Montreal

I take back every joke I've made at Canada's expense.

The ride back from Geneva was beautiful, but disorienting. I spoke in French with my seatmate and the air stewardess, and watched Europe pass by from the plane window. Then I flew backward in time six hours.

After speaking mostly French for about a month, I was greeted on sweet North American soil by English/French signs everywhere. The airport staff wore outfits of cardinal red and navy blue. The day was bright and sunny outside.

I stayed in the lovely Montreal Airport for a few hours, which was by far the nicest airport experience ever. The people were so polite. The airport music was pleasant. There was even a bar where you could look out onto the airport taxi area from floor-to-ceiling windows. Most of the planes were Boeings.

Feeling rather famished and jet-lagged to boot, I inhaled some poutine, a Quebecois dish of fries, gravy, and coleslaw. There was also a sandwich that was like a Reuben, but without the Russian dressing. It was some kind of smoked meat of indefinite origin, but it was delicious. In fact, it was the best meal I'd had in a very long time. I wish I had stayed (or at least ate) in Canada for a little bit longer.