FLYING WITH THE FRENCH ELVIS

Going to bed at 3:30 a.m. isn't conducive to getting up the next morning to sightsee no matter how high the thread count of the sheets. The Sun Queen suggested that we go to the underground mall which permits comfortable shopping during Montreal's subzero winters. But by the time he emerged from a coughing fit in the bathroom I had consulted Fodor's and suggested that we visit the botanical gardens instead.



We didn't get out the door until after 11 a.m. Fortunately, the Sun Queen agreed to his first-ever metro ride. The train whisked us from the nearby Peel Street station to the Pie-IX for just $2.75. The Olympic stadium, known as the "Big O" (or "Big Owe," for its enormous cost overruns) hovered over the metro station like something out of Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

Oh yeah said the Sun Queen I heard that huge arm was supposed to retract the top of the stadium but they never could get it to work very well.

It did seem like a French folly--very interesting visually but not very practical. Now it's mostly used as a sightseeing spot and a restaurant. We could see a funicular reach the top in just 90 seconds as we walked to the entrance of the gardens. The short line to pay admission moved as slowly as the line at the Imax theatre the day before, once again severely testing a New Yorker's patience.

When one of the girls came down from Montreal last year and we were standing in line at a deli I had to tell her to make up her mind before we got to the front said the Sun Queen. Here they all think that ordering is a perfect time for chit chat.

Our ticket included admission to the Insectarium, our first stop. We found more than a dozen live insect displays in addition to hundreds of mounted butterflies from all over the world. An ant colony swarmed all over a decaying plant, carrying colorful pieces of leaves in their pinchers like flags. I learned that my body weight is equal to that of 3.5 million ants. I'd like to shed about 200,000. The other displays relied more on creepiness than activity to capture the fancy of children and adults alike: huge scorpions, cockroaches and walking sticks make you very thankful for the glass that encloses them.





The gardens themselves were just a day shy of when the price of admission changes for peak season. Even so, the roses weren't due to bloom for several more weeks. Fortunately, the exquisite landscaping of the Japanese Garden compensated for the lack of late spring blossoms. The Chinese Garden is the biggest outside of Asia and it offered several interesting structures, including a pagoda. Our leisurely visit was the perfect activity after an abbreviated sleep. The cool, sunny weather made everything sparkle.

By the time we got back to Peel Street, the Sun Queen was in the mood for a salami sandwich. He found it in the basement restaurant at Ogilvy's, a high-end department store whose Anglophilic name recalls a pre-separatist Montreal. I felt like we were a couple of ladies who lunched. My baklava was scrumptious.

During check out, I realized that the hotel bill for Saturday night was on his dime and avoided asking him how much it had cost. On the flight up to Montreal I overheard how hotels used to be a bargain when the American dollar was stronger.

A night at the Ritz Carlton would cost you only $150 US said one member of Project Latte to the other.

I can't imagine that the Sun Queen paid less than $500 Canadian, which works out to slight more than $450 US.

At the Air Canada check-in counter the chatty clerk excitedly informed us that we had a celebrity aboard our flight, Johnny Hallyday.

Who? asked the Sun Queen, clueless.

The French Elvis I answered.

See your friend is cultured teased the sexy clerk.

Hallyday wasn't hard to spot in the first class lounge. With his streaked hair, smoked skin and tight jeans, he looked like someone you would find lurking in the darkest corners of a leather bar. He earned my admiration, however, when he waited in line patiently with the other passengers instead of trying to cut it.

As soon as we were airborne, the chief steward, who surely ranked as one of the world's sexiest flight attendants (now there's a gay calendar!), asked Hallyday to pose with him for a cell phone picture. Hallyday graciously agreed to what could only be described as a Beauty and the Beast set-up.

Our late afternoon landing at LaGuardia afforded us gorgeous views of a sun-dappled Manhattan, taking us over Central Park and closer to the Empire State Building than I thought was possible in the post-9/11 era. The Sun Queen insisted I take the car service he ordered instead of the bus into the city.

As much as I enjoyed the trip, I can't say that I envy the life of a fashion designer. After awhile, all the expensive restaurants and hotels must become routine. Luxury is better appreciated by those who experience it only occasionally, I think.