We are just East of Quebec City, a few miles on from Levis where we stayed a few days ago, and its good to be in new territory again.

When we woke up in Brossard this morning, an enormous motorhome had pulled in alongside us and its owner was in pottering mode. He was a distinguished looking fellow in his sixties, tall, tanned and lean with crisp white hair. When I went out to also do some pottering he came over and we exchanged pleasantries in French until he realised that he had used up the limit of my vocabulary and switched to English. His name was Robert and when I asked him where he lived he jerked a thumb in the direction of his coach “here!”. He explained that he and his wife live in it year round; spending summers in Quebec (where he is from) and then in October driving down to Puerto Vallarta in Mexico for the winter. He has been doing that circuit for five years. He was interested in Harv, and was very surprised when I told him that our little bus was built in 1978.

Today was really about picking up Philippa’s passport, but it wouldn’t be ready until three so we took her hire car up to Parc Du Mont Royale – a large wooded hill which overlooks the city. You can drive most of the way up and we did, though we walked up through the trees from the car park to an open square in front of a small ornamental summer house. It was a grand spot with lots of people all smiling at the view down over the city. Right, tourism over. Next stop, a good lunch.

Where Quebec City feels compact and self-contained Montreal is a sprawling city of neighbourhoods. Our dinner spot last night had a slightly edgy feel to it, with run down buildings in amongst new developments. But we came down the hill today into what’s described as the French quarter. Frankly its been hard remembering that we are not actually IN France most of the time, and the bistro we poured ourselves into certainly did not feel to be in the same continent as say, Dallas.

Tom had crevette, P and I ordered from the menu of the day with starters and main courses and a carafe of chilled rose and we were very happy that we had the extra few days in Montreal. Wot luck we said. It was a great way to end our time here, and end it we could because just down the street Philippa’s passport and new visa were waiting. It took six days longer than intended but now she can be a full fledged student.

We bolted back to Brossard and packed up Harv. PT gave me the address of the car rental place in Drummondsville so she could drive off and return the hire car before being charged an extra day. Tom sat in the back of the RV playing with lego and I pulled out of the Brossard campsite, for what really should be the last time. Thanks M. Plouffe, and farewell to a smiling Robert and his wife who waved us off.

It was an uneventful hour’s drive to Drummondsville where Philippa had had time to get a load of groceries by the time we picked her up. Then two more hours on Highway 20 through flat, open countryside, past the great iron bridge to Quebec City, past the turnoff to Levis and to the campsite where we are now. We got the last space.