I’m convinced that Montreal has magical powers. It’s cured me from anxiety twice now. Truly. After one of the most anxious years I’ve ever had (If living in Washington, D.C. during the 2016 election didn’t cause you anxiety, then you’re not human.), I took a train to Montreal for the first time in a state of near-panic, and I came home feeling like a different person. Then last year after I’d already bailed on my first attempt to fly to Europe because of my phobia of flying, I took a train to Montreal in hopes that it would work its magic again. And it did. I took a flying trapeze class there, decided that if I could jump off a tiny and shaking platform then I could make myself fly on a plane. Then I flew to Europe. (Here’s the full story if you missed it, here and also here.)
The Amtrak Adirondack route between New York City and Montreal just reopened, so I knew I had to bring Michael to show him this magical place. I had ulterior motives, though. I had a not-very-secret wish that Michael would fall in love with Montreal and decide that he wants to flee the suffocating heat in New Orleans and spend the summer there. He could play hockey without having to drive 3 hours to do it. (He sometimes plays on a hockey team in Louisiana. Yes, this exists. It’s bewildering.) I would take circus classes every day of the week and spontaneously become fluent in French. The weather would be perpetually perfect, and I wouldn’t be nervous to walk outside at night alone. Michael is a hard sell, though. There’s nowhere he loves being more than at home surrounded by friends, so it was going to take true magic for my plan to work.
We arrived in the evening and took the metro to Mile End to find our Airbnb, and suddenly it was winter. Back home the temperature had just reached the 90s for the first time this year, and there we sat 1,600 miles away eating dinner outside with our sweatshirts and coats in May. A dream come true. While I worked the next day, Michael went on a run and found a beaver. Then I showed him around the neighborhood, brought him to Drogheria Fine for perfect $3.75 gnocchi, showed him Jean Talon Market, and we found poutine and Ethiopian food for dinner (yes both, at different restaurants). I said, “Alright, when are we temporarily moving here?” And he said, “It’s nice,” and that is about the highest praise I’ve ever heard Michael give a place.
Train Rides 4 and 5: Via Rail from Montreal to Quebec City and back (6 hours total) – not Amtrak, but still counts as part of our overall train journey
We took a train to Quebec City for the day. Back in the summer, I spent 3 nights in Quebec City and 4 in Montreal, so there was plenty of time to explore. But this trip felt more like a marathon, and we tried to squeeze in as much as we could. We spent just a few hours in Quebec City—long enough to admire the view from Dufferin Terrace by the Château Frontenac, explore Petit-Champlain, grab a meal, and eat an unspeakable amount of fancy chocolates (just me)—and then we headed back to Montreal to see a Cirque du Soleil show.
My first gymnastics coach and his daughter were performers in a Russian circus. When they immigrated to the United States in the early 1990s, his daughter joined Cirque du Soleil, and later he became a coach for them. I remember being 7 and 8 years old and watching his daughter practice her hand balancing in the gym. (This is why I do aerial circus today—because I’ve never not been fascinated by it.) I watched every film of Cirque du Soleil I could find. I’ve been obsessed for 25 years, but I’ve never seen a live show. Montreal is the circus capital of the world and home of Cirque du Soleil. Their first new show since Covid began, Echo, was opening in Montreal’s Big Top just a week or two before we arrived, and I decided we must see it.
I cannot recommend this enough. If you visit Montreal, you must go see a Cirque du Soleil show. We were sitting in the actual last row of the venue, and it was still a great seat. Everything about the production was incredible. The security set-up, the venue, the organization, even the bathroom arrangement—it was all so well-done. And of course, the performance was breathtaking. There was a moment that was so beautiful that I got teary eyed. Michael, who is not a circus enthusiast, agreed.
We spent another day in Montreal on a race to squeeze in everything Michael needed to see. We compared the best bagels in town, walked to the top of Mount Royal for the view, ate soup dumplings in Chinatown, visited the Old Port and Notre Dame, explored Atwater Market, and ate the perfect pizza at Elena Restaurant. And Michael… did not decide that he needs to move to Montreal for the summer. But he did agree that it’s lovely, and I will continue to work on this.
There is no direct train from Montreal to Burlington, Vermont, so we took a $22 Greyhound bus there instead. I wanted to visit one city on our trip that I hadn’t been to before, so I squeezed in an overnight visit to Burlington. It was smaller than I imagined it would be, but it was compact and perfect for spending a relaxing evening. We walked down to Lake Champlain for the view and looked across to the New York side where we’d taken the train to Canada a few days before. We got Ben and Jerry’s (a necessary activity here because the Ben and Jerry’s factory is just a half hour away) and ate Nepali food for dinner. The next day we were back on our trusty train.
Rides 6 and 7: Amtrak Vermonter from Essex Junction, Vermont, to New Haven Connecticut, (6.5 hours) and then Northeast Regional from New Haven, Connecticut, to Providence, Rhode Island (1.5 hours)
We took a quick public bus from downtown Burlington to get to Essex Junction to catch our train south. I’ve never ridden the Vermonter before. Hills rose up around us as we headed south through the foothills of the Green Mountains. It was the first train ride of the trip that I didn’t have to work, so I took advantage of the opportunity to do a lot of staring out the window. We had a two-hour layover in New Haven, Connecticut, before changing trains and heading on to Providence. It was exactly enough time to take an Uber to Frank Pepe’s Pizzeria, wait in line for a table, and finally get to try the supposed “best pizza in America” after hearing about it for 15 years. We had the traditional clam pizza, and it was delicious. Best pizza in America seems like an impossible title to live up to, but I was very pleased. Back on the train, we rode along the coast of Connecticut through a half dozen coastal towns too cute to exist. And as the sun set, we crossed the state line into Rhode Island.
