The cobblestone streets of Old Quebec City are uneven, and the wheels of my suitcase clattered loudly. Houses huddled together on the slopes, their wrought-iron railings rusted, small flowers adorning their windowsills. The aroma of bakery steamed through the alleyways, and around the corner, an old man played the accordion, his melody slow and gentle. Reaching the castle, the St. Lawrence River shimmered grey beneath, and the wind chilled my face. At sunset, the shadows of the city walls stretched long, smoke rose from the chimneys, and the whole city was enveloped in a quiet, golden twilight.