Je me Souviens….Quebec
The Sights and sounds of North America’s oldest walled city thrilled me, but its steep hills and zigzaggy stairways kept me humble. As I navigated the city’s charms with my daughter Abby, I returned home with my own version of “Je me souviens.”
I remember…
Hearing the notes of “Danny Boy” plucked by a white-haired harpist wearing a parka in the Place Royale, the 17th century plaza in the heart of Old Quebec.
The sweet warmth of a Caribou, a traditional drink of red wine mixed with whiskey and maple syrup.
“New York New York” played by a lone bearded saxophone player in front of a bronzed Samuel de Champlain, founder of Quebec.
Bleached white sheets flapping on clothesline in front of Madame Paradis’ Airbnb on Rue Daulac.
The tangy goodness of my first poutine, a gooey mash of fries buried under fresh cheese curds and chimichurri sauce.
Rounded granaries along the St. Lawrence River lit up purple and pink like the Northern lights.
Musty smell of bookstore on Rue St. Jean where I bought a volume of poetry for $5.
Floral Aroma of roasting coffee beans at Cantook.
Turrets of green copper transforming the hotel Frontenac into a castle.
An older couple drinking their morning coffee on motorized scooters parked side by side near Eglise of St. Roch.
butterflies as I ascended over the rooftops of lower Quebec city on the funiculaire.
Canary yellow sign on stairway to St. Roch district proclaiming, “Free Quebec- until there is blood.”
On a chilly October morning, seeing a stash of blankets and newspapers in a doorway on Rue de Reines.
The Laurentian foothills forming a band of scarlet and gold around this fabled city.
