Fin. A word to celebrate at the end of the long construction zone that perpetually tortures vacationers escaping to the beauty of Charlevoix or returning chez eux in Quebec and beyond. A word that has filled me with dread for days now, and finally, it's here.
I know all good things must come to an end. Knowledge is no insurance against heartbreak: it sure didn't stop my heart from breaking yesterday, while saying goodbye to Sylvie and Jean-Francois.
Jacques and Justin graciously shared a family gathering with us at Pierre-Louis' wife's family chalet, situated au bord de la mer in the picturesque village of Deschaillions. I'd heard an emission on Radio Canada about this place (the village, not the chalet ;-) ), wished I could find time to visit, and the Universe provided. (That logic, to me, is much more interesting than believing in coincidence, BTW.)
Things get a little crazy when one is running out of time. I'd hoped to have breakfast with the my beloved friends in Saint Antoine-de-Tilly on the way to Montreal this morning, but realized while returning from the chalet that we were about to pass within two minutes of their new (ADORABLE) 1800's house and with the flip of a cellphone and a tap on Jacques' shoulder, we were there. No time to spare; we ran through that house, J-F following regaling us with horror stories and success stories about the renovation and move. As usual, they've pulled off another miracle. This place is to DIE for already, and it's still full of boxes. I can't wait to sit at their table again, boire un coup and solve the problems of the world with them.
Kate is tapping me on the shoulder. A signal that it's time to go. Damn. I hope I'll be able to pick up this thread and capture more of the magic and grace we've experienced while in our beloved Quebec City.
Thanks for reading!
Monday, July 14, 2008
Friday, July 11, 2008
Le Temp Fil!
This buddhist business of living in the moment is a crock of crap, as far as I'm concerned. Why enjoy the cool morning breeze and savor rocking in Jacques et Justine's balancoire when I can sit here, in their basement and fret over how little time is left and how much there is still to see and do and what I'll write in this blog today?! I mean, otherwise, I'd just irresponsibly ignore the requests for music, a certain t-shirt logo, the need to prepare a pique-nique for this evening, and all the rest. How do those buddhists EVER get anything done???
OK, I'm over the panic attack, and am keenly aware that you, dear reader, didn't visit to join my pity party. So, for something more substantial...
We've had more adventure this trip than I'll ever be able to recount. Photos WILL find their way into cyberspace, eventually. For now, let's content ourselves with a few Alice Walker-type photos:
Photo #1: Near Vieux Quebec, on Rene Levesque
Coralie is ravishing in her dance costume, on stage with the Cirque de Soleil fire dancer alumni who have hypnotized the crowd with their shamanic undulations and mastery of all things aflame. The pulse of African djembes drives the dancers into a state of delirium. "Our" Coralie is oblivious to everything except those dancing with her. We watch, mesmerized, and I can't help but tear up at the beauty of her sense of abandon.
Photo #2: Parc Bois du Coulonge
Kate is on her bike, ahead of me. The sun throws dappled shadows across our trail, as we head toward the grass, searching for a place to eat our still-warm bagels fresh from the oven at Bagel Traditionnel. She throws back her head and laughs as the sprinklers catch her by surprise. The Saint Lawrence is shimmering. Sailboats dot the shore. People are walking, biking on the new thoroughfare built for the 400th, along Boulevard de Champlain. An older couple take it all in from the gazebo. I've the impression they do this daily; it's only we who come and go, changing the composition.
Photo #3: Au boutique Charlotte, Ile aux Coudres
I'm making the rounds of the boutique, studying the paintings of local artists and reading their stories on the placards placed strategically about. As I round the corner of a bench in the middle of the room, I catch a glimpse of a lovely young woman sitting at the end reading, her long blond hair caught up a la francaise. Within a nanosecond, I realize - it's Kate! My heart catches; she's growing up so fast! I'm savoring every moment of this trip, as protection against too many more of these AHA moments. (Sure, I kid myself!)
