November 2015

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All aboard from last weekend’s super fun adventure to the Pennsylvania Trolley Museum! A mere forty minute drive from our place, it was a welcome change from our longer distance travels. The museum is a rather impressive labor of love, with 161 volunteers and five paid staff restoring and maintaining trolleys, track, and buildings (one of them is partially solar powered!), giving tours, and running the gift shop. I love to witness cross-generational interest in just about anything, so when I discovered that our operator and conductor (who punches actual tickets!) were both young men, and the littlest traveler on our trolley was a positively giddy two-year-old, I was pretty jazzed, too.

They have a short informational film about the history of the street car, and our conductor went into other details, the majority of which we didn’t know, and I won’t spoil for anyone interested in visiting. They have trolleys from just about every era in every stage of repair. The wooden one was saved from detonation when a hurricane submerged it under water. My favorite, which also happened to be the one we rode on, was a 1940’s model that hailed from Philadelphia. It was a stunner, with fine interior and exterior paint and examples of vintage advertising, too. “Give her an electric mixer. She’ll love to use it!”

I really can’t recommend it more highly, from the charming volunteers to the pleasing rumble and squeak of a trolley rolling down the track. Oh, and if Santa is your jam, they have a special Santa Trolley coming soon!

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Beauties

Those who dwell, as scientists or laymen, among the beauties and mysteries of the earth, are never alone or weary of life.

Rachel Carson

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In Montreal now, with the cousins and their new kitty, Moon Pie. I love how little R reached out for the hubster’s hand in the family photo, her heart full of love (and mischief), her brother’s, too. They are good and smart and fun and funny, testament to the goodness of their Papa, too. We had our Montreal poutine (the best of this trip) together at Lester’s, an old school deli that smokes its own meat. We walked, ran, jumped, walked some more, spun, and ate and drank enough to fill hollow legs, yet never saw the kiddos tire nor lose their sense of curiosity and wonder. It was great to be together.

We stayed in the same place as our last trip to Montreal, and though the neighborhood has changed, with construction and new restaurants and shops to explore, we were delighted that we remembered our way around. We made a near daily pilgrimage to the Atwater Market and enjoyed a feast for our eyes and bellies, breakfast pastries and decadent treats from Premiere Moisson, every bite as good as our memory, before walking along the Canal Lachine and circling back home.

We were stunned to find a segment of the Berlin Wall (a gift in celebration of Montreal’s 350th birthday), all nonchalant in a shopping gallery.

Wanderings downtown and in the Old City. The Canadoan Coat of Arms – From Sea to Sea. The Giant dome and enormous cast iron pillars of Marche Bonsecours, full of shops featuring local goods. I doubt you’llĀ  be surprised to learn that I bought soap.

More good food! There is no shortage of it in Montreal. Tacos Victor is a postage stamp of a place, mostly standing room, but their tacos are well worth it. In a rather surprising Pittsburgh twist, they are topped with really good French fries. And finally, the Montreal Bagel! I’m not much of a bagel person. I’ll take a pumpernickel or a peppercorn potato, with a heavy schmear of cream cheese, maybe a sprinkle of salt and pepper, a couple times a year. Then I met the Montreal on our last trip and started to dream about them. Baked in a wood-fired oven, with a dense crumb, the bagel is chewy and made a tad sweet by the addition of honey, covered in either poppy seeds (black) or sesame seeds (white). I am a bigot bagel eater because I only like mine white.

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Trans-Canada Highway 20 between Quebec City and Montreal, three hours of sweeping plains dressed in nature’s autumnal quilt, signs for moose and deer (but no sign of them), fog and pouring rain, a soup stop at Tim Horton’s, granite monoliths dotted in neon. A great day to be on the road.

 

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Quebec City is a lovely place for wandering, narrow and meandering streets aglow in stately autumn robes, shop after shop, whimsical decorations around quiet corners, pleasant surprises, every last one. As is our usual and marvelous good luck, the skies were clear and bright, and though the wind laced its icy fingers around the city, the rain only came when we tucked in for the evening. We walked ourselves silly, along ramparts and the river, up and down steep city staircases, and in leafy parks. We did not suffer, however, fortified with great food (crepes, raclette, confit of duck!), many a stop for a stunning view, locally made moccasins, steaming coffees, cocoas topped with towers of whipped cream, a pile of gifts, and most decadent of all, hot ciders spiked with brandy.

I most definitely think we’ll be back, but in winter next time, when everything is aglitter with snow.

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