Zip-Lining: Adventures in Trees (Montreal, Day 4)

Home again. Well, home for the twins, anyway. I'm currently in my sister's basement recovering from the nine-hour (including the hour wait in customs) ride back from Montreal, my neck still in a crick from my trapeze pratfall. I'm looking forward to some shut eye before diving into the pile of work awaiting me.

We left Montreal at what felt like the butt-crack of dawn, considering how late we've been sleeping in, and completed the one-hour drive west to Rigaud with time to spare. Despite the nap in the car, the twins, I knew, were ecstatic to finally be going on the zip-line, which they'd been looking forward to ever since I first made their itinerary months ago. Now, despite each one having been penalized nearly half an hour for some less-than-savory behavior, they would finally get the chance to see what all the fuss was about.

Compared to Arbraska's Barrie, Ontario, location, the Rigaud park is far larger and more diverse in its offerings. Had I been able to move my neck, I would have had a blast. Instead, I sat out and contented myself with getting embarrassing video footage for the montage for the twins' b'nai mitzvah next year.

After finishing the beginners' course, the kids moved onto L'Aigle, a course consisting purely of zip-lines, including a 750-footer and one that stretched over the golden fields of an open meadow, where groundhogs scurried for cover whenever a zip-liner screeched past overhead. Only a few reminders to keep their legs straight and to steer with their hands, and they were flying through the canopies like pros.

When their aunt-allotted time was almost up, we found the Tarzan Rope, a one-game course that consisted of hurling yourself off a platform into space, sailing across the void on the aforementioned rope, and grabbing the cargo net on the other side. After my trapeze experience, I doubt I would have been so brave as to voluntarily propel myself off a 25-foot platform face-first into a net. But they both did it, even if Micaela did flail about for a moment before finding foot purchase. (See snort-inducing video below.)

Before any of us realized it, we had to head home. Not only were we dreading the ride, but the twins were especially not looking forward to returning to school the following day. At the end of our trip, we were a little slaphappy, and while recapping some of the weekend's highlights over lunch, we were pleased to find the small cafe empty, as we couldn't help cackling hysterically over the horrible waitress from the day before. Just saying, "I'll give you a tip" caused the two to fall into uncontrollable fits of laughter.

The line at the border was far longer than when we'd come through a few nights earlier (we were the only ones crossing at midnight), but the interrogation was far less harsh, and this time the kids were prepared for such questions as "How is this woman related to you?" and "What is your mother's last name?" (The latter threw Micaela off, since Ilene often still uses her maiden name.)

But we made it through, and I spent the rest of the ride telling stories about airhead students, redhead rivalries, and misadventures abroad. Before nodding off, the twins bounced around ideas as to where we should go on our next adventure, their heads dreaming up grandiose voyages on foreign continents. They balked at my idea of youth hostels, but train travel appealed to Carter. Micaela seemed to only be satisfied with staying in high-end hotels, no matter how much we extolled the virtues of a sleeping car on rails.

But that's all at least another year away. They're still digesting their memories of Montreal. And I've yet to recover from the trapeze -- or our Egg-spectation waitress.







Day 1: An Egg-cellent Journée Dans La Ville
Day 2: Merde! Trapeze Drama
Day 3: A Day in Old Montreal
Day 4: Zip-Lining: Adventures in Trees

A Day in Old Montreal (Montreal, Day 3)

Damn if my sister didn't come up with the best idea of the trip: dangling the carrot of zip-lining to keep the kids in line. With that in mind, I purposely planned that activity as the last of the trip (not to mention it's out of town and thus requires driving) and have threatened penalties of 10-15 minutes off trekking time for infractions ranging from stepping on my toe (still swollen from yesterday's trapeze mishap) to sassy mouths. As of right now, Carter has been penalized 25 minutes and Micaela 15. They're on their best behavior in the hopes of earning back some time before the all-important event tomorrow.

