Bonjour de Quebec! After spending a couple days in Ottawa, where my good friend Nadav showed us the warmest hospitality anyone could ask for, we found ourselves crossing the Ottawa River into La Belle Provence du Quebec. We shared a reflective moment on that bridge, standing half way between province number five and six, remembering Ontario and breathing a sigh of relief that it was finally over.
There were no drastic differences on the other side of the river, except for the language. We instantly found ourselves amongst people we could not understand and signs we could not read, and had to remind ourselves that we were not in a foreign land. We were still in Canada, but in a place with a history and culture unique to all we have seen thus far. Bienvenue au Quebec!
The Quebecois know how to connect with others, how to laugh and how to party. We felt it in Montreal, where numerous festivals take over the city during the summer, and virtually every street is packed with pedestrians, cars, restaurant patios and street performers from nine till three in the morning. In Sherbrooke, where we spent two days with our friend Moe, we notice the slow pace and attention to detail that people here choose, and rightly so. And now, the capital, quite possibly the most beautiful city in the country. As you can tell, we have been taking our time lately, stopping frequently to take in all the beauty and wonder that this province has to offer. It`s hard not too.
On several occasions, I have felt utterly powerless due to my lack of French - so bad is it, that I actually had to ask someone how to say `from` to form the first sentence of this post. Too many conversations I`ve had have gone like this:
me: Bonjour, tu parle anglais
other: non, pardon
me: ok, au revoir
other: au revoir
The ability of language to draw barriers between people is astounding. Simply due to the fact that I don`t speak French, I am unable to communicate with people who share the same national anthem, prime minister and currency as I do. Words that hold meaning to some are merely background noise to others. Until I live up to my promise to myself to learn it, French will remain sound without meaning to me, and my ability to call myself Canadian with confidence will be jeopardized.
Quebec City has a fascinating story. This is where it all began: it was one of the first cities in Canada, and the battles that took place here hundreds of years ago shaped our nation`s history. You can feel it, walking through the old streets, amongst the fortresses and cannons that the British erected after winning the fight against the French on the Plains of Abraham in 1759. That battle, which lasted 20 minutes, decided that Canada would be a British, English speaking colony, rather than a French one. If the French colonists had been more prepared, most of us could be speaking French as our first language right now, while eating poutine and drinking wine until the cows come home. Man, that`s crazy.
This has all got me thinking alot about war, and what a huge role it plays in deciding a nation`s destiny. It`s easy for us to say war is bloody and evil, and I`m not saying it isn`t. But out of war comes not only death, but birth as well - of new countries and constitutions, rulers and ideologies. If we are to be truly proud of our country, I guess that means we must be thankful that those wars happened the way they did. Because if they hadn`t, things could be very different right now.
But enough rambling. We are still alive and living, and that`s all that really matters. In Sherbrooke, there were several occasions where we forgot where we were for a brief moment. It`s hard to keep track, when every day we`re sleeping somewhere different: two days ago, in a friend`s house; yesterday, a public park; last night, in the home of a generous Quebecois family. And tomorrow, we`ll be some other place, still uncertain. The only constants in our lives are our bikes and the people we are biking with.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Cottages, families and popsicles
Hello from the national capital! After 2 months, about 6000km, five provinces, hundreds of peanut butter sandwiches and numerous flat tires, we have reached the heartbeat of this vast country. And it feels damn good.
It's been a while since I've last written, so here's a brief summary of our time since we left the Soo:
After a few days of riding through repetitive small towns and Native reserves, we reached Manitoulin Island, a highly anticipated portion of our trip. We were not overly impressed with it, or the Bruce Penninsula that followed. It was a reminder that nothing much can change when you spend all day on the highway. As we approached Ontario cottage country, the landscape became crowded with money, bustling summer towns, SUVs, and people, mainly Torontonians. We hadn't been amongst this much homo sapien life since Winnipeg, and it was a bit unnerving. We made our way through the cottaging chaos to Orillia, where we spent a day with my family, and then onto Steph's cottage near Bracebridge, where we spent two days with Rob, Brad and Steph's. It was a refreshing hiatus to the trip, and a reminder of how much family matters.