Photo #4: Fog and more fog
We're in the car, returning to the island after an amazing meal in Saint-Iranee, further up the coast. It's so foggy I can't see the sides of the road. We're so stuffed we can hardly stay awake, and there's nothing in the world we'd rather do than slip into our sleeping bags and sleep the night away. Suddenly, I make out a sign that reads, "Baie Saint Paul" and I wonder aloud, "Why doesn't the sign tell us how many kilometers we are away from there? Then, we'd have an idea of where we are." (Baie Saint Paul is 20km beyond our turn to get back on the island.) Merde. I see a sign pointing to a favorite camping spot, Le Balcon Vert, and realize we're IN Baie Saint Paul! Nothing to do but laugh, giving over to the caprises of Dame Nature.
There are so many more...
OK, I'm over the panic attack, and am keenly aware that you, dear reader, didn't visit to join my pity party. So, for something more substantial...
We've had more adventure this trip than I'll ever be able to recount. Photos WILL find their way into cyberspace, eventually. For now, let's content ourselves with a few Alice Walker-type photos:
Photo #1: Near Vieux Quebec, on Rene Levesque
Coralie is ravishing in her dance costume, on stage with the Cirque de Soleil fire dancer alumni who have hypnotized the crowd with their shamanic undulations and mastery of all things aflame. The pulse of African djembes drives the dancers into a state of delirium. "Our" Coralie is oblivious to everything except those dancing with her. We watch, mesmerized, and I can't help but tear up at the beauty of her sense of abandon.
Photo #2: Parc Bois du Coulonge
Kate is on her bike, ahead of me. The sun throws dappled shadows across our trail, as we head toward the grass, searching for a place to eat our still-warm bagels fresh from the oven at Bagel Traditionnel. She throws back her head and laughs as the sprinklers catch her by surprise. The Saint Lawrence is shimmering. Sailboats dot the shore. People are walking, biking on the new thoroughfare built for the 400th, along Boulevard de Champlain. An older couple take it all in from the gazebo. I've the impression they do this daily; it's only we who come and go, changing the composition.
Photo #3: Au boutique Charlotte, Ile aux Coudres
I'm making the rounds of the boutique, studying the paintings of local artists and reading their stories on the placards placed strategically about. As I round the corner of a bench in the middle of the room, I catch a glimpse of a lovely young woman sitting at the end reading, her long blond hair caught up a la francaise. Within a nanosecond, I realize - it's Kate! My heart catches; she's growing up so fast! I'm savoring every moment of this trip, as protection against too many more of these AHA moments. (Sure, I kid myself!)
Photo #4: Fog and more fog
We're in the car, returning to the island after an amazing meal in Saint-Iranee, further up the coast. It's so foggy I can't see the sides of the road. We're so stuffed we can hardly stay awake, and there's nothing in the world we'd rather do than slip into our sleeping bags and sleep the night away. Suddenly, I make out a sign that reads, "Baie Saint Paul" and I wonder aloud, "Why doesn't the sign tell us how many kilometers we are away from there? Then, we'd have an idea of where we are." (Baie Saint Paul is 20km beyond our turn to get back on the island.) Merde. I see a sign pointing to a favorite camping spot, Le Balcon Vert, and realize we're IN Baie Saint Paul! Nothing to do but laugh, giving over to the caprises of Dame Nature.
There are so many more...
Monday, July 7, 2008
Just a token offering today
One week down, one left...I awoke in a bit of a panic today, thinking of how much I've yet to see and do, and how little time is left. Everyone should have my worries, right? Don't get out the violins for me; I KNOW how lucky I am to have this time!
I've so much to tell, and am frustrated that Ive just spent one and a half hours fooling around with Picasa, in another attempt at getting photos on this &*$% blog... no yoga, no meditation, no packing for camping, no trying to put into words the fire show we saw night before last...
;-(
Suffice to say, it's better to leave you now in suspense than to force this writing, as it risks sapping the energy I'll need to launch the next adventure in good humour. Veuillez patienter, SVP.
We're off to Île aux Coudres for some camping, stargazing and cycling. Séan, G and Jay: we'll stop at the point and gaze off toward Baie St. Paul, thinking of you while eating outside "our" bakery!
