Quebec City
Our original plan was to book a car, and drive through scenic countryside to Quebec City. However the Gay Games had put a strain on the rental car market, as well as the hotels and we had to settle for a train journey instead.
The station felt far more like an airport than a railway terminal, all very organized and we checked in our luggage hoping it would come to Quebec too. The train was quite a sleek modern affair, and the geek in me was pleased to see the train had wireless Internet access. In the States, we'd had difficulty finding ordinary Internet cafes, just wireless hotspots so I'd purchased a Palm handheld computer with built in wireless networking. Consequently, I'd become somewhat obsessive about checking email whenever the chance arose. And this time I even had a real excuse... finding accommodation in Quebec. So leaving Esther to her book, I set to my task.
After about 20 minutes, I began to get a bit worried. Most websites I was using either didn't work properly on my little computer, or indicated there was no availability. The view out of the window was still the same - flat featureless farmland, no bears, no moose - so i continued searching hopefully but fruitlessly. We arrived in Quebec an hour or so later feeling disappointed with a dull journey, and nowhere to stay.
Quebec City is a hilly place, as most towns that were forts tend to be. And presumably because the railway is a relatively recent invention, the station is at the bottom of a hill just outside the city walls. We hoisted our rucksacks on to our backs (the first time we'd really had to do so to be honest) and started the walk up into centre ville. On the way we passed a few people in what appeared to be period dress. But they weren't acting out corny lines, posing for photos or the like but just chatting with each other or carrying shopping bags. We'd expected Quebec to be a bit more rustic, but this was like Amish country. Panting for breath, we tried asking one of these people where the tourist information office might be found, but neither the lady in the big hat nor her bushy bearded friend seemed to have a clue. Fortunately, it wasn't far.
We joined the queue to ask for accommodation, but from the looks on the faces of the people at the front we weren't hopeful. Indeed, the not very helpful chap behind the desk said something along the lines of "You'll be lucky mate" only in French, and handed us a booklet of hotels and B&Bs. We started going through them, initially in that over-polite 'sorry to bother you', 'I hope you can help me' English way and as the list got shorter switched to a quick 'any rooms for tonight?'. We crossed them off, one by one until we had only two left. One at the upper end, in the landmark Hotel Fronteniac, hotel to the Queen when she's in town and decidedly out of our budget range, and the only establishment in town to be worthy of only a single star. We called this place expecting the usual 'non', but the voice at the other end threw us a lifeline. If we could get there in 20 minutes, he'd keep the room for us. So, feeling rather like we were on Challenge Anneka without the helicopter we rushed out of the building to try and wave down a cab in the busy street. After looking left and right frantically for a few minutes, Esther spotted a taxi-rank. It took us a few seconds to work out if the drivers trying to avoid our gaze were working or not, but we persuaded someone to take us, and after some confusion worked out where we were heading. What was only a short journey seemed to take ages, what with being stuck behind horses pulling tourists in carts, cars blocking narrow streets and so on but our driver was a star, and was cutting people up, reversing quickly down blocked roads, and overtaking startled horses. We made it to the hotel, rang the bell and waited. And waited. Not good. Esther called the owner on her mobile phone, and realised we were talking to the slightly dishevelled bloke behind us. Esther chatted to him in French, and from the smiles I gathered that we had a room for the night. It wasn't a bad room either... basic, but clean and we got a discount for not having a car - the place was actually in a really convenient part of town, and the owner was flogging bits of tarmac outside the house to desperate people trying to park, so now he'd sold a room and could still flog the space. We dumped our luggage and headed out to do a bit of sightseeing, starting with the park next to where we were.
As I mentioned earlier, Quebec is hilly but these aren't all gentle rolling hills. One side of the park dropped steeply, cliff-like, down to a pretty river far below. The views across to the countryside beyond were beautiful, very green, and not at all city-like. I could have sat there for ages, drinking in that view, but there was a whole city to see so after a while we stood up and continued through the park up to the old fort.
The fort is surrounded by huge trenches, about 20 feet deep, zigzaging every hundred metres or so. There were plenty of tourists walking along these battlements, and although I don't normally suffer from vertigo, the combination of the steep drop and the busyness made of feel distinctly uneasy. This was only compounded when after taking a photo I realised that in backing up to take the shot, I'd come perilously close to tumbling backwards over the edge. And the photo was rubbish.
One of the more stunning views from the battlements was towards the centre of town and the Fronteniac Hotel we'd nearly had to stay at. The place is huge and dominates the skyline with great style. The building has one of those steep-sided windowed roofs that one associates with Paris, only rather than copper-green this was a deep yellow-gold colour. Very striking, especially as this old building was by far the most noticeable landmark.
Quebec doesn't feel like a large city, and wandering the steep streets filled with tourists you can imagine you're in Provence or Tuscany. We finally worked out where the people in period dress were coming from. There was a festival celebrating Vieux France. I'm not entirely sure if they were celebrating Quebec or France itself, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were wandering around the set of a Stella Artois advert. Still, they seemed to be enjoying themselves. We worked our way downhill, the streets getting narrower and the restaurants and bars more intimate. It was late by the time we felt hungry, but places were still serving come 11pm and we had a nice, very French meal, with snails, rabbit and steak.
