fu"You're missing something" a woman says as she gestures to my empty bike seat. Trust me, more true works have never been spoken. You try timesharing a piece of your heart.
When spoken to, I was about to start a bike tour, my third with Fitz Montreal Bike Tours. I had ventured across the border during school vacation week (aka a week off from work) with little more than my bike, a great audiobook and select clothes. I forgot socks altogether...
The opening monologue of "Really Good Actually" by Monica Heisey made me laugh constantly as I drove out of Portland. The book follows a woman over the course of a year after she and her husband decide to divorce. I found it fully relatable.
Once in the city I dream about, a visit to Marche Atwater was needed for second dinner provisions - forage, charcuterie, baguette et tartine citron. I say second dinner because after I settled into my Airbnb, I was out the door and biking to the Vieux Port de Montreal (old port area). Escondite is a favorite spot to find a margarita and wings after a long drive! The drink is made even more delicious from the blood-orange tamarin syrup. The wings made more desirable with a mix of chipotle, maple and coriander. Wings, a drink and a book on a rainy Montreal evening was just what I wanted if I couldn't be with my babe.
The first full day was bike tour time! We met at the top of La Fontine Park on Rue Rachel. I like to bring my own bike instead of borrow one of their chariots. If nothing else, my absent child's seat is a great transporter of things - plants, beer, the good stuff. The tour travels through back garden alleyways, to St Viateur bagels, to a park to eat said still-warm-from-the-oven bagels, to Marche Jean Talon.
Once the three hour tour was complete, I biked to the base of Mont Royal to climb the hill (it's a running joke in Montreal is that you never call Mont Royal a hill). It's a workout but takes less than 30 minutes to mosey up the 764' rise. The views from the top are great but so mobbed with selfie-takers that I tend to only stay for a few minutes before trotting back down. I killed the extra two hours before my dinner reservation by biking around, window and actual shopping. I brought home plenty of goodies for both my girl and I to enjoy for months to come.
After a shower and change at my home base just of Sherbrooke, I biked over to L'Express. I would eat here daily until I die if I could. But I really come here for one complete meal: champagne cocktail (this time with a new-to-me wild strawberry liquor called Fragoli-I brought a bottle home and can't open it..), baguette with salty butter, tiny pickles with spicy mustard and steak frites. Heaven in my mouth.
After dinner, I stumbled into a new tattoo (magnolias for the street V and I live on and peaches for my family). It was the most fun I've had yet while beautifully mutilating my body. A real control-freak's paradise, I even got to chose my own colors. Afterwards, the artist used something I haven't seen before, SecondSkin breathable cover. If I ever get another tattoo, that is a must. Shortened the healing time and lessened the healing discomfort dramatically.
The second day there was full of lattes, pastries, reading, walking, murals, markets and fried chicken tacos. A little cathartic crying and a pep talk later, I took a night ride to the la grande roue de Montreal (big ass Ferris wheel). Along the way, I paused to chat with a handsome Frenchie standing outside an outstandingly old building. He told me it was now a restaurant named Gibby's but the architecture dates back from at least 1850. It was part of the Grey Nuns' General Hospital and parts of the structure date back to 1694! I took a charming wander among the dark but entrancingly lit garden and saw what was once stables, not turned into offices. Standing among history always gives one a sense of...perspective.
On my last morning there, on my way out of town, I located the most perfect abrocotine. I have found a new spot, which is always exciting. Armed with pastry and hot chocolate, I drove like a bat out of hell home by way of Burlington. I needed more bagels (rosemary sea salt from Myer's) and cider (from Citizen and Champlain Orchards. Then home to Portland to unload the bike and goodies, then reinstall the carseat and head over to pick up my heart. It was a good trip full of observations and wanderings but nothing beats tiny arms around my neck.
When spoken to, I was about to start a bike tour, my third with Fitz Montreal Bike Tours. I had ventured across the border during school vacation week (aka a week off from work) with little more than my bike, a great audiobook and select clothes. I forgot socks altogether...
The opening monologue of "Really Good Actually" by Monica Heisey made me laugh constantly as I drove out of Portland. The book follows a woman over the course of a year after she and her husband decide to divorce. I found it fully relatable.
Once in the city I dream about, a visit to Marche Atwater was needed for second dinner provisions - forage, charcuterie, baguette et tartine citron. I say second dinner because after I settled into my Airbnb, I was out the door and biking to the Vieux Port de Montreal (old port area). Escondite is a favorite spot to find a margarita and wings after a long drive! The drink is made even more delicious from the blood-orange tamarin syrup. The wings made more desirable with a mix of chipotle, maple and coriander. Wings, a drink and a book on a rainy Montreal evening was just what I wanted if I couldn't be with my babe.
The first full day was bike tour time! We met at the top of La Fontine Park on Rue Rachel. I like to bring my own bike instead of borrow one of their chariots. If nothing else, my absent child's seat is a great transporter of things - plants, beer, the good stuff. The tour travels through back garden alleyways, to St Viateur bagels, to a park to eat said still-warm-from-the-oven bagels, to Marche Jean Talon.
Once the three hour tour was complete, I biked to the base of Mont Royal to climb the hill (it's a running joke in Montreal is that you never call Mont Royal a hill). It's a workout but takes less than 30 minutes to mosey up the 764' rise. The views from the top are great but so mobbed with selfie-takers that I tend to only stay for a few minutes before trotting back down. I killed the extra two hours before my dinner reservation by biking around, window and actual shopping. I brought home plenty of goodies for both my girl and I to enjoy for months to come.
After a shower and change at my home base just of Sherbrooke, I biked over to L'Express. I would eat here daily until I die if I could. But I really come here for one complete meal: champagne cocktail (this time with a new-to-me wild strawberry liquor called Fragoli-I brought a bottle home and can't open it..), baguette with salty butter, tiny pickles with spicy mustard and steak frites. Heaven in my mouth.
After dinner, I stumbled into a new tattoo (magnolias for the street V and I live on and peaches for my family). It was the most fun I've had yet while beautifully mutilating my body. A real control-freak's paradise, I even got to chose my own colors. Afterwards, the artist used something I haven't seen before, SecondSkin breathable cover. If I ever get another tattoo, that is a must. Shortened the healing time and lessened the healing discomfort dramatically.
The second day there was full of lattes, pastries, reading, walking, murals, markets and fried chicken tacos. A little cathartic crying and a pep talk later, I took a night ride to the la grande roue de Montreal (big ass Ferris wheel). Along the way, I paused to chat with a handsome Frenchie standing outside an outstandingly old building. He told me it was now a restaurant named Gibby's but the architecture dates back from at least 1850. It was part of the Grey Nuns' General Hospital and parts of the structure date back to 1694! I took a charming wander among the dark but entrancingly lit garden and saw what was once stables, not turned into offices. Standing among history always gives one a sense of...perspective.
On my last morning there, on my way out of town, I located the most perfect abrocotine. I have found a new spot, which is always exciting. Armed with pastry and hot chocolate, I drove like a bat out of hell home by way of Burlington. I needed more bagels (rosemary sea salt from Myer's) and cider (from Citizen and Champlain Orchards. Then home to Portland to unload the bike and goodies, then reinstall the carseat and head over to pick up my heart. It was a good trip full of observations and wanderings but nothing beats tiny arms around my neck.