All right, a trip to Paris would have been the perfect celebration for 25 years of nonwedded bliss.

But my retirement income would never allow it, plus there is that “flying in the air across the ocean” thing. So Blue Eyes and I had to “settle” for a night at the Chateau Frontenac in Quebec City, reportedly “the most photographed hotel in the world.”

I had made many trips to Quebec to ski at St. Anne’s overlooking the mighty (and frozen) St. Lawrence River. When we made the obligatory shopping visits to Quebec City after skiing, we would gaze up in wonder at the castle atop the hill. The trailside condos were a mere $40 a night in those glorious days before the dollar sank under the water. We could only imagine what the Chateau might cost.

I am much more familiar with seedy Route 1 motels or the cheapest billet in Florida where hot and cold “Palmetto bugs” (also known as cockroaches) rule the roost.

But this was big-time. It was 25 years ago Monday when we went to see the Kinks at the Cumberland County Civic Center, then drinks at Parker Reedys.

Most people thought we would never last a week. Somehow (separate houses), we lasted 25 years. I asked her to marry me several times and she just laughed. She keeps her house like a hospital surgery unit. I on the other hand would probably not notice if anyone rifled through the motley contents of Cobb Manor.

We found, bought and moved into our separate houses in the same week. I decided this was a message from God.

Don’t screw this up.

So far, I haven’t.

In an effort for at least a one-year option, I made reservations at the Quebec palace for a mere $317 a night. I believe we once spent a $300 night at the Boston Ritz so the precedent had been set.

The hotel was off the charts, elegant and sophisticated.

Naturally Blue Eyes was aghast when I checked in carrying my suitcase plus sneakers in a plastic bag. The room was perfect with a view of the city and the river.

I would have been happy staying in the room and raiding the room bar with its $12 peanuts and $4 candy bars, $14 scotches and $40 bottles of wine. I was so hungry I fell for the $12 peanuts.

Blue Eyes insisted on attending the ghost tour which, in 90-degree heat, took us from the river level to the highest church in the city. During the 90-minute uphill trek, I wanted to give up several times and collapse in one of the many sidewalk cafes. But this was a special occasion, after all. I was the last tourist up the damned hill, but I made it.

I think she was trying to kill me to find someone younger and thinner and rich enough to take her to Paris.

It was an even longer trek to find a vegetarian meal in the city. The Frontenac was out of the question with a menu that featured beef, pork, veal, wild game and even rabbit. Blue Eyes was not about to sit in a dining room, while someone next to her was slicing up Bugs Bunny.

In desperation after rejecting a dozen eateries, we settled for a perfectly horrible Moroccan restaurant hidden down an alley with water leaking down the walls. At least I hope it was water. The meal took an hour to reach the table. While I was waiting, I ordered a wine. When it came, it tasted like it came from a rain barrel. I sent it back (first time ever) and ordered a scotch. When the bill came, the Italian rain barrel wine was on the bill.

I made my objections known. Needless to say, they changed their minds before the police were called. I have eaten in restaurants from Quebec to Key West and this was the very worst service I have ever received. Luckily for them, I never got the name. I think it was “Moroccan Restaurant.”

But that was all forgotten when we returned to the hotel and had drinks in the luxurious bar overlooking the city and the river.

In the morning we had the buffet breakfast which must have had 300 separate items. We didn’t even ask what it cost ($25 … each) Yes, it sounds dumb. But it was actually worth it.

As far as we know, you are dead a long, long time.

As we finished the breakfast and contemplated the five-hour ride home, we promised that, somehow, some way, we would return someday and have some more ghost tours, $12 peanuts and $25 breakfasts.

Maybe in another 25 years.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.