I've so much to tell, and am frustrated that Ive just spent one and a half hours fooling around with Picasa, in another attempt at getting photos on this &*$% blog... no yoga, no meditation, no packing for camping, no trying to put into words the fire show we saw night before last...
;-(
Suffice to say, it's better to leave you now in suspense than to force this writing, as it risks sapping the energy I'll need to launch the next adventure in good humour. Veuillez patienter, SVP.
We're off to Île aux Coudres for some camping, stargazing and cycling. Séan, G and Jay: we'll stop at the point and gaze off toward Baie St. Paul, thinking of you while eating outside "our" bakery!
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Making peace with doing nothing
Kate and I were really hung over yesterday from all the late-night celebrating. I'd done a REALLY dumb thing the night before in taking my car into town for the fireworks display (which was, BTW, simply amazing). That little error kept Pascal and me out until 2:15am. Two hours, 15 minutes just to travel MAYBE two miles. So, yes, we'd had enough fun for a few days and defiantly decided to stay in. Jean-Daniel and boys set out for Toronto and we settled in for a day of doing nothing.
I spent a couple of hours reading Espaces and wandering through Sepaq's website, dreaming of outdoor excursions to come. Kate's got her heart set on Île aux Coudres this year and she's not very malleable, but next summer, whoa! - we'll be off to the hinterlands. (I know, that's where we are now. All things being relative, though...from here, la côte nord is the hinterlands!)
I'm not going to tell you how Kate spent the day, because I secretly think it's criminal to spend the whole day playing Sims on the computer while the sun is shining and a cool breeze beckons one outside.
Oops!
;-)
Even worse, I drove (yes, ladies and gentlemen, drove) to Place Laurier (a shopping center) to buy souvenirs. I hope it doesn't hurt you as much to read this as it does me to write it.
;-)
In afternoon's wane, I wondered aloud at the day's passing and asked Kate, "Are you sure you don't want to just go out to watch the street performers before it gets dark?" At that she retorted, "It just kills you to do nothing, doesn't it?!"
Well, yeah, I think. I'm paying a lot of money to come up here and do nothing. I could be doing that in Atlanta.
I practically had to screw my head back on before sitting down to watch Cate Blanchett in Elizabeth, the Golden Age. At least that was educational.
;-)
So, help me out here. What's the remedy for my affliction? I'd been officially diagnosed long ago, and still have only now begun searching for a cure: how does one make peace with doing nothing?
I spent a couple of hours reading Espaces and wandering through Sepaq's website, dreaming of outdoor excursions to come. Kate's got her heart set on Île aux Coudres this year and she's not very malleable, but next summer, whoa! - we'll be off to the hinterlands. (I know, that's where we are now. All things being relative, though...from here, la côte nord is the hinterlands!)
I'm not going to tell you how Kate spent the day, because I secretly think it's criminal to spend the whole day playing Sims on the computer while the sun is shining and a cool breeze beckons one outside.
Oops!
;-)
Even worse, I drove (yes, ladies and gentlemen, drove) to Place Laurier (a shopping center) to buy souvenirs. I hope it doesn't hurt you as much to read this as it does me to write it.
;-)
In afternoon's wane, I wondered aloud at the day's passing and asked Kate, "Are you sure you don't want to just go out to watch the street performers before it gets dark?" At that she retorted, "It just kills you to do nothing, doesn't it?!"
Well, yeah, I think. I'm paying a lot of money to come up here and do nothing. I could be doing that in Atlanta.
I practically had to screw my head back on before sitting down to watch Cate Blanchett in Elizabeth, the Golden Age. At least that was educational.
;-)
So, help me out here. What's the remedy for my affliction? I'd been officially diagnosed long ago, and still have only now begun searching for a cure: how does one make peace with doing nothing?
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Let the Party Begin!
We've barely recovered from our late-night viewing of Robert LePage's amazing Moulin à Images and find ourselves outside, listening to the ringing of all the church bells in Québec City at precisely 11am, for precisely 400 seconds! Turning, the tone of the peals change, as we're surrounded by at least three churches nearby.
