Lunenberg: A Mystery and a Lobster Roll

Halifax is English and it is all about shipbuilding and seafaring.  The city is built upon a hill that rises from the harbor, which is the second largest harbor in the world.  (Sydney Harbor is the largest)  There are dozens and dozens of pubs, which is pretty much what you'd expect in a seafaring town.
Early in the morning, we wander down to the waterfront past closed pubs that reek of beer.  We've got another tour in a few hours, to Lunenberg but I'm still reeling from all those hours on the train and I consider giving it a miss. What do you think? I ask Xingxing.  He wags, happily.  Whatever I decide is fine with him. This is one of the joys of traveling with a dog.
My itinerary said the tour featured a guide clad in an authentic kilt,  and that sounded like fun.  I was thinking it would make a cute photo for this blog -- Xingxing with a guy wearing a kilt.  So we decide to go. However, our guides's name was Barbara and she was wearing a tartan skirt. Really nice, but not the same as a kilt. Even so, Lunenberg turned out to be well worth the trip.
All this part of Canada was claimed by England, but when the Brits couldn't persuade  their fellow citizens to colonize this isolated bit of the Empire, they advertised for settlers in Germany and Switzerland, promising free land to anyone hardy enough to farm it.  Lunenberg was founded in 1753, although the farmers soon became fishermen and boat builders. Of course, the first public building they built was a church -- St. Johns,  in 1754.  Amazingly, nothing much has changed since then, as we saw during a walking tour that took us from the top of Lunenberg to the waterfront.  The original wood houses still stand, and one of them has remained in the same family for seven generations. Some of them are quite spectacular, which is why Lunenberg -- like Old Quebec -- is a UNESCO Heritage Site.
St. John's was a fine example of the architecture that put Lunenberg on the UNESCO map.  So it was an utter disaster when it burned to the ground in November, 2001.  Fortunately -- and thanks to the submissions that had to be made to UNESCO -- there was no shortage of photographs of the interior and exterior of the church, which was totally rebuilt by 2005, and is an exact replica of the original.  That in itself is a sort of miracle.
But the real miracle is the pattern of stars in the nave.  The original nave had also been painted to represent a star-studded, night sky, but nobody knew when it was painted, whether it actually meant anything or even who the artist had been.  And there was only an incomplete set photographs.  The artist who was given the task of recreating the original ceiling decided to consult an astronomer, who -- working with the information available and assisted by computer programs -- concluded that the original stars represented the way the sky would have looked over Lunenberg on the night Christ was born!  But how would anyone have known that, 250 years ago?
The Lunenberg waterfront is lined with restaurants, and we sort of tagged along with Barbara and a few other members of our group to The Old Fish Factory, where Barbara managed to get us seated at the last empty table -- there were several other tour busses in town, and the restaurants were packed out.  I ordered a lobster roll.  It was amazing.  I would not have thought you could fit  so much lobster into a bread roll.  There was as much lobster in that roll as in an entire lobster dinner.  And not little shreds of lobster, but great, big chunks.  It was delicious, better than any lobster I've had in years. It reminded me of the Maine lobster we used to have as a special treat during the summer, on the Jersey Shore.
I offered some to Xingxing, who didn't care for it.  I ended up bringing half of it back to the hotel, and having it for dinner.  That worked out well, because by the time we got back to Halifax we were both so tired that we were in bed and asleep before the sun had set.

An Impulse Purchase and a Narrow Bed on a Long Train

We both sleep late.  Yesterday was a long day.  And today is our last day in Quebec.  I can't believe it. Where has the time gone?

At ten tonight (way past our usual bedtime) we'll be driven to a station on the other side of the river where we'll board the over-night train to Halifax.  I've arranged for a late check out, so we can have a nap in the afternoon.  I'm usually in bed by 8 PM, so this is going to be a bit of a stretch for me.

I'd planned to sign up for a narrated walking tour of the Old City, but by the time we'd walked in the park (first things first, when you're traveling with a dog) and had breakfast, the morning tour had already departed.

