I knew Montreal was French, but until the Presidents Cup, I didn't know it was that French.
It is. Very French.
From the moment the plane lands, you realize you ain't in, say, Toronto. At the airport, at least, signs are in French and English, but once you climb behind the wheel of your rental car and start driving, you see less and less English and more and more French.
Road signs are in French. Quick, at 60 miles per hour, when the I-40 splits, do you want to go ouest (west) or est (east) or nord (north) or sud (south)? High school French, don't fail me now.
Also, after Mapquest-ing the route from the hotel to Royal Montreal Golf Club, I'm driving along, wondering (A) why none of the exits and turns match up with the reading on my odometer and (B) come to think of it, I don't feel like I'm going 100, as the speedometer reads. Ah, of course, everything is in kilometers.
Everything has a vague European feel. Turn on the TV and you can find CNN and Canada's version of ESPN, but most of the news and programs are in French. Of course, they pronounce Montreal as Mon-re-all. Last night, eating dinner in a sports bar, Canadian ESPN was doing a countdown of the 10 most questionable coaching decisions. About half of them were hockey-related and the rest seemed to involve the Argonauts.
Yesterday, I needed to get a new mouse for my laptop. I drove around for 30 minutes looking for a computer store (Le Super?) Who knew from the names of the stores what most of them sold. Finally, I stumbled onto a Wal-Mart. Case closed.
