Quebec City and beyond.
History of Québec City | Visit Québec City “The name Québec has its origin with an Algonquin indigenous word, meaning “where the river narrows.” From the cliffs of Québec, it was possible for cannons to fire across the river and, hopefully, prevent enemy ships from penetrating further west. The great cliff of Québec, dominating the St. Lawrence from a height of more than 100 meters, makes the site a natural fortress. Over the centuries, the French, the British and then the Americans all fought to control this very strategic location.” David Mendel; Published on April 19, 2022
What a rich old history they came across. From the original First Nations settlements to the arrival of early French explorers to the formal establishment of Canada as an independent nation. French explorer Jacques Cartier was the first European to ascend the St. Lawrence Gulf, claiming “Canada” for France (and the coming addition of a newly founded “Acadie” – known today as the province of Nova Scotia) to create a dominion known as New France. History of Quebec City – Wikipedia
Painting: Jacques Cartier rencontre les indiens de Stadacone, 1535
Friday morning arrived with a brisk north wind and low cloudy skies. Where to find a local breakfast eatery and fresh hot coffee? A short walk down cobbled streets, the owner of the cafe was named Louis Moreau, and he took an interest in them, asking how long they had been together. “Just married? You two look like it.” As it was mid-morning and the breakfast traffic had begun to slow, he pulled up a chair, two chairs, and introduced them to his wife Nadine Marie.
Backstories were shared. Pointers offered on historic buildings, galleries, shops and hidden pathways. They left with wishes for good fortune and exchanged contact info. Terry was an expert, of sorts, on self-guided walking tours. She took on the task of researching a few, and of course he wanted to draw one out on a map of the city. Off they ventured. Small shops and venders along the narrow streets with original art displayed, bookstores, cafes, curio items displayed in small shops, street musicians on audition, wandering tourists passing by. They detour into the Cathedral of Notre-Dame de Quebec Paroisse Notre-Dame de Québec where a noon mass is in progress, and sit quietly in the back pews, a moment of quiet respite. Then more walking and photographs and immersed in the bright fall scenes unfolding all around.
In the midafternoon, striding down a steep street, both slipped, and Terry took a tumble, ending up with a banged-up ankle and a gash across the side of her forehead. Not sure what to do, he texted Louis for advice on treatment centers. “No trouble, my brother is a doctor of family practice, I can drive you there. And we insist that you come over later for some dinner at our house. It makes no sense to sit around a hotel when our hospitality is available.” Patched up and no worse for wear, after a brief respite they regrouped and took the car to dinner. The house was located on The Rue de Bernieres, overlooking the Plans of Abraham along the St. Lawrence River. They drove over and parked across the way in the park, just as the sun began to set in the west, clearing skies, with bright stars aglow to the east. Upon entering they were warmly greeted, seated in the parlor, and served a wonderful sampling of local wines. Everyone hovered around Terry to make her comfortable; she attracted the warmest attention. He told the group – “on a previous visit to the city I came across a place near here, and envisioned starting fresh in a warm house through the dark, heavily frozen white winters.” It was an aspiration he had kept close to his heart for many years. Terry nodded knowingly toward him. Louis and Nadine’s house was a traditional Canadian red brick, brightly remodeled inside while still retaining the original oak flooring, fireplace frame and stair railings. A wonderful sitting area with floor to ceiling bookshelves looked out over an enclosed garden space, trees and bushes just now turning color and potted annuals still in bloom.
Comfort and conversation flowed through a simple meal of French onion soup, richly prepared, wine and a fresh goat cheese, with sides of warm baguettes. They were introduced to tourtière, a meat pie dish filled with minced veal and potatoes. Coffee and chocolate filled crepes, drizzled with powdered sugar and maple syrup put them down for the count. As they talked about past lives and a tentative homestead in Maine the night grew long; they were comfortable together as a group in the now dark evening. Louis suggested that they could find a good and happy life in Quebec City. The government was providing incentives for professionals to locate and work remote positions – or contribute to building the local economy. At the end of that long, wonderful evening they returned, somewhat exhausted, to the hotel. They loved and slept and woke up together in a dream, so much to reflect on and consider. For the future. There remained a nascent new life to build back in Maine, though gravity was pulling them north and both knew it.
On the third day of touring through this old city the sun finally made its full appearance, autumn colors now in brightest glory. A visit to Notre-Dame-des-Victoires Catholic Church was followed by a stroll through the park pathways surrounding The Citadelle of Québec provided a quiet and respectful end to their visit. Then they packed up for a return to Maine, by a different route as they planned it.