Our return to the hotel this evening has been incredibly serene, with each nibling trying desperately to keep his or her temper in check and to not, under any circumstances, make me have to repeat myself twice. They're both also trying to figure out just how this time penalization will work, but I'm purposely remaining mysterious. Aside from a slightly surly Micaela when I mention her homework ("Mom said I can do it in the morning and be late for school. Mom said."), it's been rather pleasant. I must think of a way to enact such a system more often.

The kids have even gotten into a little bit of Montreal's green spirit. They were fascinated when I pointed out the two buttons on the top of the toilet -- one of #1, one for #2 -- and they even agreed to reuse their towels more than once, as per the hotel's suggestion card. Only problem is, the Embassy Suites doesn't seem to be following its own guidelines, as we've found fresh towels in our room no matter how many we leave on the rack.

This morning we returned to Eggspectation, with visions of delectable breakfast goodies dancing in our heads. But our experience this time was quite a let-down. Our waitress didn't seem to understand French or English, and our wait was far longer than our first wonderful visit Friday. At least we knew it wasn't just us, because we heard other patrons around us muttering their discontent. But our meals -- once they finally came -- were delectable and left us full for our busy day. Plus the kids got a kick out of making fun of our incompetent waitress for the rest of the day. The old chestnut "I'll give you a tip: Don't eat yellow snow," had them in stitches. Even recycled jokes can enjoy a second life.

Our day's plans consisted mainly of Old Montreal and the quais, which all lay within walking distance of the hotel. First stop: Montreal Science Center, which had lured us with its exhibition of aliens. The main attraction turned out to be on the lame side, but all of us had a blast in the Science 26 area, a hands-on cavalcade that demonstrated the best of chemistry, physics, biology, and even telekinesis, the last of which was done via Mindball, a game in which you move a ball with your mind.

As impressed as we were with the ingenious games for demonstrating complex concepts -- a pillow bridge that demonstrated the strength of the keystone, a lever that lets you lift 113 kilograms (249 pounds), a mobile of space shuttles powered by the sun -- we were surprised by the lack of explanation. Just how do you move a ball with your mind -- and are you supposed to be pushing or pulling it? How do you get the vortex going? And why the heck is every third exhibit broken? The biggest disappointment was finding the tightrope bicycle closed.

Just a few wharfs away was the Labyrinth at Shed 16, an indoor maze set up in an abandoned hangar on Quai de l'Horloge. I'd read that we should prepare to spend at least an hour in there, maybe more, and we arrived with just that much time left in the day. After a rather poorly acted video introduction, we were set loose in the maze, which consisted of tarp panels for walls and the odd obstacle here and there. Four different rooms in the labyrinth contained riddles that, once solved and put together, would help us solve the overall mystery set forth in the video.

Carter immediately took charge, forging ahead and shouting to us whenever he encountered a dead end, then heading back and quickly finding a new trail to blaze. The three of us got stuck going in a circle for a good 20 minutes before one of the labyrinth's residents pointed us in the right direction.

I've never seen a maze of its kind. Even the Dole Pineapple hedge maze -- reportedly the large hedge maze in the world -- pales in comparison, both in size and difficulty. Aside from a few features that would leave them open to lawsuits if they were stateside, I'm not sure why there's nothing like this back in the U.S. Once again, Montreal succeeded in outdoing itself.

For our final night in town, we celebrated with a pleasant meal at one of the least touristy restaurants we could find in that part of town, during which I let Micaela and Carter in on a few little secrets and told them stories that might get me in trouble down the road but tonight made for a memorable evening of bonding. To get even more brownie points in their favor, they even indulged me in sitting trough a full-length screening of the 3D U2 IMAX film playing at the science center.

They're sleeping soundly now, as I too should be, as the alarm is set for the butt-crack of dawn so that we can get to the zip-line in time.


Day 1: An Egg-cellent Journée Dans La Ville
Day 2: Merde! Trapeze Drama
Day 3: A Day in Old Montreal
Day 4: Zip-Lining: Adventures in Trees

Merde! Trapeze Drama (Montreal, Day 2)

I would have said that there couldn't be two more excited twiblings than those with me this morning, but I'd have to eat my words come Monday, when we finally go zip-lining. Today, however, was the second most anticipated event of the trip.

