I came into Quebec on the morning of the 21st. It was noticeably calmer than Montreal. Fewer people, cheaper parking. More French and less English, too.

The first day I went to old town Quebec. It is charming and nostalgic and an air of relaxed confidence pervades the city.

I ate dinner at a pub in one of those ancient-looking buildings. I asked the barmaid whether the building was actually very old or just built to have the appearance. She informed me with a cute French lilt that the building was, in fact, built in 1644. Wow.

She recommended I try poutine again after my underwhelming experience in Ontario. I did. It was indeed far better. My best dinner I'd had in some time.

I talked with her and my bar-neighbor Maurice the retiree for an hour or two before heading back to the hostel.

There I met a couple of grandparents from the countryside south of Montreal. They told me about their week-long bike trips through different parts of Canada, most recently with their twelve-year-old grandson, and also cracked up at my lousy attempts to say a few words in French.

The next day I came right back to old town.

I went to a Mass in the Basilica of Notre Dame in Quebec.

And went up to that castle (which might actually be a hotel?) from the earlier photo.

Then I drove south into Maine, where I slept on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere. Maine is pretty, just like Vermont and the rest of New England. But nothing unique.

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