Since learning to strategically schedule medication intake periods, restful slumber could be attained. In fact, I was rewarded on the last night of our stay with the fewest interruptions. Alas, periods of inactivity would cease once the alleviating effects of the drugs had subsided.
Breakfast would comprise of Nespresso again. Incorporated into the morning meal was the Pistachio and Cranberry Brioche from Première Moisson.
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Pistachio bits were concentrated on the top of the pastry, while dried cranberry bits sheathed within its coils. The round was surprisingly moist - damp even - but offered minimal flavour payout. The cross-section was dense, yet not overly satiating. Generally speaking, the purchase was strictly passable.
My visit to W would not be complete without slipping into the soft, terry logo-embellished robe. While I'd be maintaining a safe distance from alcohol during the trip, it was impossible to resist flaunting the acclaimed vials of vin and vodka and gleaming snakeskin accomodations.
Christmas Day was readied me for a city-wide closure of shops and eateries. However, I decided to try my luck anyway by exploring the streets surrounding Victoria Square before our scheduled departure.
For the first time in four days, my soujourn was blessed with sunshine and blue skies.
For the first time in four days, my soujourn was blessed with sunshine and blue skies.
Obtaining cheese curds assumed the final mission of the trip. Google Maps informed of two plausible grocery sources, the first being Le Beau Marché on Rue Notre-Dame. Rounding the corner of McGill Street, I soon learned of the drastic difference of tourist-ready brick laneways and downtown side streets.
In sharp contrast to the streets previously perused, Rue Notre-Dame was positively filthy. This section appeared to be utilized primarily by locals, either those who had just completed an exercise class or were walking their dogs before lunch. The standard local was a dark-haired Caucasian, and one that spoke French fluidly. Besides the obvious residents, the only other demographic roaming the district were minorities - vacationers in the city.
In sharp contrast to the streets previously perused, Rue Notre-Dame was positively filthy. This section appeared to be utilized primarily by locals, either those who had just completed an exercise class or were walking their dogs before lunch. The standard local was a dark-haired Caucasian, and one that spoke French fluidly. Besides the obvious residents, the only other demographic roaming the district were minorities - vacationers in the city.
Le Beau Marché was discovered closed upon arrival. I decided to continue roaming, though there wasn't much in operation.
My steps was halted when a customer exited from Couche-Tard, a 24-hour convenience store with a red owl logo. I stumbled into the store out of curiosity, finding beer, a coffee station, and even hot snacks of pretzels and chicken burgers.
A pricey pouch of cheese curds were discovered in the refrigerator. Though, seeing as convenience store sustenance is often stocked for questionable periods of time, I dismissed the $6.79 package and proceeded onwards.
Somehow, I found myself within the World Trade Centre. Its doors were open, yet the shops within shuttered.
Once again, any patrons within the building fell within the minority category. Spotted in the empty corridors were a quad of tourists and an UberEats courrier, simply on break before his next venture.
Along the edge of the rectangular fountain was a photoshoot underway for a distinctly Vietnamese family.
Along the edge of the rectangular fountain was a photoshoot underway for a distinctly Vietnamese family.
Climbing up towards the upper floors of the building, I was approached by a middle-aged man in business casual attire. "Do you work here?" he asked, warily.
"No." I responded plainly. My getup should have been obvious enough to indicate my reason for visiting.
With some degree of hesitation, he gestured down the stairs, advising me to retreat to the first floor as a member of the public.
I nodded in acknowledgement, of course, but eventually decided to exit back onto street level in search of new POIs.
"No." I responded plainly. My getup should have been obvious enough to indicate my reason for visiting.
With some degree of hesitation, he gestured down the stairs, advising me to retreat to the first floor as a member of the public.
I nodded in acknowledgement, of course, but eventually decided to exit back onto street level in search of new POIs.
The north entrance of the World Trade Centre led me to Rue Saint-Antoine.
While seemingly standard of Montréal, the two lanes of one-way traffic, lay-by area, untainted concrete buffer, in-boulevard cycle track, and streetscaping were remarkable elements to behold as a GTA native. Many urban and suburban streets are often dreamt to adopt such a cross-section, yet few emerge as seamless as the example before me.
Across the street was Place Jean-Paul-Riopelle and the Montreal Convention Centre, a breathtaking building with colourful panels. The facility was initially thought to be a newly renovated community centre or performing arts theatre (like the Living Arts Centre), for convention centres back home are often dingy and muted as opposed to multi-toned and avant-garde.
Rounding onto Viger Avenue was a dimmed Boulangerie Ange and, to my delight, an illuminated natural foods store.
Avril Supermarché Santé was akin to a Whole Foods. At the front of the store was a compact produce section; variety was limited, but well-maintained.
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Nearby were wellness and fair trade products, followed by aisles of vegan, dairy-free, gluten-free, and even alcohol-free products. The selection was observed to cater towards specific dietary needs at unmistakably premium prices.
A deli and bakery counter could be found along the west perimeter of the supermarket. On display were sandwiches, energy bars, and astoundingly proper-looking financiers.
A deli and bakery counter could be found along the west perimeter of the supermarket. On display were sandwiches, energy bars, and astoundingly proper-looking financiers.
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avril housed a partial second storey for on-site dining and lavatory needs. The balcony attachment overlooked the bustle of the ground floor, allowing patrons to recharge both mentally and physically using the outlets provided.
Although I had doubted the existence of cheese curds in a natural foods store, the cashier answered to my dilemma by pointing to the wooden crate beside her. A package of white cheddar curds were successfully obtained for $6.29. Admittedly, I had found it amusing that the product was stored at room temperature, but decided not to question it for convenience of transporting back home.
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I returned to the suite just in time to wrap up packing procedures and check out. From there, we would reside in the hotel lobby until around 2 PM.
Two cocktail vouchers had been granted on our evening of arrival, and would remain valid until our last day. After dropping our luggage off at concierge for storage, we navigated over to the bar area. These vouchers would be handed to the bartender and negotiated for mocktails instead.
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In consideration of my sore throat, I was presented an anti-inflammatory concoction using ginger and carrot. The distinctly orange contents were then topped with a sprig of coriander to mimic the appearance of a carrot.
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The second glass assumed a Shirley Temple spinoff: a zesty, bubbly solution with notes of cranberry, topped with a single slice of lemon.
Read Part 2 HERE !
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