First of two parts



QUEBEC CITY — I was standing in a charming room with eaves on the ninth floor of the palatial Fairmont Chateau Frontenac, listed as the most photographed hotel in the world, looking out upon breathtaking beauty draped in white.

To my left, ice floes and a ferry moved among the narrowest point of the St. Lawrence River while below me a man and his dog strolled through a mini forest of trees backed by centuries-old townhouses. Beyond that was the Citadel and the toboggan chute I vowed to ride at least 10 times.

It felt otherworldly and I couldn’t believe I had such a view.

When my boyfriend had asked months before what I wanted for Christmas, I said I’d love to go on an old-fashioned sleigh ride, noting that Michigan, New York State, Vermont and Quebec seemed to be the hot spots. (Of course the fantasy included lots of blankets and a Thermos of Bailey’s and hot chocolate.)

His idea was to tour “Lincoln Land” in February to commemorate Abe’s birthday by driving to sites in Kentucky, Indiana and Illinois.

My reaction, remembering a February trip to Gettysburg: “In winter??”

I countered that Quebec City, on the north shore of the St. Lawrence about two hours northeast of Montreal, is celebrating its 400th anniversary this year and the city’s annual pre-Lenten winter carnival (the world’s largest) was Feb. 1-17. There would be lots of things to do there and in Montreal, and the Web site mentioned sleigh rides. Bonus!

I remembered friends’ tales of their trip to the Carnaval de Quebec a decade ago and it seemed like Mardi Gras on ice. One of their souvenirs was a hollow plastic cane topped with the red-capped head of the festival’s snowman mascot Bonhomme (“good fellow”) Carnaval. The cane was made for storing and sipping caribou, a mixture of mulled red wine and alcohol made in Quebec province.

Richard acquiesced and so there we were — in a warm “riverview” room in the majestic copper-roofed Cháteau Frontenac — built in 1893 as a Canadian Pacific Railway hotel and long visited by royalty and celebs — surveying land and water, snow and ice with a few hours of daylight remaining after dividing the 12-hour drive over a day and a half.

Quebec (it comes from an Amerindian word meaning “where the river narrows”) was established on July 3, 1608 when Samuel de Champlain built a trading post by the river at the foot of Cap Diamant. The city expanded in the only direction it could — up the cliff.

The British attacked for the first time in 1690 but the French could easily defend their position, thanks to the cliff and manmade walls. Eventually, in 1759, Quebec fell to Britain on the Plains of Abraham in what is now National Battlefield Park (it turns 100 this year).

In this, the only walled city north of Mexico, there is the modern Quebec City, behind the Parliament Buildings, and the old city, which lies within the French and British walls and is divided between Upper and Lower Town. We were in the heart of Upper Town.

We grabbed our cameras and headed out of the lobby’s revolving doors onto the historic streets and the Place d’Armes (look for the statue of Samuel Champlain) near the Frontenac.

The snowman’s ice palace (aglow with colored lights and broadcasting lively Celtic music) across from Parliament was a short walk away, past horse-drawn carriages and the St. Louis Gate — one of four that remain in the old wall. We bought the $10 plastic mascot effigy zipper pulls to get into the palace and other carnival sites (I plan to use mine as a Christmas ornament), posed with life-sized likenesses of Bonhomme and Champlain.

After an hour or so of snapping photos and exploring the snow-covered streets of Vieux-Quebec (old Quebec), we gravitated to the charming Restaurant aux Anciens Canadiens, about a block from the hotel on rue Saint-Louis.

It’s in one of the oldest structures in the city (1677) and was home from 1815 to 1824 to Philippe Aubert de Gaspé, the author of “Aux Anciens Canadiens.” It looked like a snow cottage. A small fire crackling in a well near the front door was a welcome sight.

Though it’s small, it was a Tuesday night so there were plenty of seats. The waitstaff dress in traditional Acadian garb and the menu includes elk, bison, pheasant, duck and salmon. Everything — especially the caribou with blueberry wine sauce, Quebec meat pie and the maple syrup pie — was incredible. Dinner was capped with two complimentary icy shots of vodka and cranberry juice.

Here’s a tip: Check if Restaurant aux Anciens Canadiens is offering their early-bird four-course dinner special for about $17 and make reservations.

Touring the town

The next morning we booked seats for an English-only morning mini-bus tour and then got directions from various friendly locals to a coffee shop a few blocks away since we didn’t have time for the tempting creperie up the street.

(By the way, all the French I needed on this trip was “Bonjour!” and “Parle vous anglais?”)

The driver, Gary, picked us up at the hotel, let us eat on the bus and offered stories (the high tax rate is not popular — surprise!), dry wit, history lessons and stats (the city gets between eight and 12 feet of snow a year). He noted there are both English and French schools in the city and most residents speak both.

He let our group out several times to take photos and stretch our legs near the Plains of Abraham in the Upper Town (Haute-Ville) and in the Lower Town (Basse-Ville) to explore rue de Petite Champlain (the oldest street in North America) and the Breakneck Stairs (Escalier Casse-Cou). Don’t let the name scare you — they have nothing on the “Exorcist” steps in Georgetown.

