Downtown—Literally

June 26-29

The Ursuline Order is a major presence in Quebec. They may have been the first French Catholic nuns in the New World. 

A small group, led by a nun called Marie de l’Incarnation, arrived about 30 years after Champlain founded the village of Quebec. They set up in the lower town, a small, flat bit of ground between the cliffs and the St. Lawrence River.

They set up a school for girls, children both of French settlers and of the Hurons. Then they moved to the top of the mountain, where they still operate the school, now open to boys and girls.

The order has a beautiful chapel that contains some very detailed wood carvings, two altars, old bones. There was a rumor that I believe false that General Montcalm’s skull was kept as a relic on one of the altars.

According to a volunteer who attends the welcome desk in the church, Montcalm was buried in the chapel, but she said his body was later removed to a cemetery.

I have been trying to find the chapel, and finally met someone at a gift shop attached to the school who pointed the way. Joanna and I had walked past it twice and missed it. 

Add caption

The entrance doesn’t face the street, as I had remembered, but instead opens to a small courtyard that fronts the Rue Donnacona.

There have been changes since I was last in Quebec, maybe 15 or 20 years ago. Marie de l’Incarnation was canonized by Pope Francis in 2014. 

The chapel has a new section, an oratory off the main nave where her remains lie in a black marble sarcophagus. The oratory has a view into a second nave, an area  called the Sisters’ Choir, which I hadn’t seen before. 

So there are two naves, at right angles to each other. In addition to the main altar, which faces the public nave, there is a second altar, on the wall to your left, facing the Sisters’ Choir.

One of the many things I’ve always found to be fun about Quebec is the Breakneck Stairs.

Most of the Old Town is on a bluff above the St. Lawrence. Basse-Ville, or Lower Town, is a small area that a few decades ago was the rough part of town. 

There is an elevator, the Funiculaire, that you can ride, but the Breakneck Stairs are much more fun. At least going down. 

You can start near the Chien d’Or on the old post office, go down a flight of steps to a sloping road that leads to another flight down. 

There are cafes on the landings. I always like to stop at least for a drink at a cafe on the stairs. 

It’s like sitting on the sidewalk in Europe, only this is on a staircase instead of a street. You see lots of people walking, but no cars.

It was lunch time, so we stopped at the Creperie Bistro, halfway down the steps.

We shared an amazing crepe filled with duck meat and goat cheese. The menu listed a Quebec wine called William. Joanna wasn’t in the mood for wine so I ordered a William rouge for her and the blanc for myself. Both were fruity, a touch acidic, and better than OK.

I had been to Lower Town in the late ’60s or early ’70s on my first trip this way when the neighborhood was just starting to clean itself up.

It was almost unrecognizable this time. The main street, Petit Champlain, was packed with bars, boutiques, and restaurants, and jammed with people.

One of the old buildings has a mural depicting culture and individuals of Quebec history. The only one Joanna and I knew about was Father Jansoone, founder of the Shrine of Notre Dame du Cap at Trois Rivieres. Besides Father Jansoone, there were sailmakers, an old tavern keeper, etc.

We watched kids climb on cannons at a restored artillery battery, built after a siege by British in 1690.

We bought a FuckLaMode t-shirt at a boutique called Oclan. We rested on a bench in the plaza outside Notre Dames des Victoires church.

We took the funicular back up.

We wandered over to our favorite pirate hangout, Freres de la Cote, for dinner. The snails were so good the other day that we hoped dinner would be as outstanding.

It was.

Joanna had a hell of a lamb shank. I opted for the coq au vin, another dish I haven’t seen in ages. We had that with a bottle of Opailleur rouge, which I polished off the back at the hotel.

Wednesday, our last day in Quebec City, we started by touring the park near the hotel. Jeanne d’Arc Garden is particularly lovely. 

An equestrian statue of Joan of Arc in armor dominates the garden. This day it was surrounded by scaffolding and being cleaned. 

The garden has a mix of perennials and annuals, and they are selected so that there will be flowers in bloom for much of the year. Peonies were out.

The walks around the edges of the flower garden are shaded by elms.

From there we strolled downtown. We walked some to listen to the street musicians and sat on benches to watch other people walk.

We cabbed back to the hotel for a rest. 

Later for dinner we went to Restaurant Louis Hebert, on the Grande Allee not far from the hotel. Joanna had penne with pulled duck confit. I had bison flank steak with red cabbage and mashed sweet potatoes.

We paired that with a bottle of Ventoux, from grapes grown at the foot of Mt. Ventoux in Provence, near the Chabrans’ house where we stayed.

Polished off the bottle while watching a PBS documentary about weather. The show affected us.

When we woke up to rain the next morning, we talked about the drops of water collecting around dust motes in the clouds.

I was glad, too, that it was rain, and not powdered snow that could form an avalanche. Now I have more justification for hating snow.

We drove to Drummondville, our next stop on this tour. We know nothing about Drummondville, really, but it was the largest spot on map between Quebec City and the U.S. border. 

We went to Horace au Boulevard, a couple of miles down the road for lunch. Turns out, it’s pretty much a French Canadian twist on a New Jersey diner.

I think my onion soup came from a can. Joanna had a casserole of mixed vegetables with baked cheese on top.

This was a local place. The waitress spoke almost no English. But we did all right. 

Joanna wanted to know if the vegetables were cooked or raw.

The lady didn’t recognize the English word “cooked.” I couldn’t remember the French for it. All I could remember were “roti” and “saute,” and they weren’t quite right.

Then the waitress said “well done.” She assured Joanna that the vegetables were “well done.”

Google, as it frequently does, helped me find a place for dinner in town, the Odyssee Resto. 

On our way there, when we crossed the river and the name of road changed to Blvd. de la Universite, it meant that I had missed our turn. 

So I checked our local map. We had seen Rue Newton but not Rue Lindsay.

It was clear on the map, though. We were traveling on Rue St. Georges, highway 122. Newton ends and Lindsay begins at highway 122. 

I had even noticed that earlier but had forgotten it completely. 

The next challenge was finding somewhere to put the car. There was a concert in the park, so the lots were full. 

We found a spot at the curb around the corner from the restaurant.

We sat on the terrace out front. It was busy and way too loud, but the food was good.

I had beef cheek (joue de boeuf), which is reminiscent of pot roast. It was even better though, more tender and not quite as gamy.

Joanna had salmon breaded and flavored with maple syrup. A little too sweet, Joanna said.

We were able to get a half bottle of Montepulciano d’Abruzzo, one of my favorite types of wine. This wasn’t the most full-flavored specimen, but even so was still very good. 

We’d been on the move for almost three weeks. Not a lot of sightseeing in Drummondville, so we’re taking it easy today. 

We’ll be going for a stroll in a local park and then to dinner at a place called Le Globe-Trotter.

Tomorrow morning we head for Coventry, Vt., to visit Joanna’s sister Philomena and brother-in-law Jeff. 

Stay well, everybody. And don’t forget to take the stairs. The drinks are good for your heart.

Harry