This afternoon's kick-off event, in front of Parliament, is a veritable smorgasbord of the best performers depicting the history of the city (including my beloved Ariane Moffatt). Voir MonQuébec2008.com for a summary of what's to come.
Tonight, IAM in concert at the Festival d'été. Following, the biggest fireworks show in Canada's history, at the bassin Louise. This vacation's killing us.
;-)
Really wish you all could be here to share it with us!
This afternoon's kick-off event, in front of Parliament, is a veritable smorgasbord of the best performers depicting the history of the city (including my beloved Ariane Moffatt). Voir MonQuébec2008.com for a summary of what's to come.
Tonight, IAM in concert at the Festival d'été. Following, the biggest fireworks show in Canada's history, at the bassin Louise. This vacation's killing us.
;-)
Really wish you all could be here to share it with us!
Open Mouth, Insert Foot
Despite the fact that we didn't leave the house until after lunch yesterday, Kate and I enjoyed a day full of adventure.
First, we collected her camera from the Musée de la Civilisation, which she'd left in a bathroom the day before. We'd no time to celebrate her good fortune before a guy backed into the side of our BRAND NEW rental car. These kinds of situations really test your mettle when you're experiencing them in your native language; throw in ignorance of local laws and mix with having to conduct the conversation in une langue seconde and hup! it gets interesting...The short version is this: Seems Québec has a very civilised approach to small accidents such as mine. The driver had in his possession a form that one keeps especially for these occasions, named something along the lines of "a friendly report of what happened." The deal is, you fill this out, sign it and take your copy, without calling the flic. The person responsible for the accident then calls the insurance companies and works it all out for you. "Yeah, right," I thought. My task became to convince this nice person that yes, I believed him but no, I couldn't risk being screwed by him. In French. Luc to the rescue: I called him, he played shuttle diplomat, we filled out the form and were on our way. Believe me, Luc is much more conservative than I, so if he says it's cool, it must be so. (I hope!)
On to the subject at hand...Kate and I were at the Terrasse Dufferin, at the Chateau Frontenac, watching a French clipper ship come down the Saint Lawrence for the 400th festivities. I struck up a conversation with Roxanne, a woman next to me. Turns out she's from a town in New Brunswick with an unpronouncable Mi'kmaq-sounding name. I joked that all the unpronouncable town names in NB I know, I learned from Zachary Richard. To my great surprise, she replied that she knows Zac! Be still my heart... Before I have time to fall on my knees, up comes her husband and her lovely daughters, who graciously introduce themselves and smile gamely as she and I launch into shared recollections of the charms of New Brunwick. (One word: raspberries. That's a story for another day.)
Shawn, her husband, shares they'd recently visited Savannah, where Roxanne learned to dance the Shag. With Sonny Perdue. Who is, it seems, a much better Shagger than Shawn. Rather than ask the obvious, "How is it you were dancing with the Gov?", I ask, "So, did you pray for rain with him afterwards?" Shawn cracks up, then deflects the conversation to a man who's just joined us, saying, "He knows Zachary Richard even better and just spoke with him this morning about a meeting we're arranging. We have to go now, but we leave you in good hands." 'Bye, Shawn and Roxanne et la petite famille.
As we watch them walk toward the statue of Samuel de Champlain, my companion shares, "Shawn's the Premier of New Brunswick and I'm his Chief of Staff." All I can say is, thank God he's a liberal. You just never know...
First, we collected her camera from the Musée de la Civilisation, which she'd left in a bathroom the day before. We'd no time to celebrate her good fortune before a guy backed into the side of our BRAND NEW rental car. These kinds of situations really test your mettle when you're experiencing them in your native language; throw in ignorance of local laws and mix with having to conduct the conversation in une langue seconde and hup! it gets interesting...The short version is this: Seems Québec has a very civilised approach to small accidents such as mine. The driver had in his possession a form that one keeps especially for these occasions, named something along the lines of "a friendly report of what happened." The deal is, you fill this out, sign it and take your copy, without calling the flic. The person responsible for the accident then calls the insurance companies and works it all out for you. "Yeah, right," I thought. My task became to convince this nice person that yes, I believed him but no, I couldn't risk being screwed by him. In French. Luc to the rescue: I called him, he played shuttle diplomat, we filled out the form and were on our way. Believe me, Luc is much more conservative than I, so if he says it's cool, it must be so. (I hope!)