Gary also let us step into the chocolate museum/store (Choco-Musee Erico) at 634 rue Saint-Jean, and J.-A. Moisan, the oldest grocery store in North America (I would need about an hour for each), and pointed out Ashton’s as the best place to order poutine — french fries topped with brown gravy and cheese curds.

But, he warned as he was kind enough to drop us there at the end of the tour, “Get the small — the medium is too big!”

We did and with full stomachs walked up the hill to the Frontenac, then drove to the winter carnival grounds on the Plains of Abraham, the battlefield where the British beat the French in 1759 in about 20 minutes (a surprise attack after a three-month siege, Gary noted).

After a stop at the nearby visitor center, we walked past the Quebec artists’ finished snow sculptures and the half-carved international entries (the weekend is the time to be there if you’re looking for more carnival events). Organized events included sledding and skiing areas for kids, along with a zipline.

I walked into what turned out to be a sugar shack to ask where I could find the famed caribou drink and ended up buying a small plastic cup of maple “taffy” with a tongue depressor to scoop it out for $2.50. It was messy (the frigid air quickly turned the glob into a brittle web of strings) but worth it.

I found the hot caribou ($5 for a shot) in a warm bistro furnished with Ikea-like furniture and understood immediately why they serve it by the shot and not the mug. Po-tent!

Outside I saw two draft horses pulling a sleigh around a small loop but it was pricey so I declined to jump aboard. (I was hoping for a “real” sleigh ride, anyway).

After we walked for what seemed miles to the ice rink at Place d’Youville, we joined a tour of the Frontenac, led by a costumed guide who showed us the roof gardens (accessed via a window) and the round Rose Room where Franklin D. Roosevelt and Winston Churchill planned D-Day landings in August 1943 during the Quebec Conference.

For dinner we walked about a block to the Funiculaire incline down to a restaurant touted in most guides for having the best seafood: Le Marie-Clarisse.

The 200-year-old building is tucked between the Funiculaire and the Breakneck Stairs at 12 rue Petite-Champlain and we almost missed it. We got our choice of seats next to the fireplace in the back room under rustic beams since we were the only customers (it was a frigid Wednesday night). The friendly waiter, happy to have us, started a fire and brought out a large chalkboard filled with a long list of the day’s choices (in French) and patiently explained them all.

Each course looked like it had been prepared for a Gourmet magazine photo spread — complimentary mussels on curved spoons, salads of field greens, scallops in shells on a tray of salt, foie gras, bouillabaisse, lemon tart with blueberries — and all of it was divine.

We said “Bonsoir” to our waiter and strolled the snow-covered streets of Quartier Petit-Champlain, feeling like we had a gorgeous alpine village to ourselves, before riding the Funiculaire back up the cliff.

We wanted to jump on a toboggan on the steep chute constructed every winter at the south end of the Terrasse Dufferin near the Frontenac. Unfortunately, the operator said they closed five minutes before we got there (at 9:30, instead of at the usual 11 p.m.) because no one was riding on such a cold night.

Bummed, we walked past the tall slide, up hundreds of steps (these should be called the Breakneck Stairs) along the Promenade des Gouverneurs toward the star-shaped Citadel.

It was great exercise but I suggest this as something to do on a nice, sunny day — not a frigid, dark night — unless you have plenty of liquid caribou and a face mask.

Crepes (at last!) and a chilly thrill

We awoke to the most frigid, windy day yet but we were determined to ride one of the toboggans despite people walking around the Frontenac into the wind with their arms outstretched to show they could almost levitate.

We needed a hot, hearty breakfast and I led Richard to Le Petit Chateau, less than a block away at 5 rue Saint-Louis, which was offering crepes, fondues, raclette, and breakfast. I’d had my eye on it for two days and it didn’t disappoint: There was no wait, the prices were good and the service friendly.

An older couple with a lively sense of humor sat at a table nearby and we chatted. He was a retired geologist from Hamilton, Ontario; she came to Canada from England to escape WWII.

He spoke perfect French as he joked with the waitress and told us later he recently learned it in Florida — in a gated community where Quebecers retire.

They couldn’t believe we were going to go sledding in the blustery cold but I’m so glad we did. At $2 a person it’s a toboggan bargain. What a thrill.

After checking out of the Frontenac, we explored the hotel a bit (we should have taken advantage of the indoor pool and spa on the sixth floor) and then dodged snow being pushed off various steep roofs by men with ropes and shovels as we took a final walk about Upper Town.

I found a bar made of ice that was serving caribou and other hot toddies off the narrow artists’ alley, Rue du Trésor, across from the Frontenac, and then warmed up in La Boutique de Noel (47 rue de Buade), a Christmas store boasting a half-off sale.

We didn’t have time to take the ferry to Levis (just 20 minutes roundtrip) to get photos of both Upper and Lower Town from the icy river; and or to explore the renowned art and history museums and churches. We were also going to miss seeing the carnival’s completed snow sculptures, festive night parades and the ice canoe race but we had Quebec countryside and a metropolis to explore.



Next: Frigid falls, an icy island, the pricey Ice Hotel and Montreal’s sometimes mean streets.