Between the parades and the warning signs there is this irreverent tendency to poke fun at normal cautions. Margaret is jesting on the edge of a 40 foot drop on the walls of the Citadel. No safety rail, no safety harness and I am back 10 feet frozen in sheer drop fear! This is no walk for the faint of heart!
The cobblestone streets of old Quebec City ring a grinding rhythm from the wheels of the resurrected horse and buggy. The sound almost welcome in an age of digital everything. Public transport could learn a lesson from the tourist trade. Like the changing of the guard, there is something of value, of appeal in the rituals. Maybe Sister Carrita was right when she said that without ritual (without historical patterns) we can have no art.
The many fantasyland towers of the old Fairmont hotel in Quebec make for a striking background. The wonderful illusion is that this grande dame of hotels was not our home. Our VW vanagon is a 90 square foot home. The unfortunate thing about the van is that it has no oven. Now obstacles like that are easily circumvented because like signs, pageants and other patterns of existence the rules are meant to be broken. We did find a great little patisserie and shared a few profiteroles! Who needs an oven to enjoy great pastry!