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Humor October 2013

Ernie's World

Oh Canada!

By Ernie Witham

They started asking a lot of questions about where they were and where they were going but the driver spoke only French. I think if this group had been part of the invading force, New France would have easily prevailed.

Last fall, we engaged in our first house exchange. Gilles and Rachel stayed in our house in Santa Barbara and we stayed in their home in Quebec City.

This house swapping is a great program, all the amenities of home -- washer/dryer, computer, car, couch to nod off on after a hard day of touristing. Plus, since my name comes up occasionally on international hotel computers as "the guy who refills the mini bar bottles of gin with tap water," it saved my wife some bail money.

Old Town Quebec has two levels, conveniently called upper and lower. The upper level has lots of restaurants, shops, street musicians, and a promenade in front of the huge, see-it-from-everywhere-in-Quebec, Hotel Frontenac, which I now have more photos of than all my grandchildren combined. The lower level also has many restaurants, shops, more street musicians, and the occasional hat blown off a tourist on the upper level.

We took the funiculaire to the lower level. The funiculaire is like a cable car on tracks that go almost straight down and is completely glassed in so you can see exactly where you will end up if the thing breaks.

"Please push forward. More people coming," the attendant said, as my face mashed against the glass.

"I mow wheb all the nose prints come frub now," I told my wife.

"Oomph," she said.

At the lower level, my wife found a (surprise!) museum. It was called Maison something or other. Mainly, they had a slide show that explained the history of Quebec. First explored by Jacques Cartier in 1500 or so, who had trouble settling the place because everyone kept dying from the elements -- some of them probably fell down the cliff where the funiculaire is now -- it was settled by Samuel Champlain in 1608. They showed drawings of the fortress he built to prevent the British from taking over. That worked until 1759 when General Wolfe beat the French and built a new fortress of stones instead of wood -- kind of like the smart pig in that nursery rhyme.

After absorbing as much history as I can in one sitting, we got on the "petit" Eco bus for our return trip to the upper level. At first there were just four of us on the bus, which had a total of 12 seats -- four along the back, four behind the driver facing backwards, and four along one side. All these surrounded the large auto-pay machine. Another couple had the back seats, so we squeezed past the pay machine into two window seats facing backwards.

This was great until a couple dozen or so older Americans from one of the enormous cruise ships anchored in Old Port got on and wiggled their way into the remaining seats and all the standing room.

"How much?" a man asked loudly, pointing at the auto pay machine.

"It's free today."

"Three?" He took out a handful of coins.

"What? My watch says two."

"Actually it's one, you must be on the wrong time zone."

"Phone? Who you gonna call? We don't know anyone here."

"They serve beer? I'll have a lager."

"How much," the guy asked again, this time louder.

"It's free on Saturdays," a local woman yelled. "They are trying to save gas."

"Who's got gas?

"Not me this time. I took Beano."

They started asking a lot of questions about where they were and where they were going but the driver spoke only French. I think if this group had been part of the invading force, New France would have easily prevailed.

Fortunately one passenger was able to translate for them and got everyone straightened out. Then she got off.

"This our stop?"

"No we are going to the Frontenac."

"Doesn't seem to be a front and back, just this part we are in."

"They sell gin? Skip the beer, I'll have a G&T."

That's about the time we decided to get off. But we were wedged in.

"You stand," they told my wife. "We'll move left, then you," they pointed at me, "can climb over my wife -- be careful of her bunion. Ready? On my count... one... two... three."

Took several attempts and I got goosed repeatedly by the pay machine -- at least I hope it was the pay machine -- but we finally made it back onto Rue Saint Jean. We stopped at Notre Dame to listen to the church bells, visit the basilica and pray for cruise ship staff everywhere.

On the way home we stopped for wine, bread and cheese -- the staples of French culture - plus a bottle of gin. There were two competing street musicians playing trombones outside the market.

"I'm going to make a new drink called the Eco," I said loudly. "Four ounces of gin in a three-ounce glass."

"How much?" my wife yelled over the trombone "music."

"Free!" I yelled back.

She held out three coins.

 

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