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So, while I'm appreciative of (and continually amused by) the fact that Montréal's ridiculously low housing prices allow us to rent an apartment in the chic Francophone shopping district near Mount Royal, I figure it's a little hypocritical to profess my love of the city if my knowledge of it is limited to a two-kilometer circle of fruiteries and patisseries radiating from my apartment. So, each weekend I'm trying to do something overtly touristy, because there's a lot of city to see, and I do have an unlimited monthly CAM pass to burn. (There's other stuff that hasn't sunk in about living in a truly big city, too, but that's more to do with the fact that stores and restaurants are open past 9 pm, the occasional sight of honest-to-God homelses people, and that festivals like Juste pour Rire attract talent that even I've heard of.)

Anyway, today's activity was to go down to (by all accounts thoroughly touristy) Old Montreal and wander around. But my favorite part of the afternoon was walking back from the Métro, and seeing swarms of soccer fans descending into the sidewalk and driving down St-Laurent, waving Spanish flags from all four car windows and causing the surrounding lanes of traffic to reciprocate in blasts of celebratory honks. "Maybe this is kind of what it's like to be present during the Quidditch World Cup," I said wistfully, helplessly grasping for an analogy. "If, like, one of the two teams were Canadian," Pete replied. "Or, more likely, it involved hockey," I added helpfully, and then we paused, as the complete inadequacy of our ability to talk halfway knowledgeably about any sport that's not cycling became woefully apparent.

In other news, we also stayed up until 2 am on Friday finishing the third season of Veronica Mars, and I feel like there's a little hole inside of my soul now that I'm done with the show. But I caught one of my favorite episodes of Arrested Development on TV the other day, which makes me think of another three-season show I can use to drown the pain...