Anyway, Rhoda Wurtele (Partner alias number 4 and one of the famed identical twin skiers who got their start above Montreal's skyline) and I packed as much as we could into 48 hours in the Quebec city. We started with a hike on top of Mont Royal (site of the Wurtele sisters first ski). It was finally a sunny day, and we soaked it in. Mont Royal is a beautiful mashup of urban and natural. There are countless trails that crisscross the wooded peak area with the main views coming from a columned chateau overlooking downtown. Sprawling grassy areas merge with various parks and picnic benches. In short, it was a perfect way to spend an afternoon waiting for an Airbnb to be open.
That first night, we did a culinary crawl through the Little Italy part of town we were staying in. We started with a spritz, marinated olives, and bruschetta across the avenue from our place. Then we moved to Indian street food including crunchy creamy yogurt bowls and a chickpea burger that were indeed Le Super Qualite. A brief break to digest and rest at the Airbnb was next. We returned to the city and made our way to a tiki bar that was filled to the brim with every Floridian aunt's patio décor. There, I witnessed a man make about 15 different neon colored drinks in a row with the speed and precision of a barracuda. We ended the night at a dive bar with live music, entranced by a falsetto as pure as Justin Vernon's and a rocking trio complete with violin.
The next day, we enjoyed some tasty brunch and window shopping. We took a few walks with the dogs in the neighborhood, enjoying the quiet peace that comes on a Sunday morning in a city where the bars close at 3 AM on Saturday (Sasha enjoyed this as well). That evening, we made our way to the neighborhood of Westmont for some incredible salad, pizza, and pasta. We then hopped on to some rentable bikes and cruised down the canal as the sun began to set. The city was out on picnic blankets, hammocks, scooters, anything to squeeze out the last rays of Sunday sunshine. We rounded out night two with an indulgent two hours at a spa on a boat in the harbor. There we hopped from hot tub or sauna to cold plunge pools to silent, incensed, resting areas, repeating the circuit as twilight and night fell over the city. We walked home rested, rejuvenated, and feeling like we had truly done everything we could squeeze out of this city in a weekend.
The next morning we woke up slowly, relishing in what we thought was the last bed outside of a tent for awhile. We packed up, excited to take one last jaunt up to Mont Royal, this time planning to run the peak loop and really get the legs working before some more driving. As I left the final load of luggage in the car, I noticed the lock wasn't working on the driver side door, thinking that was strange. I hurried to grab Rhoda and the dogs so no one could grab our stuff. We piled in the car ready to hit the road. I pressed the start button. Nothing happened. I tried it again, making sure the brake was pushed down. Nothing happened. With a sinking feeling, I realized the car was dead.
Sasha sidenote: During our walk at Mont Royal, Sasha was a star. The park was full of all of her favorite distractions; dogs (large and small), bikers pretending they are Lance Armstrong on a walking path, hikers with walking sticks, and the archnemesis, little children screaming along on scooters. Through it all, she did not bark once. We even had a conversation with animal patrol (who apparently checks that dogs are registered frequently in Montreal) where she sat silently with all attention on her. Sometimes she impresses, taking in so much stimulation that she isn't sure what to do, so she acts like a normal dog. It's quite wonderful and makes me very proud of her.