After a quick (and complimentary!) breakfast at our hotel, we hopped aboard the metro at Place d'Armes and headed in the direction of the Olympic stadium, bound for flying lessons. The twiblings were a little put off by the neighborhood -- slightly industrial and a little run down in the few residential parts -- but they soon forgot all that upon arriving at the rock-climbing gym, an enormous cavern of a warehouse that's the largest of its kind I've seen. Admittedly, I've seen only a few, but I've been noticing that Montrealers don't do things half-assed. From the multi-story laser-tag arena to top-notch meals, most everything we've experienced has been above par. Except for one glaring exception this afternoon.

Folllowing a few-minute briefing, the Trapezium staff strapped us into our harnesses so we could climb the 30 some-odd feet into the air where we were to propel ourselves off a platform via a trapeze. The niblings went first in our group, as they'd been giddy with anticipation all morning. Carter soared off into the air and was immediately able to hang upside-down by his knees, landing in the net with the greatest of ease. Micaela also was off to a commendable start, with her belayer continuously commenting on her cuteness. I, however, could barely get my legs up above my head and never made it to the hanging position. The best I could manage was a backflip.

After watching the twins progress, I climbed the ladder a third time. The platform instructor gave me a few pointers, then launched me into space -- through which I plummeted face first into the net below. I lay stunned for a moment, then clutched my nose when I felt it grow warm, half expecting blood to start pouring out. My limbs were shaken, and I swear my brain rattled about in my skull at impact, because I felt a headache coming on, and I can count the number of headaches I've ever had on both hands. To add injury to more injury, I gashed my foot on a bolt in the floor moments later.

My belayer, Isabelle, brought me to the restroom to wash up and apply cold compresses. But I was miffed. I hadn't slowed at all during my descent, which meant she hadn't done her job of belaying. As I reviewed the rope burns on my nose and upper lip, she said, "I didn't know you were going to fall!" Uh, seriously? Neither did I! But isn't that why she was there? I completely expected to fall or muff up at some point, but I also expected that the staff was competent enough to be prepared for such mishaps and that they'd employ their skills to help prevent any unnecessary injuries.

Aside from that one half-assed employee, the rest of the staff were phenomenal, and I wouldn't have let the niblings continue if she'd still been in charge of the belay. But they switched off after that mishap, and the rest of the session went trouble free. In fact, both Micaela and Carter succeeded at performing the full routine, which included a hand-exchange to the "catch" on the other trapeze. Talk about a confidence booster! (See video below.)

Another quick metro ride brought us to the Parc Olympique itself, home of the Biodome, which my friend Stefan (husband to Véro) informed me was the former cycling pavilion for the 1976 Olympics. Quebec should have left it empty. The new, unwitting inhabitants of the eco-sounding Biodome are crammed into exhibits more fitting for hamsters and gerbils than creatures of their size. Otters have what amounts to a bathtub for swimming. A penguin colony of several dozen lives behind glass in a space no bigger than an elementary classroom. And the poor bobcats were so depressed with their abode that they expressed their discontent by pacing in circles as they carried their food in their mouths. Shame on you, Canada. I thought you had more respect for animals than to treat them like this. I was embarrassed that I'd subjected the kids to the experience.

Our next stop was Mont Royal, where we met up with Véro and Stefan, our guides to the local neighborhood for the evening. When Micaela piped up that she wanted to try French food, Carter wrinkled his nose, and I almost gave in since his sister had had her way the night before when we'd gone to Vietnamese. But when Véro announced that she knew of a place that had both French and Carter-friendly cuisine, we decided it would be worth the 10-minute walk, even though we were already quite tired.

Over political and internationally peppered conversation, we enjoyed our eclectic meals, with both Micaela and Carter scarfing down their veal and salmon. The kids enjoyed my and Véro's stories from way back -- hitchhiking in Normandie, barhopping in Westchester, etc. -- although I think they got lost when Stefan and I got a little didactic with our Bush bashing. But I'd needed a little adult conversation, and the kids readily complied for their bruised and battered aunt. They'd behaved so well, in fact -- no doubt partly due to empathizing with my injuries -- that I complimented them on their behavior when we got back to the hotel, and I asked if they could keep it up just a couple more days.