On to the subject at hand...Kate and I were at the Terrasse Dufferin, at the Chateau Frontenac, watching a French clipper ship come down the Saint Lawrence for the 400th festivities. I struck up a conversation with Roxanne, a woman next to me. Turns out she's from a town in New Brunswick with an unpronouncable Mi'kmaq-sounding name. I joked that all the unpronouncable town names in NB I know, I learned from Zachary Richard. To my great surprise, she replied that she knows Zac! Be still my heart... Before I have time to fall on my knees, up comes her husband and her lovely daughters, who graciously introduce themselves and smile gamely as she and I launch into shared recollections of the charms of New Brunwick. (One word: raspberries. That's a story for another day.)
Shawn, her husband, shares they'd recently visited Savannah, where Roxanne learned to dance the Shag. With Sonny Perdue. Who is, it seems, a much better Shagger than Shawn. Rather than ask the obvious, "How is it you were dancing with the Gov?", I ask, "So, did you pray for rain with him afterwards?" Shawn cracks up, then deflects the conversation to a man who's just joined us, saying, "He knows Zachary Richard even better and just spoke with him this morning about a meeting we're arranging. We have to go now, but we leave you in good hands." 'Bye, Shawn and Roxanne et la petite famille.
As we watch them walk toward the statue of Samuel de Champlain, my companion shares, "Shawn's the Premier of New Brunswick and I'm his Chief of Staff." All I can say is, thank God he's a liberal. You just never know...
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
It's Séan's Birthday!!! (Oh, yeah, and Canada's...)
Another perfect day in Paradise. We're in Montcalm, with Jean-Daniel and his two boys. Pascal happened to be watching his daily ration of television when I passed by, on my way to the rear terrasse to get in a little face time with my yoga mat. Displayed on the télé were the results of a poll in which the québecois were asked if they were going to celebrate Canada Day. What a surprise: fewer than 1 in 4 responded, "yes."
Why is that?
I've lived in two countries with a troubled history with les anglais, Ireland and well - Québec. OK, WE know Québec isn't really a country, but try telling these folks otherwise, especially on St. Jean Baptiste day! Rather than stating the obvious, I propose the reason lies more in the fact that when one speaks a different language, it fundamentally affects one's perception of the world. Put 6.5 million francophones in close proximity, and you have a 'national' identity apart from the rest of the country. I could offer endless examples of perceptual differences between the French and English languages, but you didn't sign up for a course, did you? Perhaps over a nice merlot would be more agreeable. Who's in? ;-)
So today is the day I became a mother. (The secret's out, Séan; I've been secretly celebrating that amazing experience every year, along with the fact that you issued from it!) And what am I doing to observe this day? I'm headed out to the Plains of Abraham to watch one helluva fireworks show...
Bonne fête, Séan! Je t'aime fort!
Bonne soirée!
E.
Why is that?
I've lived in two countries with a troubled history with les anglais, Ireland and well - Québec. OK, WE know Québec isn't really a country, but try telling these folks otherwise, especially on St. Jean Baptiste day! Rather than stating the obvious, I propose the reason lies more in the fact that when one speaks a different language, it fundamentally affects one's perception of the world. Put 6.5 million francophones in close proximity, and you have a 'national' identity apart from the rest of the country. I could offer endless examples of perceptual differences between the French and English languages, but you didn't sign up for a course, did you? Perhaps over a nice merlot would be more agreeable. Who's in? ;-)
So today is the day I became a mother. (The secret's out, Séan; I've been secretly celebrating that amazing experience every year, along with the fact that you issued from it!) And what am I doing to observe this day? I'm headed out to the Plains of Abraham to watch one helluva fireworks show...
Bonne fête, Séan! Je t'aime fort!
Bonne soirée!
E.
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