Follow the Cobblestone Road

As the skyline, lit by the morning sun, stretched across the horizon, I crossed the Jacques Cartier bridge, turned left at my first opportunity, made a wide loop to the right, then back to the left before finding myself on a picturesque cobblestone road in the middle of an eighteenth century Paris village, or so it seemed. I slowed down to admire the centuries-old architecture and the immaculate greystones, with their ornate wrought-iron staircases, that towered over my little Volkswagen Beetle and me. Each greystone I passed had a terrace that was decorated with whatever fancied their residents, and almost all of them fancied brightly colored flowers. It was early and there wasn't a soul to be seen. I rolled down my window so I could smell the fresh morning air and listen to the absence of noise.

I was in an urban section of old Montreal, a city in the Canadian province of Quebec. Traveling to this incredibly beautiful city wasn't something I'd planned; it was a surprise. A mystery trip, you could say. One minute I was home dreaming about something forgettable, and the next minute I was on an exciting adventure in another country.

I followed the cobblestone road as it made its crooked way through this quaint and peaceful village that I didn't want to leave. My trip could begin and end on this road as far as I was concerned. But just as I was getting comfortable in the centuries old village, the road ended abruptly. I was now thrust back into the twenty-first century at the intersection of Saint and Boulevard something.  Stone-faced pedestrians crowded the sidewalk a few feet away from my car yet not one person looked at my Beetle bug or me. As the light turned in their favor, they all hurried off the curb and fast walked to the opposite corner, each one careful not to make contact with their walking stranger. Tailgating cars filled the intersection and then came to a stop just as the light turned green for me. Horns blared from all around as if the obnoxious behavior could magically clear a path for its rude and impatient drivers.

After turning right at Boulevard something, I tailgated at ten miles an hour for two hours before deciding I could explore the city of Montreal better on foot. I parked my blue Beetle on a side street with a French name that I couldn't pronounce, locked my purse and cell phone in the trunk for safe keeping, and walked another four hours before finally finding myself at my destination: the center of Montreal, or so I thought. But I was wrong. I was nowhere near downtown Montreal. I had taken a wrong turn hours before, and now I was far from the city and in an area that looked in need of repair. Buildings were boarded up, trash was strewn across the sidewalk and people were sleeping inside doorways.

The sun was going down, it was getting cold, and I had an uneasy feeling. If only I hadn’t left everything in the Beetle; my sweater, purse and cell phone couldn’t help me now.  All I needed to do was retrace my steps back to where I had parked my car, but it had been hours ago and  many left and right turns.

I walked a few blocks in the direction from where I thought I had come, but there were no familiar landmarks. There was a large cathedral sitting in silhouette to the west of where I stood. Had I passed it on my way here? I couldn’t recall. I turned right at the church and walked one block north, but nothing looked familiar there either. I walked back to the church thinking I could find help there, but the doors were boarded shut with No Trespassing signs nailed to the doors. As I stood staring at the sign, something hard landed on my back. I tried to shake it off, but I couldn't. I ran down the steps, across the street, and into a vestibule that was occupied by a sleeping homeless man. In an effort to hide, I slid down between him and the door, and, and, and…

I noticed the breath first. Rotten fish. The kiss was wet and sloppy. The tongue was relentless. I opened my eyes and what did I see but a seven pound Yorkie standing over me. "Wake up! Wake up!" she said.  "So, what's it gonna be this morning, a game of fetch the ball, a walk outside, or am I gonna have to lick your face off?"