Over the border

I’d like to interrupt our introspection to announce that we’re on the move again. We left Massachusetts via the Vermonter train, and infiltrated Canada by biking north from St. Albans, Vermont into Quebec. Our goal is to visit Jim’s family – all of them! – topped off by visiting his cousin Hallie’s wedding.

By “infiltrated” I mean we crossed the border legally, on bikes. The border guard was unimpressed.

French Canada is remote and civilized; wild and cultivated; familiar and foreign, all at once. We spent a day exploring Montreal, with its stacked balconies and restaurant patios, before turning west along the Ottowa (or Ouattouais) river.

The weather has been sweltering, but the scenery along route 334 is bucolic. It’s a mix of tourist cottages and gently rolling farmland. Every 20 kilometers there’s a village with a tidy church, a Casse-CroĆ»te selling poutine and sandwiches, and a view of the river.

Our next destination is Ottowa, and then we’ll continue west along to Toronto. Allons-y!