Bonjour, Québec!

Relieved we’d finally reached the top of a wooden staircase zigzagging up the slopes of Mount Royal, Bama and I hurried along the trail to join the crowd of sightseers at the stone balustrades of the Kondiaronk Belvedere. The skyline of downtown Montréal unfolded 180 meters (590 feet) below, its glass-and-steel office towers and condos gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Beyond the tall buildings and busy streets, the St. Lawrence River continued on its perpetual eastward journey from the Great Lakes to the Atlantic. I’d long known I would bring Bama to Canada’s second-largest city, but up until a few months ago, I hadn’t anticipated that it would happen this summer.

Our two most recent long-haul breaks share a common theme: both turned long-postponed trips into reality. Greece made good on an unfulfilled wish from 25 years ago. Plans to spend two weeks in the Canadian provinces of Ontario and Québec in the fall of 2020 were ultimately torpedoed by Covid. Six years on, a much-reduced window for travel meant cutting out Ontario in favor of French-speaking Québec. Bama was more gung-ho about going; after his success with securing a notoriously difficult Schengen visa for Greece, jumping through hoops for a Canadian tourist visa no longer seemed so daunting. And geopolitics were swaying the odds in his favor: Ottawa was lowering travel barriers to attract more visitors from Southeast Asia amid ongoing tensions with Washington. I was admittedly more reluctant, knowing the sheer distance we’d have to fly for a relatively short break, and wary of its expense, compounded by the rapid fall of the Indonesian rupiah against the US dollar. But Bama was convinced that now was the time to make the trip, a full 15 years after I’d last set foot in my country of citizenship.

Being a Canadian born and raised overseas with deep ties to Toronto, I felt a pang of guilt that we’d be transiting through Pearson Airport without stopping for a few days to catch up with relatives on both sides of my family. For the Greater Toronto Area is home to a scattered constellation of aunts and uncles, first and second cousins — many of whom I haven’t seen in years. When I confided to two of my closest coworkers about this sticky situation, they were sympathetic but laughed at the very un-Asian decision to choose self over family. “How rebellious of you!”

Arriving in Canada after flying a combined 20 hours (with a four-hour transit breaking up the long journey), we were hit with the inescapable fact that Asia does airports far better than North America. What I remembered as a perfectly adequate international gateway during yearly childhood visits turned out to be a massive disappointment. Chaotic, cramped, and confusing, Toronto Pearson made me ashamed as an overseas Canadian that it was Bama’s first impression of the country. (Frankly, it is no better than Mexico City’s Benito Juárez International Airport.) Changing terminals to transit from an international flight to a domestic one proved a stressful and thoroughly unpleasant experience; the rudeness we encountered on multiple occasions was enough to shatter the stereotype that Canadians are “nice” people. In Terminal 1, a stern-faced Air Canada officer guarding the line for the manual check-in counters growled at approaching passengers. “Where are you going?” Then a younger aviation security officer gruffly barked instructions at all of us waiting in line: “Single file, against the wall!” It left me feeling as though we were not everyday travelers and guests but newly detained crooks being processed for police questioning. At the X-ray machines, I was scolded point-blank for putting a small sling bag on my laptop so everything would fit in one tray.

I wanted nothing better than to leave Pearson at once, but our Air Canada plane was stuck at the gate for an extended time, as ground staff couldn’t process the final boarding passengers since the computers were down. The pilot apologetically announced that the cause of our delayed departure was a total power failure in the terminal. Having experienced our share of outages back home, Bama and I looked at each other and chuckled. “Just like Indonesia!” I couldn’t help saying.

Things improved dramatically once we got to Montréal and picked up our suitcases. Bama’s research paid off: after buying transit passes at the arrivals hall, a smooth ride aboard the 747 express bus led us to a Metro station five stops away from the aparthotel we booked in Chinatown. The city’s reliable and easy-to-navigate public transit system ensured that getting around over the subsequent days was a breeze.

