The Return.
So I've gone a pretty long time without making a post to this, despite the fact that much of that time was spent traveling. After that post, I went on to travel to Turkey, Slovakia, Hungary, Austria, the Czech Republic, several places in Germany, France, and the Basque Country. Looking back, I should have been posting all along, or at least keeping some kind of written record, but alas, I have nothing of that sort.
It is another random act of hospitality that has brought me to make the first post in I don't know how many months. Right now I'm in Quebec for my Spring Break with some AIESECers from GT and one from Yale. We spent about 26 hours getting from Georgia up here and had just arrived at the resort at which we're staying. We had planned on easily going from there to Montreal each day, having no idea how much snow had accumulated on the quebecois ground this winter. It was dangerous coming onto highways via on-ramps because of the snow wall separating them. Many of the street signs have been covered by snow. Add to that icy roads and fog, and the 40km drive becomes much less appealing, especially in a Honda Civic with worn tires.
We had decided to drive into town, St. Hippolyte, which was about a 3 minute drive away, to get some food and drink for the night after arriving. I trying in vain to get the car up the hill from the parking lot in the freezing slush, when a man pulled up on his snowmobile (Ski-Doo in the colloquial) which was pulling a sort of sled with two children in the back. He saw me struggling and asked if he could give it a try, and, figuring he was much better versed in snow driving, I let him have at it. He was able to fish-tail the Civic a bit farther up the hill than I did, but still didn't conquer it. He told us the store wasn't far away and that it was easily walkable and offered us a ride in the sled behind the snowmobile. No one but me was interested; the others said they would walk and meet me at the store.
Dressed more for the streets of Montreal than for a sled ride (long wool coat, jeans, scarf, hat, boots, no gloves), I sat down in the back of the sled, which had a couch cushion in it. He took off up the hill, around some bends in the snow-covered road, and toward the lake, which was thoroughly frozen. I was getting a little of the blowing snow on me, but so far, so comfortable. I saw the man's son reach out and grab a handful of the powdery snow as we drove, pack a snowball, and chuck it at his sister. I decided to do the same, but lobbed this one at the back of the son's head. He retaliated. Very quickly it escalated into a free-for-all, with me on the losing end because of my unpreparedness for such a battle. By the middle of the ride, my jacket was pretty well covered in snow and my hands almost totally numb. The son handed me his snow goggles, perhaps feeling sorry for me. I was only mildly uncomfortable, but having a great time.
The snowmobile journey ended at the man's house, which was very close to the store and quite luxurious-looking. He invited me inside to warm up and have a cup of coffee, and I couldn't refuse. It was at this point that he introduced himself and his family; his name was Vince. While the coffee was brewing I talked to Vince about why we came to Quebec, what we were planning on doing, what he thought would be fun to do, et cetera. From what I had read before coming, only 10% of Quebecois outside Montreal spoke much English. This turned out not to be so true. His English was pretty good and he said that figure was probably closer to 50%.
He poured the coffee and we sat down to watch the French Canadian version of The Weather Channel to figure out what the rest of the week would entail, when would be good to travel to Montreal, and if we even had a chance of going to Quebec City. Apparently, this was the harshest winter Quebec had seen in about 10 years, and it should have been significantly better. But from the report, it looked like we'd be remaining in the wilderness for at least the next few days.
Vince gave me a ride to the store to meet the others, who were just arriving there. We chatted about going to a place called Cabane à Sucre for some traditional (maybe even ritualistic) quebecois food soon. Because the maple syrup season was just beginning, we had arrived for the perfect time for the food that involves lots of maple syrup. After buying what we needed, and getting some further recommendations on which Canadian beer to buy, which seasonal sweets are good, et alii, it was time to go back. Shannon, of Yale, had asked Vince if he could give us a ride back to the resort, and he agreed. As we were getting out of the truck at the resort, Nate, of GT, asked Vince if he could get a picture with us, and he declined. He said, "Come to dinner at Cabane à Sucre tomorrow night, and we can get a picture then." Continuing the habit of taking up strangers on any offers to be hospitable, we agreed. We'll be meeting Vince and his family this evening for a very quebecois dinner at Cabane à Sucre.
