![]() I convinced Carter to try Vietnamese food, and he wolfed down his plate, while Micaela was thrilled to have the chance to order red curry, which she’d first tried during last summer’s visit to LA. Off to dinner we hurried, meeting my friend and Normandie hitchhiking pal Véro in the Quartier Latin, which I’d described to the twiblings as Montreal’s Greenwich Village, not realizing they were still unfamiliar with New York’s neighborhoods. Having seen their wardrobes though, I’m not shedding a tear. (It didn’t quite reach the level of “awesome.”) Micaela picked up some rather nifty Ugg knockoffs and a sweatshirt for back-to-school wear, but Carter didn’t fare so well and left empty-handed. Once again the twiblings (the twin niblings) showed an uncanny appreciation for structural engineering, noting several times the efficient use of space as well as how cool it was. His impression impressed me.Īfter a stroll around Old Montreal and a stop for all-natural sorbet, we headed over to the famed Underground City, a 19-mile network of subterranean shops and businesses that allow residents and tourists an escape from the region’s often brutal weather, particularly in winter. I have to admit that I never thought I’d see a kid floored by architecture, especially religious architecture, but my nephew couldn’t take enough pictures, and he repeatedly remarked on the attention to detail. We began our exploration of the city with a stop at the nearby Notre-Dame Basilica, a cathedral smaller than its Parisian namesake but every bit as worthwhile to visit. Micaela wasn’t kidding when she said she was looking forward to experiencing Montreal’s culinary wonders. Plus, it’s only a block away from our hotel. ![]() We’ve succeeded in gorging ourselves on strawberry-flambé pancakes, yogurt-and-honey-dolloped cinnamon brioches, and eggs and latkes - not to mention the appetizers and smoothies - but there are still kiwi pancakes, bagels dorés, and various other fast-breaking morsels to try. Before they’d even finished their meal, Carter and Micaela were asking if we could return every morning so that we might attempt to sample all the various other dishes that had caught their eye. Our bellies grumbling from not having eaten almost 18 hours earlier at The Village Oven in West Stockbridge, Mass., we hurried over to Eggspectation, a breakfast joint I’d found recommended on several restaurant sites. But instead, Carter was still in the living room on the fold-out, obediently watching television at an unbelievably acceptable level, and Micaela awoke at the same time I did. I’d expected to awaken to the same bickering that had prompted me, somewhere in the bleak darkness of the Adirondacks, to stop the car and threaten to turn it around all the way back to Connecticut. Having survived the eight-hour car ride with twin preteens, I woke this morning to a surprising sound: the alarm clock. Last Updated on MaThe twiblings at Notre-Dame Basilica in Montreal.
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