Heading northwest along the St. Lawrence seaway, they had the whole world to their selves. Traveling route 132 just north of the Trans-Canadian highway they hugged the coastline through a dozen or more small villages. Route 132: A Road Trip Guide to Quebec’s Magnetic Frontier | Go Canada Route du fleuve (St. Lawrence Route) | Tourisme Charlevoix
Riding along all the way to Rivière-du-Loup. Long, narrow Seigneurial farmlands stretch away from the river inland, now in final harvest and preparing for the sleep of winter. Cider and cheese for a midday break, looking across the seaway past cargo and cruise ships northward to the impressive Laurentian mountains on the far north shore. Further along the river noticeably widens, turns a deep shade of blue as a sea breeze stirs through open windows. Gradually they approach a series of rocky ridges, the seaway opens yet again with a view of wild islands. Waterfalls tumble beneath the road, sourced in the nearby Notre Dame Mountains.
File:Riviere-du-Loup QC.JPG – Wikimedia Commons User:P199 Notre Dame Mountains – Wikipedia
Something like heaven. 5 Reasons to Move to Saguenay-Lac-Saint-Jean After a late lunch of ham and cheese baguettes, they resumed driving, angling south along Route 2 toward the border crossing at Edmundston, then hopping over to Maine Route 1 and parallelling the Canadian border for 25 miles before turning south on U.S. I95.
They finally picked up cell service in Caribou Maine with a flood of text messages. Sometimes you get news, a turn of events, bad news, and there is nothing you did to deserve this small fate, nor any responsibility for its occurrence. Their new home, scarcely purchased, lived in for a week, was apparently halfway burned down. Caused by a fire, an electric heater operated next to a stack of framing materials and drywall, left unattended during a dinner break, and there you go. This is a tale of chaos and entropy, the whole point of the remodel was to restore order, energy supplied to the system of improvements. An overload of energy in this case caused a runaway reaction, tipping the scale toward destruction, rather than improvement. There was nothing left to do but return home without delay, assess the damage and consider options to move forward. Or not. They drove for hours, silent in the bright light of a clear autumn day and wrestling each with silent thoughts. Were they on the same page, did they anticipate their respective reactions to the events of the past month, from Texas to Maine, to Ontario; that discussion would wait until one last evening on the road, a short night in the village of Houlton, Maine. Town of Houlton, Maine (houlton-maine.com). Ivey’s Motor Lodge had a few available rooms; the décor was in the late 70’s (of course) and the room had a spa tub right next to the king-sized bed. A definite first. A joint decision to pass on the weekly Bistro Night, whatever that was, and plan for an early departure. Being at that time of year, they awoke to absolute silence, the scenes outside frosted windows were muffled by five inches of white, fluffy snow. Time enough for a shuffling short run and a walk with Cooper, who sniffed at the small snow drifts like he was hunting for lost treasure.
They eased on to the fresh plowed I95 South to Bangor and headed “home”. Except that there was not much of a home to return to. With a small bit of good fortune, their small accumulation of possessions sat preserved in the opposite corner of the house from where the primary damage occurred. In such a small old house the structure was still at a total loss, and the remaining “stuff” was not spared from smoke and grit damage. After wandering around for a bit, they phoned insurance; an adjustor would drive up from Portland in a day, or two. In the meantime, they settled into a summer rental property, opened after season in their honor, on a small side street that was completely deserted. For what it was worth, giving more time to think and plan forward. Maybe this event was a blessing, the best way to view it. Take the settlement, pay off the small house note and re-open life options.
After the first night, they realized that the street we were staying on was not completely deserted. A house down the row had chimney smoke visible in the early morning light. And a horse was grazing in the back yard next to a small barn. In a small town you may be isolated, but never alone. In the city people pass by at all hours, but their eyes are fixed ahead, contained within their own life, and with no time or room to inquire about yours. In the country all eyes are on you. “I noticed that the car sitting in your driveway is not driven very often, is it for sale?”. Or “is the house next door for rent?”. So of course, it didn’t take very long for the new neighbor to wander by and knock on their door. “We don’t see many folks out this way in the offseason”. You are not from around here, are you those digital nomad types, I’ll bet you are. She said as she leaned closer to the door and surveyed our few possessions strewn about the living room. My name is Josey; I run a small stable out of my backyard and offer horseback tours during the summer months. Do you ride? It turns out that Josey was a fixture town. And she was ready to alter the course of their lives. …If she could…