Notes from a Large Country* - Chapter One

It’s a Spontaneous Adventure

Trees and water. That's almost everything in the Maritimes.

The Canadian border guard greeted us amiably as we left behind the pleasant but stand-offish Mainers (Maineians, Mainiers?). While checking our passports, he enquired about our plans before wishing us safe travel, and we entered a country within a country. Well, not really, but Quebec is French enough to feel foreign. Imagine if New Mexico announced that henceforth Spanish would be the official language and Spanish-Mexican culture would dominate. Hoo-boy. I recognize that the Quebec-Canada relationship is fraught with difficulties, but the concept is intriguing, and I would enjoy a similar opportunity in our nation.

After a few days in Quebec, Mike and I were ready to road trip through the Maritime Provinces. The night before we took off, my aging brain, henceforth to be referred to as Mabs, realized that there were no plans for the journey, only a destination: Fredericton, New Brunswick. A not-so-quick Google search came up with a plan, and we headed out of Quebec City toward The Sanctuary of Saint Anne of Beaupré in the town of Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupré. Déjà vu haunted Mike. Had we been here on our last Canadian excursion? I asked Mabs, but she did not recall, so I explored and photographed, intrigued by the blue-ceilinged sanctuary in the basement and Googled a coffee shop.

Eventually I noticed Mike becoming agitated and referring frequently to his phone.

We are going the wrong way. The bridge is in Quebec City.

No, we cross the river further north.

But there is no bridge.

Well there has to be a way to get across or the travel site wouldn’t suggest this route.

(Why would I trust an unknown writer on the internet? Because it’s on the internet!)

To assure Mike, I did a little more Googling (I’m doing a lot of Googling on this trip) and found a ferry crossing at Saint-Siméon. Reviewers raved about the crossing with opportunities to see dolphins, whales, and seals. This would be fun. Mabs laid out the route. A ferry crossed at 2:45, no reservations needed. There was plenty of time to check out the Laiterie Charlevoix as suggested by the unknown internet travel guide.

If you are in a hurry, bypass the cheese shop. With time to spare, we bought a loaf of bread and a package of pork pâté for a picnic lunch on the grounds before meandering up the scenic road to Saint-Siméon pulling into the ferry port with time to spare. 

Caveat: pulling into the port means pulling into line to speak with the gangly young man in attendance, allowing vehicles to seal you in with no escape. Mabs had misread the schedule, or the web page was incorrect, can you believe? It was 12:30 when we became entrapped. The attendant displaying Canadian nonchalance explained the cars beside us were waiting for the 1:00 crossing. The line we were in was for the 5:30 crossing. What happened to the 2:45?

They are running behind.

Should we make a reservation for the 5:30 and come back later?

There are no reservations.

There's no getting out, once you are in line.

Syntax is so important. Mabs had interpreted “No reservations” as “no reservations needed.” Bringing to mind a concert I attended with friends, cautioned by one that we had to get there early because there were no reserved seats. Imagine our surprise when we got there early and there were no seats. It was a standing only venue. C-boy was impressed when I told him where we were. He had gone there often during high school.

So what do we do for over four hours?

After you move ahead, you can leave the car and explore the area.

I coined a mantra to encourage Mike and cheer myself: this is a spontaneous adventure.

Daily I had checked Priceline to be assured that I could book a room in Fredericton, New Brunswick, our destination for the night. Priceline offered many options, but I delayed making the reservation, too aware that life changes in a moment. Sure enough, we would not make it. Now with time to spare, I used my phone to get a reservation for the night somewhere along the way. Other trapped travelers agreed. Rooms disappeared as soon as I located them.

As price became irrelevant, I began at the port of Rivière-du-Loup and Googled each hotel on the map for a vacancy, booking the last room at the Comfort Inn in Edmunston, NB. Just to be safe, I made reservations for the following two nights in St. John, purchasing the travel insurance for peace of mind. Now directed to move ahead into the line for the 5:30 ferry, freeing us to explore.

The breeze coming from the river made the hot, humid weather tolerable. We strolled up a hill to the restaurant to relax as we passed four hours. 

Je suis désolé. Le restaurant est fermé. Tout le personnel de cuisine s’est déclaré malade.

Bon jour. (It is disconcerting that as soon as I say bonjour, the listener immediately goes into English.)

I’m sorry. The restaurant is closed. The entire kitchen staff has called in sick.

Est fermé? (I believe in using the local’s language as a sign of respect.)

Is there another restaurant nearby? (My French is limited.)

Yes, just up the hill.

Maine and Quebec City sapped any enthusiasm for stairs or hills. But hey, I have four hours. I looked at the hill. I grew up on a river bluff in Illinois, so I know steep hills. My childhood nightmares included flipping backwards down 53^rd Street hill in Moline, Illinois, or 3^rd  or 7^th Streets in East Moline. Then there was Brady Street in Davenport, Iowa. The hill now in front of me put those to shame. Time to explore other options.

Suggestion: if you ever plan to take the ferry from Saint-Siméon to Rivière-du-Loup, pack a swimsuit and sunscreen. There is a beautiful sandy beach next to the pier. Unfortunately there is no shade. Being from Arizona, I don’t do sun.

Now heating up, we went inside the exteriorly attractive but interiorly bus station-like waiting room to pass the time reading, chatting on the phone, and staring, returning to the car by 4:30, as advised, to begin moving at 5:15.

Having recently watched Dept. Q, I cautioned Mike to hold on to his hat. As he paid the fare — interestingly, you pay onboard—I searched for seats with a view and found some in a bar offering perfect G&T’s. The toddler throwing a tantrum in his mother’s arms outside our window was only mildly distracting. It was encouraging, though, that another woman began talking soothingly to the mother and child, eventually holding and calming the boy in her arms. As we departed an hour and a half later, I smiled at the mother and said, “You are doing good.” Her “thank you” and look of relief made up for the lack of whale sightings.

We ate somewhere before checking into the two-star hotel. I have learned to consider user reviews over stars. My only regret was that my fatigue demotivated me to shower in the morning, feeling that I had overpaid for a bed and standard hotel breakfast. However, the pancake maker almost compensated, the machine gently birthing a freshly cooked, golden flapjack from the side, reminding me of my mother wringing the laundry through the double-cylinder press when I was young.

Two facts surprised us: the province of Quebec includes a strip of land on the northern border of New Brunswick. And the Maritimes are in a later time zone completely screwing up our orientation to time. More surprises in the future posts.

*A respectful nod to one of my favorite authors, Bill Bryson