leaving Quebec City

When you are still part of the labor force, long vacations can be a godsend. Indeed, some would argue you cannot disengage from your work during a short getaway. It takes a few days just to groove into a new rhythm. Another few to stop thinking about the projects you left behind. The French know this. The scoff at the American vacation which is, by their metrics, too short, too intense and too low on good food. It's not a vacation if it's not at least two weeks long.

I used to subscribe to this as well. When the kids were grown and I was once again alone, I took the longest vacation of my life. It went on forever, covered many weeks and many countries and it put me in credit card debt.

Since then, I've completely flipped on this. I have cut back so much that even Ed says my travel vacations are too short. All that trouble for just eight days? -- he'll ask. It's nine! -- I'll protest, thinking that nine is a lot, perhaps too much, next time I'll make it seven.

It's simple really: I dont need to be away. But I do need to get away. It is unfortunate that I live in a country where distances are vast and public ground transportation is poor, because it puts me in flight far too often for it to be environmentally sound. Nor do I especially love airports and bumpy flights. But I will find ways to accept that price for the chance to put myself elsewhere, as often as my conscience and my wallet can afford it. Not for long though. I love Ed, I love my life back home, I dont want to be away from it for too long.

This Quebec trip though, is unusually short. I'm returning home today, so I will have been gone for all of three nights and four days. It's short in part because the young family's getaway is also short and I am here for our time together. For them, travel is an adventure, but it's can't be relaxing. Young parents know this: going away with three young kids, where one of them rarely likes to sit still, is challenging. I can imagine that after a handful of days you begin to feel nostalgic for your home where you can actually get through a meal without working hard to keep the little guy quiet. Yes, it's all worth it and the memories are grand, but don't for a minute think that it is easy.

So, it's a short vacation for them and an even shorter trip for me and still, it is beautiful and the memories will be intensely exquisite. 

The morning is cloudy. There will be rain, there will be storms they say. No matter. We will navigate the city with umbrellas!

But first, breakfast. (I bring down my prized blueberries. Is this even allowed? Better not ask. I add them to the hotel's strawberries  and raspberries and have myself a delicious yogurt with Canadian berries supreme! And croissants.)

Afterwards, I take a stroll around the old town. I'm not ambitious today. 

And just before noon we meet up for lunch (definitely lunch!) at Les Trois Garcons, a bistro (in the best sense of that word) up the hill.

(here they come!)

(In our case, it's 2 garcons and 1 fille)

(On the move! must be time to go...)

They turn toward a museum. One about chocolate? Or about comic books? I do not know the ultimate decision. Me, I leave the upper town and head toward the hotel.

At two, I catch a cab to the airport. The driver is chatty and curious. Where are you from, where did you learn French, the usual. Importantly, he asked if I liked Quebec. I would have lied to be polite except that I didn't have to. He beamed: we are three things -- clean, safe, and friendly!

Yes they are.

I'm surprised that there are no weather delays. The flight takes off on time and by evening I'm in Chicago. 

International arrivals at O'Hare right now tests your travel patience. It's worse than arrivals/departures in Paris and that's saying a lot!  The line to clear immigration snakes through low, stuffy corridors and it snakes through hallways and then more corridors and you feel so embarrassed that this is the welcome all visitors receive when they land here. I know the airport is undergoing construction and there are posted promises of better days ahead, but from the looks of it, that may not come in the immediate timeline. I was happy to have my trusty KN95 mask but I do think that we are not doing ourselves any favors by packing people in like this from all corners of the world. If they weren't sick before arrival, they will be after they're done with this line. I asked one of the guards if this was unusual or an everyday thing. He and his pal answered in unison: it's every day. One hour to clear passport control? Really? 

A bit of a layover there, and so I treated myself to a bubbly something or other at the American Airline terminal. It was lovely.

On-time departure for Madison, and by 10:30 in the evening, I am home, under the light of a full Blue Moon. Hi Ed, hi farm animals! I am home.