Montréal’s monumental St. Joseph’s Oratory rises from the slopes of Mount Royal

Catching a train at the Lionel-Groulx metro station in Montréal

Murals on an Afghan restaurant and tea house in Montréal’s Plateau neighborhood

A plate of regular-sized classic poutine at La Banquise, Montréal

Plump Sicilian eggplants for sale at Montréal’s Jean-Talon Market

The main altar at the 1770s Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours Chapel in Old Montréal

Taking in the views of Montréal from the Kondiaronk Belvedere on Mount Royal

Exploring Montréal on foot, I relished the complete absence of scooters and motorbikes going the wrong way and willfully barreling down sidewalks. Canada’s more enlightened driving style gave us a dose of positive culture shock: we were thrilled that motorists actually stopped at intersections for pedestrians to cross (a rare thing in Indonesia). Another noticeable difference was the lack of pollution. The blue skies and fresh air made for a welcome change from the noxious haze that often blankets the Indonesian capital. (As I write this, Jakarta is ranked the world’s most polluted major city on IQAir’s live air quality index, while Montréal sits happily near the other end of the rankings.)

Our limited time off meant we only had seven and a half days on the ground, split between Montréal and Québec City. Since it was Bama’s first visit to Canada, we maximized the long summer days by spending as much time outside as the weather (and our jetlagged bodies) would allow. When booking accommodation and train tickets, I reasoned that Québec City needed a third night, and I am so glad Bama agreed. Bouts of heavy rain put a dampener on an entire day’s sightseeing, forcing us indoors in UNESCO-protected Old Québec. And we were underprepared for the unexpectedly cool conditions of the provincial capital. “If this is summer,” Bama quipped as we braved the rain and cold gusts of wind, “what are winters like?” In one word: brutal. My elder siblings both went to college in Montréal, and my brother once recounted going to class in the middle of an ice storm, when his neighborhood transformed into a slippery obstacle course and firefighters tied a rope between trees on opposite sides of the street so people could get across safely.

Bama and I enjoy meeting up with like-minded bloggers, and so it was in Montréal, where we were treated to a walking tour and dinner with the lovely globe-trotting couple behind Les voyages de Suzanne & Pierre. This trip also gave me the precious opportunity to learn about things I had paid scant attention to on previous visits to Canada. One was the rich, enduring culture of the resilient First Nations, which formed the heart of a memorable afternoon excursion and dinner in Québec City. Longtime followers will know Bama and I are inveterate foodies, and we structured mealtimes around Montréal’s legendary bagels and smoked meat as well as true-blue Québécois cuisine. I was keen to try some dishes I’d never had before, while introducing Bama to the joy of gravy-soaked fries and squeaky cheese curds in poutine (French Canadians pronounce it “poo-tsin”).

And there was one nostalgic treat that pointed back to my Canadian childhood summers. On our final afternoon in Montréal, we stopped by a larger branch of Tim Hortons for its popular donut holes, known as Timbits. I picked out classic flavors like Honey Dip and my favorite Chocolate Glazed — a ball of moist chocolate cake covered in icing sugar. One bite transported me to a lazy afternoon at my late grandparents’ house in suburban Toronto; it was just as good as I remembered.

Completely new to me, though, was a trio of limited-edition World Cup flavors, including the Brazil-inspired Lime Cheesecake Filled Timbit and the Chocolate Crème Brûlée Timbit (meant to represent France). While the latter’s Venetian cream filling was nice enough, the dough encasing it tasted more bready and not as chocolatey as anticipated. “Feu d’artifice” (called Canadian Fireworks outside Québec) felt surprisingly familiar: it turned out to be a vanilla-flavored Birthday Cake Timbit, albeit with a glaze featuring clusters of red popping candy. Our summertime sojourn in Canada may have been shorter than we’d hoped, but, like a box of Timbits, it was undeniably sweet. ◊

Bama and I shared a box of 10 Timbits on our last day in Canada

My favorite Timbit flavor remains the classic Chocolate Glazed (center top)

On the ramparts of Porte Saint-Louis (St. Louis Gate) in UNESCO-listed Old Québec

First Nations exhibits on display in a gallery at Québec City’s Museum of Civilization

The replica longhouse at the Huron Traditional Site (Onhoüa Chetek8e) in Québec City

A late morning stroll along Old Québec’s Rue Saint-Louis

The iconic Château Frontenac as seen from the lower town of Old Québec