I still had the Self-Guided Walking Tour.  We'll do that, I told Xingxing.  But this time we'll pay attention and do it properly. And off we went, conscientiously following the map and reading the placards and appreciating the history and the architecture until we came to the city walls.  You can actually walk around on top of the walls, which are made of stone and aren't all that high.  But I guess before the days of tanks and drones -- not to mention nuclear devices -- city walls didn't need to be terribly high.  We return along Rue Saint-Jean.  I see something called Paillards, dozens of people lined up buying bread.  Suddenly, I'm hungry.  We go in and I buy a delicious sandwich called the New Yorkais.  Turkey, swiss cheese, sun dried tomatoes, onion, lettuce and I don't know what else, on a completely divine, freshly baked crusty roll.  Yum!

After lunch and wine, the nap.  And packing.  And one last walk around Quebec.  Purely by accident, we find ourselves in front of the shop with that stunning handbag.  And this time, it's open.  I hesitate.  I can tell it's going to be too expensive.  And it is.  But I buy it anyway.  Xingxing loves it.  He loves the way it smells. Believe me, the photo doesn't do it justice.

We have a long wait for the car that takes us to the train, and even a longer wait for the train itself, which is an hour late.  The station is very small, and the train is very long.  So it has to stop three times -- because it massively overlaps the little station -- and passengers board depending upon which coach they're riding in.

Our compartment has bunk beds.  They are small and narrow. But we're tired, and shoe-horn ourselves in. The train stops three times between here and Halifax, and I've arranged to be awakened at the first stop (at dawn) so Xingxing can get out and do what dogs do.  When I wake up, the sun is shining and my heart sinks.  What if we've missed the stop?  We haven't.  The train is running two hours late, and that's why they didn't wake me up.  

They serve breakfast on the train, and lunch.  It is always a long ride, 18 hours normally. But this train seems to be going very slowly.  Is this my imagination?  No.  Turns out, there's been a terrible accident somewhere to the south.  A whole train of oil tankers derailed. An entire town destroyed.  Initially, they think it might have something to do with the heat wave.  Apparently, if the tracks get too hot and the trains go too fast, the tracks buckle and the trains derail.  So we're taking no chances.

For a while, we travel along Chaleur Bay, but most of the route is inland.  We pass through forests, and small towns and end up arriving in Halifax four hours late, at 9.30 PM.  We're all offered partial refunds.  Fifty percent off your next rail ticket, provided you purchase it within six months.  But of course, this won't be much use to us. Still, I think it is a nice gesture.

When we finally reach our hotel, I feed a famished little Xingxing (his food was in my luggage, which was in the baggage car and unaccessible) and order room service for myself.  

This, I decide, was one train too many. It feels wonderful to stretch out in a real bed, with a real mattress.  Xingxing thinks so, too.

