A Balmy Christmas eve in Quebec

The weather forecast held true. The locals can't believe their luck (although they do have a deep sense of inner guilt). Last year was a -30c blizzard. This year +10c. The day started out cold (as we are getting used to by now) and ended in a heat wave. As this is written it is warmer than a Melbourne winters day. There's a full moon shining over the heart of old Quebec city as the dedicated pour into the historic cathedrals for the traditional Christmas eve ceremonies. We started the day across the road at the markets (to which Isabel had already sojourned to deliver us fresh coffee) in order to stock up in case of closed shops tomorrow. Heading up the parapet there were still vestiges of snow lying around alluding to the possibility of (at the very least) a slushy christmas. Discussing the possibilities of Frank Sinatra warbling about dreaming of a boggy christmas we rushed up to the Citadel to join the midday tour.

This was a fascinating insight into the military history of the town. Interesting to see this was the site of yet another famous capitulation by the French. Apparently this one took up to 20 minutes to reach an outcome. That's the spirit. The Brits then built the fortress which was never attacked and (given current state of world affairs) never will be. Story goes that the Yanks once sailed in, confronted a blizzard and left 2 days later with the locals bearing their behinds at them, making rude gestures and then going back into their micro breweries to consume delightfully strong beers in celebration of their ability to survive harsh climates. The feeble sun was making the whole garrisons quarters look very photogenic until the predicted rain came through. Second blow to the white Christmas. The rain quickly washed most of the slush away leaving glistening cobblestones to reflect the Gothic(ish) buildings to the delight of the camera welding tourists.

We ducked into a cafe to dry off and consume more local fare for lunch. Emerging, the rain had stopped and the sun came out, giving some actual colour to the place. All if a sudden the drab grey city turned into a colourful pallet painted photographers playground. So we split up. Two went shopping. The other half went on a mission to chase the setting sun.

This turned out to be extremely successful. Up on top of the hill (exactly where the short battle was held all those years ago) we found a landscape dusted with crisp snow, interspersed with patches of green grass, locals walking dogs and jogging around in the unusually warm breeze and an angelic light illuminating the whole area. Perched on top of an historic cannons blast stop we watched the sun dissappear up river, listening to the bells of a church over the far side of the river (at least 2 km) ring out their Christmas mass celebration tune.

Heading back to base camp the breeze just got warmer and warmer (final blow to the notion of a white Christmas). Out for a delightful dinner (they forgot to charge for the wine - woo hoo!) And then in our tiny room to converse with the home crew who are already celebrating the day with the wider family. Out turn comes tomorrow. Makes one realise how much effort Santa actually puts in to get every corner of the globe in one evening.