Crossing the Anglophone-Francophone Divide

One second along Rue St. Catherine in Montreal captured from a bookstore coffee shop window. © 2012 by Bobby Magill

I spent the last week in Montreal and New England, attempting to speak broken French, hiking in Maine and driving (and driving and driving) across Vermont and New Hampshire. I have many thoughts to share in future posts, but in the meantime, check out my photo gallery (please excuse the blurry iPhone photos) here.

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One thought on “Crossing the Anglophone-Francophone Divide

  1. Twenty years ago, my late, former brother-in-law (now gone of AIDS) opened a high-end restaurant in Portland, Maine called Katahdin. The Globe at one point called it the best restaurant north of Boston. The slogan was “Food like your grandmother would cook if she’d been trained in Paris.” Friends urged him to put the menu in French. He answered: “You don’t understand. In Southern Maine, French is NOT a prestige language.” (He also responded –when people asked him why he didn’t have a salad bar–“The American public isn’t qualified to make it’s own salads.”)

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