish migrating up the Saint Lawrence. Despite the roadway courtesy with cars, I have never heard a Montreal biker yell, “On your left” – as we do in the U.S. – as they go streaking by.

French-Canadian Fashionista. Here in Quebec the women dress like they are going out to a fine restaurant and the men dress like teenage boys. These thin, brunette, French-heritage women bring it all. Shopping for groceries in a black, spaghetti-strap dress, with matching heels, walking the boardwalk in the same, dressed for a night at the Opera to attend a picnic. Dresses are the everyday wear of choice for Quebec women. You think I am joking, but I am not. I’m not talking dressed for a wedding, but actually wearing clothes other than blue jeans. However, the men that escort them balance things out. Men typically wear cargo shorts, a t-shirt, and sandals, flip-flops, or tennis shoes. I don’t know how these woman put up with these guy’s poor couture. How to Ruin a Photo 101: Stand By This Guy. One tick in favor of the men’s fashion is they avoid t-shirts with images of skeletons, fireballs, aged rock n’ roll singers, motorcycles, and Mickey Mouse.

Well, I’m not at number ten yet on this list, but I have a few more weeks to go. I’ll stop here for now. I’m off for an afternoon bike ride in my cargo shorts and t-shirt.

Bonne journee,

Tom

P.S. Coming soon...a Bonus Blog: Marti's Montreal Memoirs.

Quebec, Oh, File for, eh, While, eh, 2nd Post

A blog is not a diary, so I won’t be recounting my daily life here in Montreal, not telling you that last Thursday evening we went downtown to the Just For Laughs (JFL) Festival for the Chevy Chase Gala. A gala at JFL is a show hosted by a comic (our host was Chevy Chase and you’re not), who gets to open, MC, and do several comedic segments between acts of other guest comics. The night was hilarious. Six or seven guest comics appeared, who were from around the world, like Canada, United States, Australia, Canada, United States and Canada and the United States. Their humor orientation ranged from classic stand up one-liners to stories of going bald at age 23, to physical slap stick about the Dyson AirBlade hand dryers that are ubiquitous in Canada (you can’t dry yourself out of a paper towel around here). Chevy did a fine job, including a stint behind the desk for the news. Some things never get old (but Chevy does, he’s 70 now).

Since a blog is not a diary, I won’t recount our Saturday morning trip to the Ste. Anne Farmer’s Market for the Blues and BBQ event. We attended the BBQ seminar at 10:00 a.m., a workshop by local Montrealer John Lattuca, Pit Master.  He was the 2012 Jack Daniel's 'World Brisket Champion' and winner of a grill-load of other awards.  We parked ourselves in the audience to learn how to make perfect BBQ ribs.  After taking five pages of notes on building the fire, prepping the ribs, crafting a 'Texas Crutch', timing and testing, and seasoning, my wife, Marti, concluded her notes with: "or go to restaurant!"  After he finished his demonstration, and after the sudden appearance of the health inspector was dealt with, John was permitted to sell his food.  We split a plate of ribs, World Championship brisket, beans and coleslaw. Like Marti said, “Dang, it was tasty!”

Since a blog is not a diary, I won’t recount our Sunday evening trip to the Olympic Park for a soccer game. Many of you will recall the 1976 Summer Olympics (my all-time favorite summer games), think Nadia Comaneci, Sugar Ray Leonard, and Bruce Jenner the Decathlete. We drove to LaSalle, a suburb about 25 minutes from here, which is the terminus of the Green Line of the Metro. We rode 30 minutes on the subway to the stadium at the Olympic Park on the East side of town, where the Montreal Impact played the Portland Timbers.  My son John lives in Portland, so we texted him photos and such. He watched the game on TV and stayed dry, while we got wet in the downpour just before halftime.  Hey, this is boring let’s talk about…the fact that a blog is not a diary.   

                                                   1976 Olympic Park in background

Portland won 3-2, on a goal at the 83^rd minute. 

A blog is not a diary. If not, what is it? 

It is a log of events, a log of “b” events, I guess. The “a” events I’m saving for my next book.

Staying under 500 words I’ll close with…Good night, Diary.

Note:  Pit Master episode description courtesy of Marti Franti

Quebecophile for a While First Post

Welcome to Quebecophile for a While blog’s first post. I’ll chronicle our life here in Quebec over the next six months. I’ve also been posting pictures of outings and sights around Montreal on Facebook, so if you want to see those photos and future posts there you know what to do. 

A quick refresher on our journey….Marti and I are living in Montreal while I am on sabbatical, working at McGill University, working in the Bioresource Engineering Department. My primary goal on sabbatical (this is for the boss to read) is to create the content for a new course I will teach….hey this is boring, let’s talk about Quebec.

A Quebecophile is someone who loves Quebec, and obviously we do, or will, or might, or should since we decided to live here for half a year. We love winter and they have it here in spades, but unfortunately, we’ll miss it as it starts in earnest in January and we plan to leave…hey this is boring, let’s talk about Montreal.

Montreal is described as the city of festivals (by me). When we arrived the International Jazz Festival was in full swing. We attended the free outdoor shows one evening. Five, count it, cinq stages set up with free music in the Place de Arts district. Not small stages and not small acts. Great music, great environment, great, polite crowds. 

The next weekend the International Music Festival was concluding. Then the Just for Laughs Festival started running for two weeks. Again, lots of free street performers trying to get guffaws from the crowds and several free outdoor venues. We didn’t spend much time at the outdoor venues as the acts we saw were performing in French…hey this is boring, let’s talk about culture shock.

I only had one panic attack so far, and that was when I realized there are no blond-haired people here. As some of you know, I am 100% Finnish, land of the blonds, (I was very blond as a kid), and I also grew up in Northern Wisconsin where there are many blonds. But after being here a week I felt like I was on another planet, realizing, like, 100% of French descendants are dark haired, and all the immigrants, Chinese, Hispanic, African, Middle Eastern, are, like, also all dark haired. Thank god I married a blond.

The other culture shock was the topless matriarch who road proudly perched like a double bow sprit of her husband’s 50-foot, double-decker boat as they slowly cruised through the canals that run along the southern edge of Montreal. This was her way of celebrating Canada Day, comparable to our 4^th of July, and her French heritage...viva bra France!

Not much else on the culture shock page, except the French language is dominant in parts of the city. More on this later. One other observation is the common dress here and typical fitness of the populous. More on that later too.

So, staying under five-hundred words per post, I’ll end this…..hey, this is boring, let’s talk about…

Bonne journee, 
Tom