DanMargarita.com

9/28/02---Leave work in Medford at 12:37. I expect it to be a five hour trip which should give me enough time to get something to eat along the way, get to Montreal and deal with any unexpected circumstances, get to the ballpark, pick up my tickets and see the game.

Soon into my trip I realize that I've forgotten to bring some tapes to listen to, save for one Randy Newman tape already in my car, and that I'm at the mercy of what radio stations I can pick up. Sure enough, right at the junction of Rt. 89 the radio fades in and out and I get a cross between Bruce Springsteen's Badlands and a local high school football game.

It's beautiful sunny afternoon and the drive up Rt. 89 is pleasant, making me wish it were a few weeks later when the foliage will be in full bloom.

Just outside of St. Albans Vt., I stop at a Subway for a bite to eat. The line isn't that long, but the boys behind the counter aren't the fastest workers I've ever seen. This costs me twenty minutes.

As I get close to the Canadian Border I start to get a little nervous. I don't know why. I haven't done anything wrong, and I'm not carrying anything illegal. Still, being questioned by the authorities is a little unsettling and I fear that my nervousness will arouse suspicion. I have images of myself handcuffed behind my back, sitting in a 4x4 chicken wire cage for four months on Guantanamo Bay.

There is no wait and I don't have to even show an I.D.

The young woman asks me a few questions and I head on my way. It's still an hour from the border to Montreal and the drive is very rural, with numerous cornfields, silos, and occasional small town buildings along the way.

I expect the signs to be in both French and English, but they are only in French. It's pretty easy to figure out, though. North is "Nord," west is "Ouest" and Montreal is "Montreal."

Many of the radio stations broadcast in French and you truly haven't heard Rock and Roll until you've heard Doo Wah Diddy performed in French.

I hit a lot of traffic at the Champlain Bridge. This is a concern because I'm starting to get a little low on gas. Traffic continues to be slow through Montreal perhaps due to the construction, a sort of "Le Petite Dig" if you will.

I get to the stadium and see a sign for parking across the street. There is no one collecting money, which is terrific. Then I realize that the people getting out of their cars aren?t going to the ballpark, but the "Insectarium," which this lot is designated for. I'm wondering if I park here whether I'll get towed, ticketed, or locked into the Insectarium parking lot. Finally I see a father and son heading to the ballgame, which eases my mind. I figure the've done this before and probably and know that it's OK to park here.

I've never seen a baseball game played in a dome. I've learned that your opinion of a ballpark can depend on how good your seats are. I had heard that Olympic Park is a pit, but I've managed to get great seats ten rows behind the first base dugouts, so it doesn't seem too bad. Looking at Astroturf however, is like looking at a giant baseball board game from Milton Bradley.

Built for the 1976 Olympics, it was originally an open-air stadium that the city is still paying for (which proponents of a Boston Olympics might want to keep in mind).

Normally I'd prefer to sit outside for a game, but it is in Montreal in late September, so I don't mind being indoors too much. It's a pleasant surprise to see that a game can be played in 2 1/2 hours.

After the game I head to my car, which is still there, without a ticket, and head for my motel. At this point I'm on empty and desperately need to find a gas station. I miss a couple of opportunities and get on the highway. I finally decide to get off at the first exit to see if there?s a station there, but no luck.

Finally I find one at the next exit. Normally I can fill up my car for about $14-$15. I pay $20 (Canadian) and am a little surprised to get a little over half a tank.

I make my way to a Comfort Inn near the airport that I found for a good price. It's a nice place, the only negative aspect being the fire alarm that keeps accidentally going off.

9/29/02---After finding a place to have breakfast on St. Catherine St., I decide to make my way to Old Montreal. The problem is that the map is a little confusing. There are many streets with the same name, but I don't understand the abbreviations in parenthesis on the map, so I can?t distinguish one from the other.

I finally get my bearings and get to Old Montreal. It's much different from New Montreal in that it's a lot older.

With its narrow, brick streets and stone buildings, one definitely has the feeling of being in a European city. Their are lots of souvenir stores, galleries and restaurants. It?s a tourist trap, but a pretty nice one.

The next stop planned is the Museum of Fine Arts. Like Boston, or I suppose any major city, it?s difficult to find on-street parking. I find a spot at a meter, which has a hood over it with a no parking "P" on it. That's not a good sign, but I figure that since it's Sunday, I'm safe.

The museum seems small and somewhat of a disappointment until someone explains to me that the rest of the museum is across the street. To reach it, you have to go to the basement and walk under the street. There's some nice work there, but it doesn't compare to our own MFA, or the Metropolitan Museum in N.Y.

Time for lunch, but most of the restaurants around the museum are closed on this Sunday. I finally discover a cafe, where the girl behind the counter seems to take advantage of my lack of understanding of French and gives me more than I wanted. The food was pretty good, so I don't mind.

I know that I have a long drive ahead of me and I don't want to be getting back too late, so I decide to head home around 2 pm. The only problem is figuring out how to go back the way I came. The map is tough to read and there's a lot of traffic, both auto and pedestrian on St. Catherine St.

It takes about fifty minutes for me to get out of the city, but once I do it's smooth sailing. The next snag is U.S. Customs. Whereas I was able to breeze through easily going into Canada, there's quite a back up heading into the states. This takes me another fifty minutes.

On the way up I had noticed sign warning of the dangers of moose crossing. This is another reason I've chosen to leave early. I was once hit by a moose or dear in upstate N.Y. in total darkness and I'm not keen to re-live the experience. Beside the damage it can do to me and my car, I can't bear the thought of Bullwinkle lying on the highway with his guts splattered all over the road.

The drive home is relaxing and I finally manage to catch the end of the Patriots game on the radio. They've lost their first game in 11 months, but I discover that the Red Sox have won.

Wait 'till next year.