Le Massif de Charlevoix Train: Truly a Moveable Feast

Up at the crack of dawn and out onto the Quebec cobblestones for our morning walk, because we've got to be ready to be picked up at 9 AM and catch the train to Le Massif de Charlevoix.  We wander past that shop with the beautiful handbag, again.  Of course, the shop isn't open yet.  Just as well, I think.
Le Massif de Charlevoix Train runs on its own little track built so close to the St. Lawrence River that it is sometimes flooded. Even on an overcast day like today, the views are amazing. We embark at Montmorency Station and roll peacefully past a handful of ancient little villages and the Cap Tourmente National Wildlife Reserve, where 175,000 migrating wild geese gather each September. Le Train only has two destinations:  the towns of Baie-Saint-Paul and Malbaie, the latter 87 miles north of Quebec and a popular destination for skiing during the winter.
But you don't take Le Train just for the scenery, or even the skiing.  Instead of riding in an ordinary seat, you're seated at a table. There's a reason for this. Le Train is not just transportation. It is also a gastronomic journey.
We begin with breakfast.  Actually, we begin with  a Mimosa, followed by croissants, jam and butter.  Xingxing is rapidly developing a taste for French croissants and French butter, and I have no choice but to share.  Then an amazing omelet, and wonderful little sausages. (Everything has a pedigree. The eggs come from a particular farm, as do the sausages) And a tiny pastry and coffee, of course.   One of the things I like about Quebec dining is that the portions are so reasonable you don't feel guilty about eating everything on your plate. But then again -- as everyone knows -- French women don't get fat.
After breakfast, Xingxing curls up and goes to sleep under the seat, and I settle down to watch the changing vistas along the river. Sometimes we're so close to the water that if I opened my window and tossed out an apple, it would land among the floating birds.
We stop at Baie-Saint-Paul, also known as the Cultural Capital of Quebec.  We'll spend three hours here, browsing the fascinating galleries and boutiques and perhaps stopping for a glass of wine at one of the many cafes.  That's the plan, anyhow.  But they're burying the power lines, and they've dug up the entire main street, which is now a vast expanse of sand, rock and earth-moving equipment.  The fascinating galleries and shops are still there, but there are great chunks missing from what used to be the sidewalk and -- with Xingxing in a stroller -- the whole thing rapidly becomes a bit of a challenge.
So we walk along the river, instead.  And here we find the delightful Mouton Noir, where the glass of Canadian red wine I enjoy on the shady, quiet riverfront terrace is so delicious that I order a second.  There's beautiful, crusty French bread, too.  Xingxing is in heaven.
Back on the train, we proceed north to Malbaie.  This is where the journey ends, if you're lucky enough to be staying at the Fairmont Le Manoir Richelieu.  We aren't, but never mind.  There's enough time during the stopover for Xingxing to walk around and do what dogs do. And we've still got our Four Course Gourmet Dinner to come. This begins shortly after we pass Baie-Saint-Paul again, with an exquisite salad of tiny beets and honey-caramelized pecans, dressed with cider cream and garnished with apple chips.  This is followed by a second appetizer of rolled duck and veal sweetbread with a thyme aioli and a compote of lentils and citrus.
 For my main course I've chosen grilled Charlevoix veal with organic prosciutto, which comes with perfectly cooked baby vegetables and rosti potatoes seasoned with rosemary.
Don't worry, Xingxing's got his own dinner -- the staff on the train kindly kept it in the refrigerator for him. However, there was many an envious glance at the veal, and I finally let him have a taste -- but just a little taste!  I remind him that he is a dog, after all.  He is not impressed.
Dessert is an extravaganza of four separate, beautifully presented miniatures:  A seasonal berry trio in a chocolate cup, two tiny blueberry macaroons held together with chocolate ganache, strawberry brunoise and Mistelle Saboyan.
These fabulous meals are planned by Executive Chef Patrick Turcot, of the Fairmont Le Manor Richelieu.
The sun is setting.  During the ride home, I doze.  We get back to Quebec at 9 PM, which makes it a really long -- if thoroughly delicious -- day.  We're both tired. Would I do it again?  Absolutely!
 