I've heard bad things about the rift between Francophones and Anglophones in Quebec, but have experienced no such thing. The people so far have been as friendly as any I've come across. Maybe I'm just lucky...
It is another random act of hospitality that has brought me to make the first post in I don't know how many months. Right now I'm in Quebec for my Spring Break with some AIESECers from GT and one from Yale. We spent about 26 hours getting from Georgia up here and had just arrived at the resort at which we're staying. We had planned on easily going from there to Montreal each day, having no idea how much snow had accumulated on the quebecois ground this winter. It was dangerous coming onto highways via on-ramps because of the snow wall separating them. Many of the street signs have been covered by snow. Add to that icy roads and fog, and the 40km drive becomes much less appealing, especially in a Honda Civic with worn tires.
We had decided to drive into town, St. Hippolyte, which was about a 3 minute drive away, to get some food and drink for the night after arriving. I trying in vain to get the car up the hill from the parking lot in the freezing slush, when a man pulled up on his snowmobile (Ski-Doo in the colloquial) which was pulling a sort of sled with two children in the back. He saw me struggling and asked if he could give it a try, and, figuring he was much better versed in snow driving, I let him have at it. He was able to fish-tail the Civic a bit farther up the hill than I did, but still didn't conquer it. He told us the store wasn't far away and that it was easily walkable and offered us a ride in the sled behind the snowmobile. No one but me was interested; the others said they would walk and meet me at the store.
Dressed more for the streets of Montreal than for a sled ride (long wool coat, jeans, scarf, hat, boots, no gloves), I sat down in the back of the sled, which had a couch cushion in it. He took off up the hill, around some bends in the snow-covered road, and toward the lake, which was thoroughly frozen. I was getting a little of the blowing snow on me, but so far, so comfortable. I saw the man's son reach out and grab a handful of the powdery snow as we drove, pack a snowball, and chuck it at his sister. I decided to do the same, but lobbed this one at the back of the son's head. He retaliated. Very quickly it escalated into a free-for-all, with me on the losing end because of my unpreparedness for such a battle. By the middle of the ride, my jacket was pretty well covered in snow and my hands almost totally numb. The son handed me his snow goggles, perhaps feeling sorry for me. I was only mildly uncomfortable, but having a great time.
The snowmobile journey ended at the man's house, which was very close to the store and quite luxurious-looking. He invited me inside to warm up and have a cup of coffee, and I couldn't refuse. It was at this point that he introduced himself and his family; his name was Vince. While the coffee was brewing I talked to Vince about why we came to Quebec, what we were planning on doing, what he thought would be fun to do, et cetera. From what I had read before coming, only 10% of Quebecois outside Montreal spoke much English. This turned out not to be so true. His English was pretty good and he said that figure was probably closer to 50%.
He poured the coffee and we sat down to watch the French Canadian version of The Weather Channel to figure out what the rest of the week would entail, when would be good to travel to Montreal, and if we even had a chance of going to Quebec City. Apparently, this was the harshest winter Quebec had seen in about 10 years, and it should have been significantly better. But from the report, it looked like we'd be remaining in the wilderness for at least the next few days.
Vince gave me a ride to the store to meet the others, who were just arriving there. We chatted about going to a place called Cabane à Sucre for some traditional (maybe even ritualistic) quebecois food soon. Because the maple syrup season was just beginning, we had arrived for the perfect time for the food that involves lots of maple syrup. After buying what we needed, and getting some further recommendations on which Canadian beer to buy, which seasonal sweets are good, et alii, it was time to go back. Shannon, of Yale, had asked Vince if he could give us a ride back to the resort, and he agreed. As we were getting out of the truck at the resort, Nate, of GT, asked Vince if he could get a picture with us, and he declined. He said, "Come to dinner at Cabane à Sucre tomorrow night, and we can get a picture then." Continuing the habit of taking up strangers on any offers to be hospitable, we agreed. We'll be meeting Vince and his family this evening for a very quebecois dinner at Cabane à Sucre.
I've heard bad things about the rift between Francophones and Anglophones in Quebec, but have experienced no such thing. The people so far have been as friendly as any I've come across. Maybe I'm just lucky...
posted by twehner at
8:07 AM
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