New Brunswick and Quebec

We left Halifax about three pm on Friday and drove to Woodstock.

Woodstock, New Brunswick.

Not the cool one.

We drove around a bit and found a Best Western and checked in and then we went to the PUB, the name of which I can't remember.... Himself thinks it may have been the Hometown Pub or something... just let's call it the Good Ole Boys pub... we were the only people in the pub not wearing a baseball cap.

But we had a nice steak each. And they had wine. Hurrah. And beer. The beer was on a special two for one, but the wine was not, no matter how hard I tried with the server who had a very sophisticated two way radio device in his ear, despite the fact that the pub was about the size of a normal pub with about twenty customers in it.

It had four enormous tv screens with the pre-season hockey on it.

I broke the news to Himself that I had decided to be a Canadien fan for the foreseeable.

Himself is a Maple Leaf fan.

He tried to explain that being a Habs fan was not allowed for people who intend to marry him, but I decided that that was stupid.

Like I said in a previous post, we are working our way through the major issues before we wed.

After the enormous steak, our tummies were too stretched to do more than have another couple of two for one beers and then trundle back to the BestWestern for telly and bed.

Up early next morning and onto Quebec city.

We liked Quebec City.

It's like a legoland Prague.

Or Paris, I suppose.

After seven pm, it pretty much shut down of course, being Canadian, but it was our single vacation night where we could let rip so we found a pub and then a restaurant, and then nicely full of (steak again) and beer and wine, we staggered down the Rue St Jean and found Les Yeux Bleues, which was recommended in the Lonely Planet.

It was a small, seedy bar a la Baggot Inn in the eighties, with a few live acts that consisted of French singer/ songwriters that sang two English songs to prove they understood the concept of rock music and then reverted to Quebec pop.

I'm sorry.

The French are great at movies.

They are great at art.

They are great at sculpture.

They are great at all forms of culture.

But put a guitar in their hands and all they can come up with is the effin' theme tune to the Teletubbies.

Everyone sang along raucously.

We met a pair of Boston gals who had driven out of the States for the first time in their lives that day.

We drank a pitcher of beer and staggered home through the drizzle to our dreadful little French hotel room that cost a fortune.

C'est Quebec.

Today, we drove to Montreal, then Ottawa, and now we are just three hours from our destination.

I'm too full of ribs and chocolate to say anything meaningful, so I'll just go to bed now.