I could easily have spent longer in this admittedly touristy town, but we had come this far to pick up our hire car so the next morning, after finding Hertz was directly over the road from our hotel, we headed off into the countryside.
The station felt far more like an airport than a railway terminal, all very organized and we checked in our luggage hoping it would come to Quebec too. The train was quite a sleek modern affair, and the geek in me was pleased to see the train had wireless Internet access. In the States, we'd had difficulty finding ordinary Internet cafes, just wireless hotspots so I'd purchased a Palm handheld computer with built in wireless networking. Consequently, I'd become somewhat obsessive about checking email whenever the chance arose. And this time I even had a real excuse... finding accommodation in Quebec. So leaving Esther to her book, I set to my task.
After about 20 minutes, I began to get a bit worried. Most websites I was using either didn't work properly on my little computer, or indicated there was no availability. The view out of the window was still the same - flat featureless farmland, no bears, no moose - so i continued searching hopefully but fruitlessly. We arrived in Quebec an hour or so later feeling disappointed with a dull journey, and nowhere to stay.
Quebec City is a hilly place, as most towns that were forts tend to be. And presumably because the railway is a relatively recent invention, the station is at the bottom of a hill just outside the city walls. We hoisted our rucksacks on to our backs (the first time we'd really had to do so to be honest) and started the walk up into centre ville. On the way we passed a few people in what appeared to be period dress. But they weren't acting out corny lines, posing for photos or the like but just chatting with each other or carrying shopping bags. We'd expected Quebec to be a bit more rustic, but this was like Amish country. Panting for breath, we tried asking one of these people where the tourist information office might be found, but neither the lady in the big hat nor her bushy bearded friend seemed to have a clue. Fortunately, it wasn't far.
We joined the queue to ask for accommodation, but from the looks on the faces of the people at the front we weren't hopeful. Indeed, the not very helpful chap behind the desk said something along the lines of "You'll be lucky mate" only in French, and handed us a booklet of hotels and B&Bs. We started going through them, initially in that over-polite 'sorry to bother you', 'I hope you can help me' English way and as the list got shorter switched to a quick 'any rooms for tonight?'. We crossed them off, one by one until we had only two left. One at the upper end, in the landmark Hotel Fronteniac, hotel to the Queen when she's in town and decidedly out of our budget range, and the only establishment in town to be worthy of only a single star. We called this place expecting the usual 'non', but the voice at the other end threw us a lifeline. If we could get there in 20 minutes, he'd keep the room for us. So, feeling rather like we were on Challenge Anneka without the helicopter we rushed out of the building to try and wave down a cab in the busy street. After looking left and right frantically for a few minutes, Esther spotted a taxi-rank. It took us a few seconds to work out if the drivers trying to avoid our gaze were working or not, but we persuaded someone to take us, and after some confusion worked out where we were heading. What was only a short journey seemed to take ages, what with being stuck behind horses pulling tourists in carts, cars blocking narrow streets and so on but our driver was a star, and was cutting people up, reversing quickly down blocked roads, and overtaking startled horses. We made it to the hotel, rang the bell and waited. And waited. Not good. Esther called the owner on her mobile phone, and realised we were talking to the slightly dishevelled bloke behind us. Esther chatted to him in French, and from the smiles I gathered that we had a room for the night. It wasn't a bad room either... basic, but clean and we got a discount for not having a car - the place was actually in a really convenient part of town, and the owner was flogging bits of tarmac outside the house to desperate people trying to park, so now he'd sold a room and could still flog the space. We dumped our luggage and headed out to do a bit of sightseeing, starting with the park next to where we were.
As I mentioned earlier, Quebec is hilly but these aren't all gentle rolling hills. One side of the park dropped steeply, cliff-like, down to a pretty river far below. The views across to the countryside beyond were beautiful, very green, and not at all city-like. I could have sat there for ages, drinking in that view, but there was a whole city to see so after a while we stood up and continued through the park up to the old fort.
The fort is surrounded by huge trenches, about 20 feet deep, zigzaging every hundred metres or so. There were plenty of tourists walking along these battlements, and although I don't normally suffer from vertigo, the combination of the steep drop and the busyness made of feel distinctly uneasy. This was only compounded when after taking a photo I realised that in backing up to take the shot, I'd come perilously close to tumbling backwards over the edge. And the photo was rubbish.
One of the more stunning views from the battlements was towards the centre of town and the Fronteniac Hotel we'd nearly had to stay at. The place is huge and dominates the skyline with great style. The building has one of those steep-sided windowed roofs that one associates with Paris, only rather than copper-green this was a deep yellow-gold colour. Very striking, especially as this old building was by far the most noticeable landmark.Quebec doesn't feel like a large city, and wandering the steep streets filled with tourists you can imagine you're in Provence or Tuscany. We finally worked out where the people in period dress were coming from. There was a festival celebrating Vieux France. I'm not entirely sure if they were celebrating Quebec or France itself, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were wandering around the set of a Stella Artois advert. Still, they seemed to be enjoying themselves. We worked our way downhill, the streets getting narrower and the restaurants and bars more intimate. It was late by the time we felt hungry, but places were still serving come 11pm and we had a nice, very French meal, with snails, rabbit and steak.
I could easily have spent longer in this admittedly touristy town, but we had come this far to pick up our hire car so the next morning, after finding Hertz was directly over the road from our hotel, we headed off into the countryside.
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