The Adirondack, Montreal to NYC

On our return trip to New York we sat on the left of the train, facing east. A spotty rain left the windows pixelated and promised extra-spotty pictures for the rest of the journey, but they dried after a few hours.





Our train picnic ended with a Boursault, Vince's favourite cheese, and, as far as I know, unavailable Stateside. We took our previous conductor's advice and brought our own wine. Sadly, we left the duck rillettes behind in Beloeil.





The rising and falling mists were incredibly atmospheric and I would have loved to have stopped the train for some really good pictures.

Pictures for a painter.








The Frenchie's (beautiful!) version is here. And here are some more reasons why I loved it.

The nephew

I have two nieces, a tall one and a short one. So is very nice to acquire, through my marriage, a nephew, Yann. How else would I grow bunny ears? Here we are at the lake-filled crater of St. Hilaire, outside Beloeil.

Yann, you are my favourite nephew!

Home

Back in Brooklyn.

Soon I'll post some more blurry train pictures, from another breathtakingly beautiful trip on The Adirondack from Montreal to New York. Aside from a grumpy, rude, unprofessional crew (quite the opposite, on the trip up), it was bliss. Wide seats, plenty of legroom, power outlets for computers at the seat, hot strong coffee from the thermos, the cafe car if you feel like spreading out, with a table between you, to eat your own picnic and drink your own wine, and the scenery, frame after frame of perfectly composed landscape. Farmland with brown furrows in the white expanse; mist lifting from trees; crows flying over dried yellow corn stalks; icicles clinging to lake-bound rocks; petrified trees in frozen lowland; cracked ice sheets; ice fisherpersons; broad rivers; massive lakes; ice flows; bald eagles. And no inkling - apart from the dreary wait at Customs - that it is all taking 11 hours.

It is a trip I recommend. And winter may be the best time to do it.

When I was home I thought I was ill with a dizziness that made me feel as though I lurched in the shower and jumped in our bed. Vince said, It's just train sickness. And it was. My body thought it was still riding the rails.

Early Christmas

Yann, Brigitte, Germaine and Vincent.

In Beloeil it was decreed that we open our gifts early, and so we did. With four cats to help dispose of ribbons, it was a lot of fun.

Above, Sapphi the 9 month old kitten. Below, on my lap, Circe, the doyenne.

Brigitte gave me some gorgeous cups and saucers for breakfast coffee. From Germaine a beautiful cut crystal bowl, for pineapple fluff.

Vince? He wore a ribbon...

Beloeil, the 'hood

The hood starts at home, of course.

I have met my salad match in Germaine, Vince's mom. She likes salad even more than I do. If that's possible. So lunch is a huge green salad, with an egg, garlic and cider and olive oil dressing. We introduced a South African red found at a local store. Not very good, I'm afraid. The rest of this one went into a cranberry sauce for the Christmas Eve turkey. Also Boursault cheese, never found in New York.

After lunch, in some rare sunshine, a walk.

Some orderly trees.

A missing cat.

Snow-heavy branches.

Small snowball with non-sticking snow.

And very pretty houses on the Rue Richelieu, next to the frozen river.




Happy Christmas.

Beloeil

...is 30 km from Montreal. From the slopes of Mont St. Hilaire (above), amongst the old apple orchards, Montreal is a cityscape on the horizon, rising from the white plain. The River Richelieu is frozen in the middle of Beloeil, anchored by the slim spires of stone churches on each bank.

We went for a walk in the woods. Windchill of -21'C was promised. I wore four layers plus a borrowed down coat with fluffy hood. Yes, Mommy, I know what you are thinking!

Beware the child behind you: Vince's nephew, Yann. He has many inventions planned, most involving hamsters. The only one I could sanction was a hamster-powered lawnmower, which fertilizes while it mows.

La famiglia: Vincent, Yann, Germaine, Vincent's mom.

The snow squeaked beneath our boots. We saw a woodpecker.

I was impressed by the cold. They said the weather was quite mild.


I fell in love with a birch tree. The most silky, beautiful bark...

The Adirondack

Clacketty-clack, don't look back. We're riding on Amtrack...

Many things to see. We chose the cleanest spots in the window, and pointed our cameras.

Still on Manhattan island.


Passing the George Washington Bridge.

Breaking out the first breakfast sandwich and strong coffee, hot and hot.



The Hudson the colour of liquid cement...

...freezing up as we moved north.




Moving into lake country.



Schenectady had its detractors.


Anything previously liquid, frozen.

Except Lake Champlain.


Icicles like white curtains on the cliffs.

We sat in the dining car and shared our fried chicken, drinking a Chilean merlot from the bar.



The sunset was long and spectacular.

And after it was gone we sat in the dark and waited for Canadian Customs to send us on our way. I watched The Wire on my laptop.

We nibbled the last sandwich, finished the Gummi Bears, and then we were in Montreal, eleven hours later.