One can only dream.





Day 1: An Egg-cellent Journée Dans La Ville
Day 2: Merde! Trapeze Drama
Day 3: A Day in Old Montreal
Day 4: Zip-Lining: Adventures in Trees

An Egg-cellent Journée Dans La Ville (Montreal: Day 1)

Having survived the eight-hour car ride with twin preteens, I woke this morning to a surprising sound: the alarm clock. I'd expected to awaken to the same bickering chatter that had prompted me, somewhere in the bleak darkness of the Adirondacks, to stop the car and threaten to turn it around all the way back to Connecticut. But instead, Carter was still in the living room on the fold-out, obediently watching television at an unbelievably acceptable level, and Micaela awoke at the same time I did. So far, so good.

Our bellies grumbling from not having eaten almost 18 hours earlier at The Village Oven in West Stockbridge, Mass., we hurried over to Eggspectation, a breakfast joint I'd found recommended on several restaurant sites. Before they'd even finished their meal, Carter and Micaela were asking if we could return every morning so that we might attempt to sample all the various other dishes that had caught their eye. We've succeeded in gorging ourselves on strawberry-flambé pancakes, yogurt-and-honey-dolloped cinnamon brioches, and eggs and latkes -- not to mention the appetizers and smoothies -- but there are still kiwi pancakes, bagels dorés, and various other fast-breaking morsels to try. Plus, it's only a block away from our hotel. Micaela wasn't kidding when she said she was looking forward to experiencing Montreal's culinary wonders.

We began our exploration of the city with a stop at the nearby Notre-Dame Basilica, a cathedral smaller than its Parisian namesake but every bit as worthwhile to visit. I have to admit that I never thought I'd see a kid floored by architecture, especially religious architecture, but my nephew couldn't take enough pictures, and he repeatedly remarked on the attention to detail. His impression impressed me.

After a stroll around Old Montreal and a stop for all-natural sorbet, we headed over to the famed Underground City, a 19-mile network of subterranean shops and businesses that allow residents and tourists an escape from the region's often brutal weather, particularly in winter. Once again the twiblings (the twin niblings) showed an uncanny appreciation for structural engineering, noting several times the efficient use of space as well as how cool it was. (It didn't quite reach the level of "awesome.") Micaela picked up some rather nifty Ugg knockoffs and a sweatshirt for back-to-school wear, but Carter didn't fare so well and left empty-handed. After seeing their wardrobes though, I'm not shedding a tear.


Off to dinner we hurried, meeting my friend and Normandie hitchhiking pal Véro in the Quartier Latin, which I'd described to the twiblings as Montreal's Greenwich Village, not realizing they were still unfamiliar with New York's neighborhoods. I convinced Carter to try Vietnamese food, and he wolfed down his plate, while Micaela was thrilled to have the chance to order red curry, which she'd first tried during last summer's visit to LA. Véro and I then regaled them with a few stories from our Westchester County years, spicing it up more than we would have had the parents been there, but leaving out enough juicy tidbits to be able to retell the tales when the kids are older.


Although it was past their normal bedtime, the twiblings got to add one last item to the day's agenda, mainly because Aunt Jenn wanted to do it too: Laser Quest. (Note to Laser Quest managers: Your website is sorely lacking. I'm available for hire.) So on we went to the Métro -- which Micaela noted was similar to D.C.'s, only slightly cleaner -- and mere moments later we were being shown onto the blacklighted playground. Both Carter and Micaela weren't laser tag virgins like me, but even they were impressed with the field layout: a multi-storied maze with boundless nooks and crannies from which to snipe your enemies. Had they not already been dog-tired, I'm sure they would have gone another round, but it was late, and we have one of the most anticipated stops of the trip tomorrow: Trapezium. Cross your fingers I come back with both patellas intact.

Day 1: An Egg-cellent Journée Dans La Ville
Day 2: Merde! Trapeze Drama
Day 3: A Day in Old Montreal
Day 4: Zip-Lining: Adventures in Trees