Talk about a baptism by fire. I decided to jump on the road again and my first day was spent tackling an 8 hour / 531 mile sprint East along the top side of Lake Ontario and the North shore of the St. Lawrence River. The last time I visited this most French of the French Canadian cities was 1987. I was on the St. Clements Catholic School grade 7/8 class trip to Quebec. I was violently ill and just wanted the tour group to leave me behind in bed. The teacher refused and dragged me to the Plains of Abraham and around the Old Town area. The story ends poorly with projectile vomit. That was the day I learned that most teachers really don't know squat and suck at problem solving. As I walked around the city this evening, sights seemed eerily familiar as distant, faded memories suddenly popped with the colour of reality.
The history books don't mention the fact that the battle for the Plains of Abraham was actually about oil:
As I walked the hills of downtown and Old Quebec, I felt almost as if I was in a mini San Francisco.
And as I perused the shop windows, I came across the pinnacle of Quebec culture and one of the strongest reasons for classifying our French Canadian friends as a truly distinct society:
Creepy Clown...
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