Chocolate Fudge, Maple Butter and other Yummy Things

We get an early start, walking in the park before breakfast and then down cobbled, curving little streets that probably looked much the same three hundred years ago as they look now.  Everything is still closed, of course.  But Xingxing can sniff at the base of each and every lamppost, while I can look at the shop windows.  I'm particularly taken by a display of beautiful, painted leather handbags.  I've never seen anything quite like them.  They look very French.  Also, very expensive.
After a delightful repast of fresh fruit, croissants and coffee back at the hotel overlooking the boardwalk and the river, we're out exploring again.  Canadian license plates bear the slogan, Je souviens.  It means, I remember.  And they do.  Especially in Quebec.  Every statue, every building, every little park and every street name evokes a battle, a general, a king or some other historic figure.
The plan was to follow the self-guided walking tour I'd found in a brochure. But as the sun rose higher in the sky and the shops and restaurants opened and the streets began to fill with pedestrians, I abandoned any idea of a plan and simply wandered, enjoying the Gallic ambience.  Xingxing followed his nose and I followed him, pausing every now and then to read a plaque. We wend our way back up towards the boardwalk along the river, where we discover Funiculaire du Vieux Quebec (which has been in operation since 1879 and is one of the only funiculars on the continent)  that whooshes us down the cliff to the waterfront Quartier Petit Champlain -- much easier than taking the aptly named Breakneck Staircase!
And then at 717 Boulevard Louis XIV we discover Le Fudgerie, where we browse among the beautifully displayed boxes of handmade fudge -- 80 different kinds of fudge.  Platters piled high with tempting samples demanded tasting.  How to choose among them?  We settle on a Sampler Box that contains generous slabs of Ancienne, Cappuccino, Marron Vanille, Fleur de Cao et Piment and Sucre a la Creme.  And a separate box of dark chocolate.  I'm sorry.  I cannot resist fudge.
Our afternoon tour takes us to Chute Montmorency, a 272-foot high waterfall that -- we are reminded on several occasions -- makes it 99 feet higher than Niagara Falls.  You can either take a cable car to the top, or walk through a park to the base.  We choose the latter, and end up mere feet away from tons and tons of water crashing down practically within reach.  It is awesome.  In the winter, it freezes solid and people who are training to climb Mt. Everest climb it, for practice.
The bus then crosses a bridge to the Ile de Orleans,  which was the breadbasket of old Quebec (and was therefore burnt to the ground by the British on at least one occasion) and was first settled in 1661. It still maintains its basically rural state, with a population of less than 1000.  The highlight here is Marie's Bakery, but the attraction isn't so much the bread (which is very good) as the maple butter, which is incredible.  Quebec is the source of 85% of the world's maple syrup, and Marie sells quantities of it, as well as boxes of maple sugar candy and her inimitable maple butter, which is made by churning the maple syrup into butter.
Back on the mainland we head north, past Beaupre.  Beaupre means "good plains" because that's what the first French colonists thought they were.  No rocks, no trees, just rich, fertile soil and lots of river frontage. They arrived in the spring, built their little 20x20 timber houses, planted and harvested their crops -- and then winter came, and whoops! they'd never seen anything like this in France. Thirty feet of snow.  Temperatures 35 degrees below zero.  Icicles hanging from the walls inside their houses.  It must have been awful. But somehow the little settlement survived into spring -- only to be flooded out by the raging, swollen St. Lawrence river.  It was at that point they realized their "good plain" was also a flood plain.  Being French they rebuilt, but further up on the hillside.  Someone asks why they built their houses out of timber, rather than stone.  Turns out, timber provides better insulation.
We finish off with a visit to the Basilica of Saint Anne de Beaupre, dedicated to Saint Anne, the grandmother of Jesus.  Established 350 years ago, it is a pilgrimage site and nearly a million people come here each year to be healed, often leaving their wheelchairs and crutches behind. The original building burned down early in the 19th century and this one is made -- unlikely as it seems -- out of concrete blocks.  The huge, embossed copper doors to the basilica were made locally by Albert Gilles, whose family still operates the nearby copper smithery.
Xingxing has trotted obediently through all of these wonders, particularly enjoying the gardens in front of the basilica, where he takes pains to makesure that all the local dogs will know he passed through.
Back at Le Chateau Frontenac, we opt for room service. What a day!  Or as they say in French, Quel jour!

