Such were the memories from that first trip in 2007 that I felt a genuine déjà vu stepping off the ferry at the terminal in Old Quebec; it was rather like meeting an old friend after a considerable gap of both space and time, familiar and slightly strange all at once.
We knew there would be no walking the whole of Old Quebec that evening; darkness had already settled in by the time we arrived. What we wanted instead was simpler: a good dinner, a slow walk, and enough time to marvel properly at streets that seemed to have character built into every stone. Anjali, wisely, had asked us all to bring umbrellas in case the clouds decided to empty themselves on us. It was advice we were grateful for before the evening was out, when the rain did indeed come pelting down.
The photographs that follow tell the story of those few hours in Old Quebec, and of how each of us, in our own way, saw it.
Amit
Toronto, Sep 18
Boarding the ferry at the south bank terminal, one can choose a spot from which the north bank comes properly into view. Once darkness falls, the lights come on and turn the tower of the Château Frontenac into a bright orange beacon, calling everyone aboard towards the north shore. It dominates the skyline every bit as thoroughly as the CN Tower dominates Toronto's, a single unmistakable landmark holding the whole city together around it.
The crossing itself is a gentle one; it's difficult to say with any certainty when the ferry has actually left the shore of Lévis behind. All one notices is the skyline growing steadily larger and brighter, the Château Frontenac leading the way, until Old Quebec is close enough to touch.
By the time we'd docked, the Château had gone from a distant beacon to something altogether more solid.
We made our way to the Chateau using the Funicular, which is an experience in itself - imagine an elevator car going up a pair of rails set into the mountain. The Funicular takes one to Terrasse Dufferin from where we enjoyed the excellent panoramic views of the the streets below including the ferry terminal and the city of Levis across the river.
From Terrasse Dufferin, the ferry terminal looked almost toy-like below us; hard to believe we'd been standing on its deck not half an hour before.
The City has window fronts in bold beautiful colours. This is a picture that Anjali made while we were going to our restaurant. The rain hadn’t started to come down yet.
As we walked to the restaurant, the rain started to come down heavy. Like always it started with a few big and heavy drops of water and then came the deluge. People ran for shelter. We, with our umbrellas kept walking.
Restaurant Parmesan wears its heart on its ceiling. Footballs, dozens of them, dangle from the beams above the tables, alongside flags and trophies and the sort of memorabilia that only accumulates over decades; it takes no more than a glance upward to understand that this is a room built by people who take their football rather seriously. The walls are exposed brick and dark wood, warmly lit, and the effect is less restaurant than someone's very well-loved living room, if that living room happened to seat forty.
Every occupied table seemed to be having a good time; families leaning in close over gingham cloths, plates of pasta going round, the kind of noise that comes from people who are properly enjoying themselves rather than merely being polite. It struck me that this was less a restaurant in Parma than an extension of it, football, family and food folded together into the same small, crowded, candlelit room. We were shown to our window seat. Us with not a drop of rain water on our holiday spirits, felt entirely at home.
The downpour hadn't dampened the enthusiasm we'd carried through our first day. Anjali and Avi were simply happy to be dry and finally walking into the restaurant. We were given a window seat, which won Anjali over instantly, and settled in for our first proper sit-down meal of the day. It felt like a good start.
We had never wanted this trip to be about rushing from place to place. We wanted it to be about happiness instead: the happiness of simply being on a road trip; of Avi seeing new places for the first time; and, most of all, of being together, with nowhere in particular we needed to be.
Dinner over, and all of us thoroughly satisfied, we decided to make our way home, but not before walking off the meal and taking in the sights of Quebec by night. The businesses had closed, the restaurants were closing, and the weary traveller was either making their way to a restful bed or had already found it.
Quebec is a riot of bold colour whether by day or night, and that evening the rain was coming and going in bursts, leaving the pavements, the cobbled streets and the roads themselves slick and gleaming, each one turned into a mirror for the night's lights and colours.
Rue Saint-Louis is a riot of colours especially when it is rain soaked wet. This photograph was taken in front of Restaurant Parmesan
This picture of Rue Saint-Louis extending into the distance intersecting with Rue des Jardins has the landmark Restaurant Aux Anciens Canadiens - named after a novel by Phillip Aubert de Gaspé. The restaurant itself is housed in the historic Maison Jacquet named after its first owner François Jacquet. It was at the time of construction in 1675-76 was one of the larger houses in Upper Town.
The building next door light painted in the colours of the Italian flag is the Restaurant Parmesan - where we had our dinner.
That's Auberge du Trésor, the historic building illuminated in bright red. The neighbouring building on the right is Hôtel Manoir Morgan. Both are located on Place d'Armes, directly opposite Château Frontenac.
The red lighting is architectural illumination rather than the roof's natural colour.
By the time we reached Place d'Armes, having wandered down from beneath the Château Frontenac, the crowds of the evening had thinned to almost nothing; just the three of us and, somewhere in the distance, a couple sheltering beneath an umbrella of their own. The rain had turned the whole square into a mirror, gold and red light pooling on the stone, the tower of the old post office keeping quiet watch over it all. It felt less like Old Quebec at night and more like Old Quebec holding its breath.
We are standing in Rue Sous-le-Fort, in the Petit-Champlain district of Lower Town (Basse-Ville), Old Québec.
I began this chapter with the Château Frontenac as a beacon, calling us across the river from the ferry; it seems only right to close it the same way. Much as the CN Tower stands for Toronto, or the Empire State Building for New York, the Château has become shorthand for Quebec City itself, its copper turrets rising above the bluff of Cap Diamant and visible from almost anywhere in the old town below. You cannot really separate the two: to picture Quebec is, more often than not, to picture the Château first.
The photographs that follow are an attempt to show just how thoroughly the two have become one and the same.