The view of Montreal from Mount Royal was supposed to be spectacular, so like good American tourists we dutifully climbed the mountain. We were broke, and climbing was free. The snow was beginning to melt, trickling down paths it had carved through the dirt. It soaked through my cheap boots and chilled my toes. We walked alongside old people with canes, small children in wool sweaters, pink-nosed joggers, dogs. When we got to the top, we took some pictures of the mist-covered city, searched in vain for the veiled landmarks, and then we climbed back down.