All Aboard for the Gourmet Train to Quebec

All the shops in Montreal are open at last, but it is already time for us to leave for Quebec.  Xingxing says a reluctant goodbye to the squirrels in the park, and we board our train.
VIA (the government body that runs the railway) has given Xingxing special permission to ride with me on the train, rather than in the baggage car.  At the moment, the Canadian government only recognizes dogs who assist the blind or the deaf as being entitled to be treated as "service dogs" -- but VIA is in the process of reviewing (and hopefully broadening) its policy regarding dogs like Xingxing.  The policy review should be complete by March, 2014.  I thought it was very generous of them to make an exception for us.
Meanwhile, I tell Xingxing, you're a sort of ambassador.  So you've got to set an example and show everyone how good and how well-behaved a service dog can be.
It's a lovely, comfortable train.  Once we're underway, they pass out the lunch menu.  And what a menu!  We begin with an appetizer of smoked salmon sushi rolls served with pickled ginger and washed down with an excellent, Canadian wine.
There's a choice of three main courses -- a cheese and spinach ravioli in tarragon marinara sauce with Bocconcini cheese, a seafood stew on saffron rice, and a fruit-stuffed grilled pork tenderloin in mustard sauce.  I choose the pork, which is served with rosemary, red-skinned potatoes and mixed vegetables. And more wine, of course.
The pork is absolutely amazing.  It tastes completely different from American pork, which I don't think has any taste at all. Perhaps this is because Canadian pork has not been genetically modified.  Or maybe it's got to do with what the farmers feed their pigs.  But this was the best, tastiest and most tender pork I have tasted in many years.  Xingxing thought so, too.
We finish off with a raspberry mille feuille, and more Canadian wine.  What a delightful way to travel!

The train ride is quite scenic.  We travel along the north shore of the St. Lawrence River, past Cap-de-la-Madeleine and Trois-Rivieres. Three hours after leaving Montreal, we disembark in Quebec.  A car whisks us through the city walls (Old Quebec is the only walled city in North America) and voila!  We are in France.  I mean, really. If you had blindfolded me and set me down here and whisked off the blindfold, I would have sworn I was in Paris.  Old Quebec is incredible, and I am not at all surprised to learn that it is
 one of only two UNESCO World Heritage sites in the Americas.
Towering over the city and the St Lawrence River, the enormous Fairmont Le Chateau Frontenac's multiple turrets soar into the sky.  With its green copper roof and mullioned windows, it looks like a castle, or a fortress.  You enter through a low gate into a cobbled courtyard. Our room is in one of the towers, with dormer windows overlooking the city. I feel like a princess in a fairy-tale.
There's a park adjacent to the hotel,  with shaded pathways, trees, and zillions of squirrels.  Xingxing thinks he's in heaven.

Montreal is Closed, Today!

July 1st is Canada Day.  All over Canada -- or so I'm told -- there are joyous celebrations.  Not in Montreal.  Here, everything is shut.  Shops, museums, restaurants, tourist attractions, everything.  Montreal is in Quebec Province, which has tried -- unsuccessfully -- to secede from Canada on at least two occasions.  On Canada Day, Montreal stays at home with the curtains drawn, and sulks.
But wait! The Jean Talon Market is open. It's in the heart of Little Italy, and is also the largest, open-air market in North America.  The only problem is that it's a long way from my hotel. Take the Metro, suggests the hotel's concierge.  I'm not so sure about that.  I'll have Xingxing in his stroller.  Are there elevators in the Metro?  Absolutely! says the concierge.
Armed with a do-it-yourself walking tour guide to Little Italy, we descend into the virtually deserted Metro station beneath our hotel.  There are no elevators. The escalator is narrow, steep and moving very fast. There is also a very long flight of stairs. Maybe this is not such a good idea.  A kindly man appears at my side, offers to help and before I can stop him, he has picked up the stroller and is carrying it down the flight of stairs.  Problem solved -- except further along there's another flight of stairs, and an even narrower, steeper and faster escalator, and no kindly gentleman.  No elevator, either.
Dragging the stroller down this second flight of steps, I'm thinking unkind thoughts about the concierge. But we're here, at the ticket office. Of course, the stroller won't go through the gate, and they have to move a barricade so we can get to the platform.
How do disabled people in Montreal manage? I wonder.
At Jean Talon station, there is another escalator and another forbiddingly long and steep flight of stairs.  No elevator. I jam the stroller onto the escalator, and up we go.  It is awkward and difficult and a bit frightening, but we manage.
The Jean Talon market is enchanting, and well worth the effort it took to get here.  Flowers, fruit and vegetables, lovingly arranged in colorful pyramids.  Cheeses, jams and jellies. A whole stand of oysters, marked according to terroir (they are very big on terroir, here) and nestling in beds of shaved ice.  A feast for the eye and judging by Xingxing's quivering nostrils, a feast for the nose, as well.  And it's a real market.  No tourist tat.
We embark upon our walking tour of Little Italy, Xingxing walking along and sniffing every tree and lamppost and then riding in the stroller when his little legs tire.  He's a game little guy, but Shih Tzus can only walk so far.  However, I love to walk. That's why I bring the stroller.
The most interesting thing about Little Italy is the prevalence of  wrought iron winding staircases on the outside of most of the houses.  This was apparently a Montreal thing, back in the day. It saved space. Exterior staircases were prohibited during the 1940s, but for the past 20 years or so, people have been allowed to build them on streets where they already exist, to preserve the character of the neighborhoods. Some of the houses also have tiny little doors beneath the stairs on the ground floor. These were servants' entrances.
There seem to be an inordinate number of plastic garbage bags stacked along the curbs.  Mattresses, too.  And now that I'm noticing, I'm seeing lots of cars with trailers hauling furniture.  It looks like half the population is moving house.  Turns out, that's exactly what they're doing. In Montreal, Canada Day is also moving day, because most leases begin on July 1st.  This used to be the law, to protect tenants from having to move in the dead of winter.
We reach Saint Laurent Boulevard, which -- according to my guide -- is "lined with enchanting trattorias, cafes and shops".  And perhaps it is.  I don't know. Everything was closed.  I'm not up to tackling the Metro again, so we use the money we would have spent on lunch to take a taxi back to the hotel.
I'm still wondering how disabled people manage to get around this city.  On the other hand, during our three days in Montreal, I don't think I saw anybody in a wheelchair.  Maybe the Canadian socialized medical system is so good that there aren't any disabled people, and they don't have to worry about wheelchairs.

