I’m here for two days. Two nights and two days. Teaching QuickBooks Online. Got here early evening Tuesday, leaving Thursday night. After checking in yesterday, I walked around. Walked down La rue St-Louis, down to where you’ll find Le Chateau Frontenac. I took the funicular down to basse-ville. Walked past places I’d been before, Le Lapin Sauté, l’église Notre Dame des Victoires. It was all so evocative of earlier visits. Pleasant visits.
This morning I woke up promptly, walked in the early morning, pre-dawn light, down to la Rue St-Jean, got to Boulangerie Paillard at 7:00 AM. It had just opened.
There’s something about this city. It just feels right. It always feels right. But this time, if felt even better. It felt more whimsical, more expressive, more romantic.
After teaching QuickBooks all day, it was dusk. The sun was going down, the landmarks–those romantic gates cut in old stone walls–were lit up. Buildings too, they were all lit up. Light, playful light, shone on churches. Light shone on old homes converted into hotels (like the Manoir d’Auteil where I was staying), light shone on statues, carvings, walkways.
And the air too. It was crisp, it was cold. Not uncomfortably so, nothing distressing.
And that’s when it hit me. As much as I love Québec, can it even be better when it’s cold? Is it better when the sun sets in the early evening, and rises later in the day? Is Québec more memorable in the late fall when everything is lit up and there’s a nip in the air? Is it better at this time of year because (let’s face it) there are less people walking its beautiful, historic streets?
You know what? I think it is. I think Québec is better when it’s cold.
You walk quickly–you want to warm up. But you can’t help but pause and admire this old house, that beautiful church. Everything lit up.
There’s some kind of va et viens. There’s an anomaly, a contradiction in terms. It’s cold, you want to hurry and get indoors. But it’s too beautiful and you linger a little bit, talking in the sights. And when you finally do get inside, a cosy little restaurant, and you sip that single malt–pour me réchauffer–you tell the waiter, well even that first sip is made more vivid.
Hmm, maybe it’s true, maybe it really is so. Yeah, I do think it’s true. Québec is better when it’s cold.