Front Porch: Summer vacation expands the mind

Now that the kids are back in school, it’s fair to say that summer is over, though the calendar officially gives it a couple of weeks or so before autumn is officially here. I wonder if, when they first return to the classroom, kids still write those “what I did on my summer vacation” essays that we did back in the day.

I haven’t done one in some time, but I’m going to now, because, as an older adult, I realize so much more what those summer vacations can mean.

My husband and I spent six days this summer in Montreal, where our oldest son, the one who lives in Europe, joined us. It was the first time we’ve seen him since COVID, and, frankly, the first time we’ve flown or taken any kind of trip (except a drive to Wenatchee or Seattle) since the plague hit.

We took a red-eye flight (never fun), with the intention of meeting up with our son at the Montreal airport. But his plane was 10 hours late. Some things don’t change.

It felt liberating flying away from home for a short while. We did regular tourist things – walking through Old Montreal, boat excursion on the St. Lawrence River, seeing a Cirque du Soleil show (did you know that Cirque originated in Montreal?) in its large circus tent, and more.

Visiting with our son was the best part, of course. Resurrecting my high school French in an attempt to communicate properly was an adventure, though most people spoke English and were glad to do so, despite me having been told that Quebeckers can be language bullies (I never encountered that).

I asked (in French) a restaurant employee where the ladies room was, and she pointed and spoke a couple of sentences, none of which I understood. I was so complimented that she thought I actually spoke the language that I thanked her and just followed the finger. I figured I’d find my way.

Montreal is such a marvelous international city (not unlike Vancouver, British Columbia, though with a different mix of ethnicities). We heard so many languages and saw so many groups of people traveling together, but not sharing the same language.

We had an Uber driver, a man who spoke Mandarin and a touch of French. My son, who speaks several languages, started speaking to him in Chinese to clarify where we were going. It all seemed perfectly natural.

I’m not one to visit a place and pretend I’m now an expert on it, but I did begin to speculate that Canada must have a pretty good immigration policy. Many of the jobs that immigrants get when moving to a new country are entry level in the service industry. I never once saw a help wanted sign in any store or restaurant window, and service everywhere was excellent.

I’m going to have to research that.

One thing was very unexpected. As happened here in the U.S., there had been encampments of students at universities protesting the Israeli bombardment of Gaza and calling for a cease fire. The night before we arrived, the last of these encampments in Montreal was taken down by the authorities at McGill University, which was blocks from where we were staying. Although we didn’t know it when we arrived, a demonstration and march had been planned for the next night.

We were staying in a corner suite with floor to ceiling windows, and in the evening began to see police vehicles begin to pass by (with special markings, such as “special intervention unit”), then regular police cars, then fire trucks, then ambulances and other emergency vehicles, then a large unit of Canadian Mounties on draft horses. And finally groups of police on bicycles – a lot of them.

I had to go online to find out what was happening. I also observed that pedestrians paid no attention and just went about their business. All of this police presence moved about, circled around and broke into different sized units.

Turns out, we were on the periphery of where the action was (no one was injured that night, by the way), so what they were doing was preventing possible trouble-makers from joining the demonstration.

I was especially impressed with the police on bikes. We saw about 15 of them swarm a person, loudly blowing their whistles, forcing the person back. It looked very intimidating. Intimidation by whistle!

Things quieted down and returned to normal. I hadn’t expected to witness a police action (from the safety of my third-floor suite), but I must admit I was fascinated … and impressed with their professionalism and organization.

Not exactly what I expected to see on my summer vacation.

We also observed, due to our Uber having to stop a time or two to let a small parade by, that Montreal is a city of free expression. One colorful parade carried signs in support of the Falun Gong. I’ve never encountered that before.

What I realized once again is that such travels expand the mind in the most interesting of ways. What you see makes you think. Good stuff, bad stuff – the cathedrals and interesting foods (yes, we had poutine), the culture and social issues.

When you’re a kid on summer vacation, it’s fishing with grandpa or going to Disney World or playing with cousins you only see once a year or seeing the ocean for the first time – if your family is able to travel.

And then maybe you write about it when you get back to school. But the thing is, you went somewhere and saw something different. Good for the brain, good for the soul and just plain old good.

And you’re never too old to learn something new. Even about policing with whistles.

Voices correspondent Stefanie Pettit can be reached by email at upwindsailor@comcast.net.