We had a productive day. We ate breakfast downstairs in the hostel. Toast, cereal, juice. We walked to the parliament building and did the English tour. The guide was bubbly. She explained the colours – raspberry in one room, light blue in the other – were not symbolic of anything, but looked good on colour TV. They used to be different but when colour TV went to air people looked bad, so they repainted. I liked this explanation, better than Parliament House in Canberra. Everything is grey-green because that’s what all our plants are.
National Assembly
Raspberry looks better on TV than the original red.
Je me souviens
The Pride street festival was advertised for Sunday afternoon. We walked the entire length of Rue St-Jean that had been closed off. We even got taped on camera, walking along holding hands. It is really weird having people approach you, and yammer quickly in French. They assume I would understand. I turn into an Asian tourist, all laughing nervously and smiling because I have absolutely no idea what is being said, it’s all too fast.
In the afternoon we made our way to the basilica, and town hall. Turns out everything is very close in Old Quebec City and we’d already seen it on Saturday, in our mad dash around the streets. We’d even taken photos.
Walking condoms!
I wonder if the people who built the church would ever envisage dancers and drag queens on the street hundreds of years later?
Not much to do in the park.
Place D’Youville
Rue something.
A very steep hill, walking back up is not fun.
Tourist area is busy on the weekend.
Arc-en-ciel
Dan wanted to look in the Chateau Frontenac lobby or something and we walked back via the big statue outside. The busker was closing his act and held four flags: French, Canadian, American and Australian. I think he’d had a Russian one too but let that go when nobody was from Russia. Dan responded that we were from Australia, got handed the flag, then got roped up to be in the act. I took photos. He had to dance, wear a Rastafarian hat, and then help hold one of four corners of the platform the guy did a handstand on. We gave him my last $10. My wallet is empty now.
For dinner we found a place on Rue St-Jean, on the corder of St-Genevieve. La Piazetta or something. The food was great. Dan had to drink my glass of wine, because I was tipsy after my coffee with liqueur. Aftewards we walked back to Place D’Youville to watch drag queens speaking in French (one was all political and pointing her finger and periodically being cheered and booed by the crowd). My favourite item was one of the first: The Phantom of the Opera. The performer’s hair started to fall off, then it sagged in the middle, like a limp penis. She battled on. Daniel laughed a bit too loud, after his two glasses of san giovese. We clapped furiously at the end.
Chateau Frontenac.
Nobody else seemed to find fudge sausages in a fudge factory funny. We were looking for fudge-packers.
Chateau Frontenac.
Chateau Frontenac.
The weather suddenly was cold enough for layers of clothing.
Whether it was lobster or not, the lobster pizza was delicious.
Drag queens on roller skates: it ends in laughs.
1 Sep 2013. Pretending to sing that Funiculi-Funicula song.
By 11 pm it was late, we were tired and we went home. No idea where all the cool kids go. Not to our hostel, thankfully. We needed to sleep.
Glen's Travel Blog 