The Quebecois are not French

Our couchsurf host in Montreal was a folk-loving metal-head French Canadian named Patrick, who lived with a ferret named... ferret. He gets the prize for the weirdest pet so far! The ferret would scamper round the flat, investigating everything, demanding attention, and frequently titilating Paul. Patrick was unemployed and going through interviews for chemistry jobs, so kindly spent Wednesday showing us round Montreal. We experienced the omnipresent Tim Horton's (I suppose like Dunkin' Donuts for Canadians) and discovered the mysterious 'poutine'. It was a heart attack in a paper tray - chips, rich gravy, and lumps of some strange curd cheddar. Really good. So we spent the day walking round Montreal - went up a big hill for a great view, saw the old town and the big shopping area, admired the commissioned graffiti which seemed to be everywhere, and appreciated a square full of brightly-painted old houses. We even found the Old Brewery Mission - where Rob (the minister who married us) used to be situated. We ended up in a bar relaxing with some local beers chatting about philosophies on life.

That night Patrick drove us up to a look-out point with a view over the city, which was pretty spectacular. Slightly disturbing, though, were the dozens of monster-fat raccons who swarmed the visitors as they fed them on no end of crap. Yuck.

Thursday Patrick had an interview, so Paul and I went for an explore on our own. We found a giant cememtery with graves from all cultures and religions, and a couple of impressive mausoleums. After that we visited an equally impressive oratory, before embarking upon our next food pilgrimage. The family Friedrich had unanimously recommended sandwiches at the Rubens Deli/Restaurant - specifically the Rubens Sandwich - so we did just that. It was among the more upmarket of places we've eaten at on the trip so far, and well worth it. The sandwiches were monstrous in size and came with a load of chips (we resisted 'upgrading them to poutine') and coleslaw. Well recommended if you're ever in Montreal! The desserts also looked great, although we didn't have space for them.

That evening Patrick took us out for drinks with his friends in an English-themed bar which didn't seem remotely English, but was showing an ice hockey game. His friends were French French from France (more on this later) - in fact Patrick is the only French Canadian we've actually met, as every person he introduced us to ended up being from France. I find the whole Quebec thing really fascinating. To me it's a very rare thing to have a predominately Anglophone country where people in a large area are so comfortably bilingual. Anglophones are not naturally inclined to learn other languages. I don't think Paul was expecting it to be as French as it was, but even though the default language was French, there was no problem getting by in English. I wasn't sure the world was ready for a repeat of the kind of French I tried to pull off in Paraty, though (if you haven't read that post, read that as 'very bad French'). One of the French people (Julie) was very disappointed we hadn't brought fiddles to the bar, so we headed back to Patrick's for a few tunes. It was good craic.

Friday afternoon we bid farewell to our generous host and boarded the Greyhound to Ottawa. Christine (another overseas folksoc friend) and her dad picked us up and took us back to her parents' house, where her university housemates (Helene and Exotic Christine) were cooking dinner. They were exchange students from France and Belgium respecitvely (where are all these French people coming from all of a sudden? Up till this point everyone was German!) and were also visiting Ottawa for the first time (Christine is at uni in a town 2 hours away). Very excitingly Christine had got hold of tickets to see a hockey game that evening. Admittedly it was a junior team, but that was the only way we would have been able to afford to go!

It was such a surreal experience. As we arrived the home team (Ottawa 67s) were just being announced and individual players' triumphs recounted. The stadium was filled with parents, kids, fast food, and teen cheerleaders. The opposing team seemed to be taking on the role of 'Team Evil' - they had a small handful of supporters, were booed every time they came onto the rink, and generally sidelined. There was a huge celebration if the home team scored, and a grudging ackownledgement if the Baddies did. I've never seen such a biased approach to sport! Even the commentators were partisan. Well, everyone was - they were the Baddies and the home team (as this was their stadium) were the Goodies. Anyway, it was very funny, and everyso often some random 20 seconds of music would play and the cheerleaders would get up and do a self-conscious dance. There was also someone dressed as a chicken (and I don't think it was a mascot) - I was never sure about the role of the chicken.

The playing was suitably violent, as expected, and sometimes obligatory fights would break out for the amusement of the crowd. It was clear they were still learning to do that properly - practising for the big boys' league. True to type, the Team Evil players spent significant time in the sin bin. At the first interval a miniature team of tinies came on and had a game. It was the cutest thing I've ever seen. They were all about 6, and would skate around a bit, fall over, skate, then a whole clump of them would all fall at once. It was a big thing whenever they managed to score.

It was a close match, but in the end the Ottawa 67s managed to overcome the Baddies 3-2. It was a very bizzare sporting experience, but a helluvalot of fun.

Afterwards we headed into town to experience 'beaver tails'. This seems to be something specific to Ottawa (I think 1 guy holds the copyright) - and very tasty. It's essentially a deep fried batter (in the shape of a beaver tail) with stuff on top. I had cream cheese and chocolatey things, Paul had Maple butter, but I believe the classic is to have cinnamon, sugar and lemon. In the winter the canal freezes over and beaver tail stalls appear all along the sides - the perfect snack after some skating. In fact, you can use the canal to skate to work or school, which I think is very cool.

At the beaver tail place we picked up another French girl, Carol. When I asked her if she was French Canadian or French French from France she got very annoyed. You cannot call the Quebecois 'French'. They're not French. There's nothing French about them. They're not French Canadian - they're not citizens of France and Canada, they're just Canadians who speak French. End of story. That's us told then! (I suppose I get just as irate when people use 'England' and 'Britain' as synonyms.)

We took a walk around the central part of the city, and admired the eternal flame outside the Parliament. Turned out to be not so eternal as it was switched off during the daytime. We were lucky to see it when we did!

The next morning Christine and Helene cooked Canadian pancakes and crepes. So good. Then we went sightseeing (by this time there were 6 of us). Carol left us to go look at a museum, while we went for a tour of the Parliament. This is one of the most beautiful parliament buildings I've seen - both inside and out. Free tours are great! For the rest of the day we walked about the market and eventually said goodbye to Exotic Christine (called that as opposed to Local Christine). That evening Christine's dad cooked some amazing tandoori chicken and biryani (Christine's mum is a diplomat so they've lived in India as well a number of other places) and we drank hot apple cider, ate apple crisp (a bit like a crumble), and entertained Christine's friend who turned up out of nowhere with some Creme de Menthe.

On Sunday we were down to 4 - me, Paul, Christine, and her dad. We drove out to Gatineau (formerly Hull), which is on the Quebec side of Ottawa, to go for a hike in the woods. There were more of these roller-skiers around (first encountered in NY, then Montreal) - it looks very odd, but seems to be pretty fashionable. Christine found a strange plastic thing on the ground, which seemed to be some kind of transforming toy (we gave it to Paul to figure out as he had once been an 8-year-old boy), and then further down the road found another similar one in red. They were most puzzling, and seemed to magnetically fit together. We hoped we'd find more, and maybe they'd form some kind of alien summoning device or something. But no. We were at a loss. A mystery. When we got back we converted Christine to Due South. It had to be done. Hopefully her life is now better.

Waiting for our bus to leave Ottawa the next morning (to go to Deep River - exciting for Paul!) we met a retired military guy who is now a bounty hunter. He told us about hardcore outdoors things we could do in Canada, and a story about wrestling a stag. Greyhound does introduce you to some interesting people! I spent a long time looking at his oddly shaped kit-bag, wondering if there were weapons inside. My only understanding of bounty-hunters comes from Due South, oddly enough!