Famous last words

In sincere hopes that winter is loosening its grip on Quebec, I submit this series of photos to show you what a Quebec City winter can be like. On a recent trip to the region (late February), I was amazed by the snow "tunnels" created on otherwise typical suburban streets. In this region, they don't haul the snow away (except on major streets), like they do in Montreal, so when it snows a lot, and frequently, it just keeps piling up.


Notice in the above picture the height of the third floor balconies!


Notice in the above picture the speck of black at the same height as the dumpster, but along the snowbank to the left...that would be a full-grown human being walking down the street! What you can't see in the picture is the row of houses hidden completely by the snowbanks. It must be claustrophobic to be in those houses.


Notice the street sign, slightly bent from the weight of all the snow!



So much snow!

Plug for Doug

This post has nothing to do with life in Montreal, but it's well worth reading...

Back in high school on Long Island I was in an advanced French class that had juniors and seniors in it. I sat near Doug Fine, a junior who I knew already by reputation, but never had the chance to get to know. I was a senior at the time. Doug was one of the smartest and funniest and cleverest people I had ever met. (He was also a great musician and athlete--some people are just naturally good at everything!). We became fast friends and spent a good deal of time together that year and laughed a lot.

I lost touch with Doug after he went to college, but by the grace of Google, I found him again last year. He's a successful journalist, author and environmentalist and he is still extremely smart and funny. I haven't bought his books yet, but when I finally sell my house in a few weeks, I intend to. (No, his books are not that expensive, money's just a bit tight chez Bo and Bijou paying that mortgage on top of our normal expenses here). In the mean time, I content myself and entertain myself by reading his blog: Dispatches from the Funky Butte Ranch. Doug is currently living on a ranch in New Mexico: raising goats, living "off the grid." He drives a "R.O.A.T (ridiculously oversized American truck)" which he fuels with waste vegetable oil from fast food restaurants.


Doug has a way of telling the stories of his everyday adventures with a great deal of humor and intelligence. It's worth reading the comments too; the discussions can be quite interesting. Doug appreciates comments, always replies and would especially appreciate advice on certain delicate aspects of farm life and goat-rearing that us Long Islanders just didn't pick up between soccer practice and shopping at the mall.


So from the total opposite side of the continent, I warmly suggest that you become a reader of Dispatches from the Funky Butte Ranch and that you go here to buy his first book: Not Really an Alaskan Mountain Man, and go to Amazon.com to pre-order his second book: Farewell, My Subaru. Doug has recently added a video to his website that gives you even more insight into his quest and his personality. You will be entertained and inspired, trust me.

Metro riders on the storm

I knew when I moved to Montreal that I would have a new experience of winter. I have enjoyed very mild winters for several years now, and Montreal has too. But not this year, which also happens to be my first winter as a Montreal commuter.

A little bit of November snow was followed by two huge December storms, exactly two weeks apart, each one depositing a good two feet of snow on the metropolis. My car became a nondescript white mound along with those of my neighbors. These storms were followed by regular blasts throughout January, February and now into March (the winds are rattling my windows as we speak and all I see out the windows is whiteness). It seems to never snow less than 10 inches at a time.

The way the plowing works for the smaller streets is that at some point, little orange signs are attached to the normal parking signs announcing a twelve-hour period when you must move your car to allow for plowing. They do the sidewalks too, and they actually remove all the snow and haul it away somewhere in huge trucks. Where I used to live, this took about five to seven days to occur. Since there was absolutely nowhere to move the snow until this happened, it was best to just leave my car parked and once and for all, join the masses on buses and subways.

I’ve already become quite used to it. The commute from my new apartment takes about the same length of time as the drive from my old apartment. It is much quicker though, than the bus/subway journey from my old apartment. When it snows a lot, the streets are much narrower, and it becomes harder for the buses to maneuver, causing major delays and detours. I no longer have the luxury of arriving early to school, but I’ve only arrived late once. Public transportation is so much better for the environment, and I’m definitely saving money on gas.

I use a combination of buses and subways depending on the timing. From my old apartment I rode the blue line of the metro, but from the new place I use the green line and the orange line. About half of the time, I can find a place to sit, but standing or sitting, I am up close and personal with my co-city dwellers. Packed like lemmings into shiny metal boxes.

There are many students, mostly high-school age: girls with guitar pick earrings and streaked hair, boys with an abundance of hockey gear, a wide variety of school uniforms and backpacks. I enjoy, sometimes, listening to their conversations. My bilingualism enables me to nonchalantly eavesdrop on snippets of conversations in French and English. Presumably there are other teachers, given the time of day, but it’s not so easy to pick them out. Teachers dress very casually in Quebec.

The students don’t possess a great deal of bus etiquette. They tend to clump up anywhere and block the way for others instead of moving to the back, and most annoyingly, they jump in line with their friends in what are otherwise, very orderly waiting lines. If there are other teachers around me, they are not as vocal as me to speak up and say, “Hey, you were not here before me and you’re not getting on this bus before me!” They actually respond pretty well, they know they’re not supposed to do that; it just takes a tiny bit of courage and interest to say something. Sometimes it just takes a bit of eye contact and a “back of the line, buddy” gesture to send them on their way. Unfortunately, there are occasionally adults who cut the lines...setting such a great example for our youth.

I tend to spend my commute people watching. I like to look at their shoes, and accessories, like their eyeglasses (I don’t know why!?). It’s usually really crowded, and it’s not always easy to manage reading material. Sometimes I listen to my iPod to ease the abuse on one of my senses. I am always looking for a familiar face. I also like to read over people’s shoulders or read the front page of the paper they’re holding across from me without them noticing. Often I think about the school day ahead of or behind me.

But I do love people watching. The people around me represent an incredible variety of cultures. Having lived in Minnesota and upstate New York my whole adult life, my experience has been a little lacking in the multicultural area. I am always amused, when I do steal a little time to read myself, by the fact that every so often when I look up and around, there is a completely different group of people around me.

When things are running on time and it’s not too hot or too crowded, I liken these daily movements to gentle waves rolling on and off the shore, rather rhythmical and smooth...but during those occasional chaotic commutes, I feel more like a salmon swimming upstream!