Xingxing's Bus Tour of Montreal

The brochure promised a City Tour that would touch on 200 points of interest of Montreal.  That seemed like a bit of hyperbole to me.  But what the heck?  Xingxing remembered bus tours from our last trip, and could hardly wait to scamper up the steps.
Guess what? It wasn't hyperbole. Our driver started talking as soon as we started rolling, and didn't stop for three hours.  I am sure we hit at least 200 points of interest.  Maybe more.  If you like lots of information -- and I do -- the Grayline City Tour of Montreal provides a really good introduction to Montreal, and were also completely comfortable with the idea of having a Service Dog on board.
Montreal is an island.  I didn't know that.  It is the largest city in the Canadian province of  Quebec. The official language is French.  It has the most restaurants per capita of any city in North America.  The colony that eventually became Montreal was founded in 1611 by Samuel de Champlain, which makes it one of the oldest cities in North America.  All sorts of things were invented here, including Imax theatres and Reader's Digest.
Actually, Montreal was first "discovered" (if that's the right word to describe a place where non-Europeans -- specifically, the Iroquois -- had been living for thousands of years) by Jacques Cartier in 1535, but an earlier attempt to establish a French colony foundered when the appalled colonists packed up and went home after experiencing their first Canadian winter.
Modern Montreal is a city of lovingly preserved old buildings, tastefully constructed new buildings, parks, neighborhoods (anchored by churches) and history.  We made several stops, but my favorite was Jean Drapeau Park, named in honor of the Montreal mayor who was responsible for persuading 69 countries to participate in the 1967 Montreal World Fair.  (He also built the Metro, and an Opera House) Set in impossibly lush, green gardens are the Biosphere, the Botanical Gardens and the amazing Montreal Tower, built for the 1976 Olympic Games. It's the world's tallest inclined tower and soars improbably into the sky,  looking like a modernistic, white water tap.
We finished up at St Joseph's Oratory at Mount Royal, where the basilica dome is second in height only to St Peter's Basilica in Rome.  Thousands of pilgrims come here every year, and there is apparently great benefit and blessing to be derived by climbing the long flight of stone steps leading up to the basilica -- but we only had time to take photos.
Afterwards, Xingxing and I had a late lunch at our hotel.  I ordered what they call a "smoked meat" sandwich. Smoked meat is a speciality of Montreal.  It is sort of like pastrami, except for its texture, which is velvety rather than stringy.  Also, it is not nearly as fatty.  It was delicious and we both enjoyed it.  And the beautiful frites that accompanied were purely divine.  Why can't we do French fried potatoes the way the the French do them?  Is it the potatoes?  Is it the oil?  I'd kill to be able to make French fried potatoes like the ones I had in Montreal.
Another Montreal specialty is bagels, but I wasn't so crazy about them.  They're smaller, and the texture is different.  I don't think they boil the dough before baking it.
Finally, we waddled out for another walk in the park, and Xingxing again tried to climb the trees and catch the squirrels.  All in all, a delightful day.

