Tuesday October 13th 2009 - Museums rock

We rose early, detached our picnic basket breakfast from the hanger outside our door and devoured the meagre contents in short order. We'd decided to scope out a museum or two in Quebec City. At checkout, the staff member was friendly and helpful allowing us to store our bags for the day, even offering to help us find another hotel for the night. They were fully booked, otherwise we would have gladly stayed. So we set off early down onto the river flats where the main museum was located. On the way I stopped at an antique store and bought an old 1959 Quebec number plate. In the US and Canada, old number plates are bought and sold on a regular basis, unlike Victoria Australia where it's probably still a criminal act. The Quebec ones were black letters on yellow, so quite striking. I considered it a souvenir in lieu of the something made strictly for the tourist market. It’s something a bit more authentic, but not everyone’s taste. Next stop was a small breakfast café. On Bryce’s initiative, we got a single order of crepes which were light and tasty. Our hotel breakfast was very light so it was good to get something more substantial for the day ahead. We stayed there in no hurry to leave. It was a warm and friendly place with locals dropping in and chatting to the staff. After walking along cobbled lanes we reached the museum. Inside the first stop was a tour of an indigenous peoples’ exhibit. Our tour guide was descended from one of about 15 different indigenous groups and explained how people lived and mixed together. The next stop was an exhibition of the French and Indian War against the British from 1754 to 1763. Each exhibit involved quite a lot of reading, but it was worth the effort. One of the most tragic aspects of it was the forced resettlement of thousands of French farm families in Nova Scotia to make way for British settlers from New England.
Then we did the Egyptian exhibition, but it was pretty much as you’d expect, or possibly I was jaded by this point. We had a late lunch in the museum cafeteria where the staff only spoke French, so I finally got a genuine taste of Europe. This was unusual as everybody we’d met to this point had been able to switch to English after starting a conversation in French. Bryce had acquired the habit of saying “Hello” clearly to discretely announce his mother tongue. I can’t recall the theme of the next exhibit, except to say it dealt with migration of people into Quebec. One highlight was the oral history tapes listened to by pushing a button on a console. Each was about one minute in length. They were done by actors reading a script. Our last few minutes were spent watching a film about the history of Quebec independence and the sad story of the referendum failing by less than one per cent in the year 2000. This had a strong effect on me. I finally appreciated the independence sentiments and understood why they insist on immigrants speaking French as their first language.
After leaving the museum we walked back up to the old town along the wall facing the Seaway. We talked about old UK TV shows that had withstood the test of time. We reckoned that Faulty Towers and All Creatures Great and Small were the best examples. Onward and upward we trudged, finally coming to the landmark hotel called the Fairmont Le Château Frontenac. It’s a magnificent picture postcard building on the top of the hill. We walked into the basement arcade and browsed in the tourist shops. A hotel tour was just starting, but we opted not to join in, considering it likely to be pretty hokey. We found out enough information to know that “haunted rooms” were one of the main features of the tour. So off we went exploring. In the main lobby, Bryce asked the cost per night; roughly $340 with tax. It would have been like staying in the Windsor Hotel in Melbourne so I supposed the expense would be worth it for one night, but we decided against it on cost. Bryce then kindly purchased a box of chocolates for my wife Gail. The method or rather logistics of the purchase we certainly entertaining. When the box was selected selected from the counter, it was tipped some degree from the horizontal resulting in the contents “settling” shall we say in one corner of the box. The sales lady laughed and explained what had happened, speaking mostly French. She then continued in English. Bryce and the sales lady had a delightfully happy conversation with Bryce successfully attempting some French. I was just an onlooker.
Next we meandered our way back to last night’s hotel via several tourist shops. In one I heard the unmistakable broad Aussie accents of a couple probably in their mid-sixties. It seemed somehow out of context to hear such strong accents in Quebec. Bryce had a short conversation with them at the sales counter only to discover that they came from the Sunshine Coast and he from Armidale. They were on their way to Nova Scotia and apparently were regular travelers to this part of the world. From memory, they had a daughter in Canada. (Bryce please verify.) I have to admit that my days of seeking out fellow Aussies have lost steam over the years. I tend not to engage these days, but with hindsight I would have liked to know more of their story, like where they really came from in Australia before moving to the Sunshine Coast, since over the last 20 years or so there has been a mass migration from southern parts of Australia to the warmer Queensland climate. At the sales counter, the cashier asked everyone where they were from, and within earshot of the Aussies, I said “Boston” to keep things simple, but they probably detected my accent. I did regret that we didn’t talk. No doubt they an interesting story to tell.
Returning to our hotel, we collected our luggage and the hotel lady kindly booked us a room in an hotel just around the corner at the reasonable rate of $140 per night. She explained that this was a great deal, as she’d booked us into the Presidential Suite no less. Our new hotel was down the hill, past the “out-patient” hotel, outside the old city wall, somewhat near the museum. We checked-in with Bryce having a friendly, humorous banter with the hotel lady. The room was a so called “suite” with connecting rooms on the top floor.
It was time to eat so back we walked up the hill to the old town. I’d spied an Irish pub the night before, so I twisted Bryce’s arm to assist his culinary decision making. No cause for alarm here, Bryce was a willing victim. We took a detour into an unusual shop full of tourist type stuff as well as more authentic collectibles. It turned out to be the sole gem in a sea of tourist trap establishments. After my purchase of a Quebec number plate, Bryce could see himself with one or two on the wall of his soon to be built garage. This shop must have had hundreds of number plates in all sizes, so Bryce bought a couple and I bought one more from 1955 to match my old 1955 Daimler. There were lots of unexpected collectible nick-nacks in this shop. As we were buying so many number plates, I bargained for a small discount. The owner agreed but only if we paid in cash.
The Irish pub was a disappointment. We sat in an open area lacking the expected pub atmosphere. Bryce wanted a small Guiness, but they only offered a 16 oz glass so there was some negotiation with the waiter. But in the end we both got the 16 oz variety. The place was almost empty and the meal forgettable. We left about 9 PM and went straight to our new hotel.