Okay, so my adventures don't start in Québec proper, but rather at the gate for my flight to Detroit (which, to my knowledge, still sucks). While boarding, I noticed two familiar faces in line.
They were none other than Kari and Grant of Mythbusters fame. Accordingly, I made a fool of myself, asked for a picture, and they happily obliged. Kari even said goodbye to me as we deplaned in Detroit. Yeah, we're tight now.
After a three-hour delay in Detroit, we finally arrived in Québec at around 10 PM local time, and set out to explore Québec by night. Unfortunately, a lot of the captured views looked better in the daylight, but a couple from that evening were noteworthy.
Québec, North America's only walled city outside of Mexico, is divided into Old Town (further subdivided into Upper and Lower Town) and New Town. This is one of the gates in the wall surrounding Old Town, the original city. 
Me and a bust of Winston Churchill. I love that man.As I said, Québec is more photogenic by daylight. Here's the view from my hotel room:
Those would be the Parliamentary buildings for Québec Province.
The cityscape from the café in the Congrés du Québec, where the meeting was stationed. (And yes, I did actually attend some talks. Phytopathology and mycology are pretty interesting.)
This charming little street provided my first (and thus far only) experience of being labeled an ugly American. Allow me to set the scene: One morning, after sitting through a positively riveting lecture on the host-parasite coevolution of rusts and smuts given by living phytopathology legend Dr. Franz Oberwinkler, Pete, Dr. Powell, Scott, and I embarked on a quest for breakfast. Having spied a small epicerie adjoining an equally petite boulangerie, Pete and I set our foodie heads together and picked up the makings for a classic French petit-déjeuner: a warm, crusty baguette, three buttery, fungus-cured cheeses, Ottawa plums, and dried figs. Our party of four settled on a bench on the cobbled sidewalk and broke our fast.
In the middle of the meal, an elderly man walked up to us and asked, in French, if we were tourists, asking again in English when we didn't answer right away. We indicated we were, and he asked if we were American tourists. Again, we said we were, in English. Without skipping a beat, he sneered and said, "You should make more of an effort to speak French," and hobbled off. Once he was out of earshot, Scott replied, "Why should we make an effort? You speak English." While I can understand the older man's point, I can only hope he heard Scott. After all, he approached us, sans provocation. On a brighter note, in a restaurant on our last day in Québec, an elderly couple stopped by our table to sincerely wish us, in heavily accented English, a lovely stay in their fair city.
Me, being an ass, in front of the Gare du Palais, or the Palace Train Station.
A local fruit and vegetable market near the St. Lawrence River. Pete and I stuffed ourselves silly on fresh raspberries.
Scott models the scale of the Smartcar, a European import that my mother came to know very well on her trip to the Mediterranean.
These three pictures are of Lower Town, which was inhabited by dockworkers and seamen in the city's early years. While we were there, Québec was holding a festival celebrating the founding of the province, so the streets were filled with reenactors. And yet, I somehow failed to get a picture with one of the umpteen pirates roaming the streets. (Also, note the large copper-roofed building to the left in the first picture. That is Chateau Frontenac, and that will be important later.)
Near our hotel in New Town, there was a large, lush park that, like most of the city, was chockablock full of wildflowers, compliments of the perfect 75-degree weather. (My next post will be devoted entirely to the flowers of Québec.) Above is a statue of Joan of Arc.
I'm a sucker for tree-lined paths.
While touring the park, Scott and I stumbled upon one of Canada's most feared predators: the woodchuck. Okay, so fearsome he ain't, but goshdarnit, he's cute.
The Chateau Frontenac, pictured here as seen from the park, is the city's iconic structure. Built in the nineteenth century, this massive hotel was the site of much of the planning of the Allied offensive in the Second World War. (Hence the Churchill bust earlier.)
The fortification surrounding the city features a garrison, called the Citadel, not too far from the aforementioned park. Currently an operating military base, the Citadel offers tours, but Scott and I are cheap and opted out of it. Instead, we moseyed along the top of the fortification and were rewarded with these two views of the city.
This is one of my favorite pictures from the trip. Here you see Upper Town (Chateau Frontenac and the rowhouses), Lower Town (the docks), and the St. Lawrence seaway, all from the top of the Citadel. It's even more beautiful in person.
Finally, as I have fallen in love with the delightful city of Québec, crotchety old French men and all, I have decided to relocate upon my return from Scotland. This is the house on which I have set my sights. Now it's just a matter of getting the current owners to strike a deal with a college student possessing fledgling credit and only the most rudimentary French. I think I can swing it.
