Eccentric Flower:200908/Thursday

The internet in the hotel is reliable but slow. Nonelvis' computer is not designed to my sense of personal ergonomics so this will be brief.

The drive up was lovely, apart from the fact that as soon as I put my sunglasses on it clouded over, and as soon as I took them off the sun shone in my eyes again. The whole trip long.

When we crossed into Canada I immediately began laughing at the French signage (and where we cross over, honey, there ain't no bilingual, it is strictly habitant territory). I can't help it. I mean no disrespect to French. French is a lovely language. It just takes me silly. Something in my brain translates French into literal English and is amused by the entire thing. There was a weigh station sign which, taken literally, meant "Open when the fire is blinky." ("Feu" meaning "light" of course. Later I will go back and link this to the famous Watch For the Green Fire episode.) It's funny! I can't help it! I am easily amused!

When we got within spitting distance of Montreal proper the whole thing went to hell. Who designed it so that three major highways merge onto an antiquated two-lane bridge that is the only means of access to downtown Montreal from across the river? Who then decided to add insult into injury by turning one of those lanes into a bus lane at the last moment during rush hour, necessitating a merge in already congested conditions?

But we got there.

My anti-fan syndrome kicked in almost immediately. The elevators are overtaxed in the hotel and I didn't take the first two because some impulsive hindbrain kicked in and said no I am NOT getting in a crowded elevator with THOSE people. I don't get in crowded elevators easily even under the best of circumstances. Someone please, please, please tell me: Why do SF fans smell bad? I really don't think of SF fans that badly; they are my peers. I try to be charitable about them. I know most of them bathe regularly; I don't really think they're that oblivious; and they can't possibly sweat more than I do. So what is it that does this? Is there some pheromone or ester peculiar to the SF fan as a species?

I got to add a new subway to my collection! Yay!

The symbol for the Montreal subway entrances is so basic that it is both wonderful and amusing: It is an arrow pointing down.

We got aboveground and knew where we had to walk to get to the restaurant, by checking a number of web-based maps which were inadequate in various ways. We were in the right place but we didn't know whether we had to go up or down the street to get to the cross-street we needed. We knew it was northwest of the station. We started walking in what we thought was the right direction. A minute or two later:

Me: We're going the right way.
Her: How do you know?
Me: Because of where the sun's setting.
Her: Oh! Heh.

The people of my peer group, myself definitely not excepted, tend to miss the obvious from time to time.

Montreal is so, so, so very French. (And Toronto is so very British. Nonelvis and I had a talk about which one we'd prefer to live in if we had to choose one. I think I favor Montreal. She favors Toronto. But it wouldn't be an easy choice for either of us.)

Au Pied de Cochon is a really, truly fabulous restaurant. I will tell you about Duck in a Can later. But for right now, Nonelvis wants her computer back.