We crossed into Canada and started heading towards Montreal. Right away the map tripped me up because my estimate of miles (and therefore time) was way off since of course it lists kilometers. So suddenly we’re in the city and I’m understanding better the big “hey, dumb americans, don’t forget we’re metric” billboard near the border. I wasn’t completely prepared for it to be quite so “foreign” but sure enough, half of the signage is French-only and the other half is French above and English below. It’s hard enough navigating on crowded streets in a new city without having to translate Rue, Sortie, Ouest, etc all the time. I know those words well enough, it’s just an adjustment I had not really thought about at all. Seems like we’re still close enough to throw a rock to New York or Vermont.
The evil hotel downtown said they have parking (for a fee, naturally) and they’re sure the garage is plenty tall enough for our van, and sure enough it’s not at all tall enough and we’re on our own to find an alternative. So we’re parked in something that might serve as the overflow lot for the hotel, with a note on the dashboard, and fingers crossed that the car is still there in the morning.
After a short rest we set out to see the city and walked along Rue St Catherine quite a ways before picking a spot for dinner. Cafes were hanging out over wide sidewalks, reminding me of Amsterdam and Vancouver. In the 30 or so blocks we walked before stopping, passers-by were mostly speaking French, and I think I also heard Russian, Chinese, and more. But not one English-speaking conversation! But then at the restaurant, the two tables near us were all speaking English. Maybe we inadvertently picked a tourist place, I’m not sure; the food was “eh” but the view of the people filling the sidewalks and the thunder and lightning was splendid. We splashed back to the hotel and did the blogging thing.