Montreal: Squirrels and Steeples

If Xingxing was writing this blog, it would be all about the squirrels.  What are these things?  Why can't I catch one of them?  How do they climb trees?  Why can't I climb trees?
Xingxing had never seen a squirrel, before Montreal.  But there were two beautiful little parks within a block of our hotel, and the parks were full of trees, and during our morning walk on our first day in Montreal, Xingxing saw his first squirrel.  He has long since given up on birds, because he  knows he can't fly.  And he has also figured out that rabbits are too fast for him.  But this slinky-like critter bopping along the lawn was something else.
He almost got one.  And then it scuttled up a tree.  Xingxing literally couldn't believe his eyes.  There was the squirrel, looking down at him and lashing its tail. So near, and yet so tantalizingly out of reach. He looked at me.  I shrugged.  Xingxing tried to climb the tree.  This didn't work.  So he backed up and took a running leap at it, just as the squirrel had done.  This didn't work, either.  Shih Tzus don't climb trees, I told him.  He looked at me as if to say, It's not fair.
Montreal is a lovely city, elegant and beautifully kept, like an extremely wealthy, older woman who takes very good care of herself.  Everyone speaks French, but most people speak English as well.  And everywhere you look there's a church, almost always a Catholic church.  85% of Montreal's population is Catholic, but church-going has dropped off dramatically, so much so that there are no longer enough priests to service all the parishes and some of the churches have been converted into condos.  Even so, there are still a lot of churches. Every hour, bells chime.  Apparently, Mark Twain once said that if you stood in a Montreal street and threw a stone in any direction, you'd break a church window.  
Old and new blend seamlessly in Montreal and the streets are clean and lavishly planted.  Lots of trees, lots of parks, lots of flowers. And of course, lots of churches.

Xingxing Scores His Own First Class Seat on the Airplane

If you're flying with a service dog, choose American Airlines.  The staff actually like dogs. They smile. They are helpful.  They are great.  I've had some bad experiences with airlines, so it was wonderful to have such a good one with American.
And I'm not just saying that because Xingxing ended up with his own seat on the Dallas/Fort Worth to Montreal segment.  That was just a happy accident.  I'm saying it because from beginning to end, American Airlines staff were unfailingly helpful and understanding.
For reasons known only to himself, Xingxing spent quite a bit of time looking out the window.  He seemed to be fascinated by the clouds -- as well he might be!  How many Shih Tzus do you suppose have actually been able to look down on clouds?  He really was watching them, the way he watches birds. But what was he thinking?
And the same thing happened when we took off from Dallas/Forth Worth.  He'd been on the floor during the first segment of the trip. (Actually, he's always been on the floor when we fly) But this time he could look out of the window and -- again -- he was fascinated.  I could see the expression on his little face change as the aircraft lifted off and then soared up, higher and higher.  Maybe he was thinking, This is what the birds do. This is why I can never catch them.
One thing I didn't even think about that has thrown him off a bit is the three hour time change. That's a lot, when you think about a little dog's feeding and potty routines.  (And I have to admit, I didn't!)
He can't figure out why he's getting fed when he's not really hungry yet, and why it's getting dark so early and why morning is coming in what -- for him -- is still the middle of the night.  But he's handling it, and enjoying all the wonderful new smells.
And Montreal is beautiful. We'll tell you more about it tomorrow.