We were spoiled with love over those few days, as we crossed the part of Canada closest to home. As Rob pointed out, the entire trip up to then had been progressing us towards our families, and from now on we move away. It was wonderful to see familiar faces, and share stories, food and wine. But by the end of it, I found myself yearning to be back on the bike again. I found this odd. Shouldn't I be utterly sick of my bike by now, ready to toss it on the car and head home? I reached the inevitable conclusion that I have acquired an addiction, of sorts, to biking. My body has become so used to biking every day, that like all addications, something just doesn't feel right when I go a few days without it. I am beginning to worry about what will happen in September, when biking every day no longer becomes necessary. It will be an adjustment, like culture shock.
We are nearing the end of Ontario, and looking forward to the provinces that await us. I am eager to test out my (lack of) French, and to explore the eastern provinces rich culture, seafood and, of course, highways. After nearly a month in Ontario, I can say that I love this province, but have definitely had enough of it. As I gaze across the Ottawa River to Quebec, I look forward to change. As we ride into the future with each kilometer, our entire lives await us. Rob says he's getting bored; he's ready to get on with life. But this is our life right now, and love it or hate it, it is what it is.
From Ottawa, a sincere farewell. To those reading this, thankyou for continuing to support our journey. We've only about a third left to go, and are still going strong!
It's been a while since I've last written, so here's a brief summary of our time since we left the Soo:
After a few days of riding through repetitive small towns and Native reserves, we reached Manitoulin Island, a highly anticipated portion of our trip. We were not overly impressed with it, or the Bruce Penninsula that followed. It was a reminder that nothing much can change when you spend all day on the highway. As we approached Ontario cottage country, the landscape became crowded with money, bustling summer towns, SUVs, and people, mainly Torontonians. We hadn't been amongst this much homo sapien life since Winnipeg, and it was a bit unnerving. We made our way through the cottaging chaos to Orillia, where we spent a day with my family, and then onto Steph's cottage near Bracebridge, where we spent two days with Rob, Brad and Steph's. It was a refreshing hiatus to the trip, and a reminder of how much family matters.
We were spoiled with love over those few days, as we crossed the part of Canada closest to home. As Rob pointed out, the entire trip up to then had been progressing us towards our families, and from now on we move away. It was wonderful to see familiar faces, and share stories, food and wine. But by the end of it, I found myself yearning to be back on the bike again. I found this odd. Shouldn't I be utterly sick of my bike by now, ready to toss it on the car and head home? I reached the inevitable conclusion that I have acquired an addiction, of sorts, to biking. My body has become so used to biking every day, that like all addications, something just doesn't feel right when I go a few days without it. I am beginning to worry about what will happen in September, when biking every day no longer becomes necessary. It will be an adjustment, like culture shock.
We are nearing the end of Ontario, and looking forward to the provinces that await us. I am eager to test out my (lack of) French, and to explore the eastern provinces rich culture, seafood and, of course, highways. After nearly a month in Ontario, I can say that I love this province, but have definitely had enough of it. As I gaze across the Ottawa River to Quebec, I look forward to change. As we ride into the future with each kilometer, our entire lives await us. Rob says he's getting bored; he's ready to get on with life. But this is our life right now, and love it or hate it, it is what it is.
From Ottawa, a sincere farewell. To those reading this, thankyou for continuing to support our journey. We've only about a third left to go, and are still going strong!
Friday, July 6, 2007
Somewhere North of Superior
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they called 'Gitche Gumee'
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy...
Canadian singer and songwriter Gordon Lightfoot knew what he was talking about when he wrote 'The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald', a song about the Great Lake Superior. Having spent a week on the shores of North Superior, I have developed an appreciation for its name and legend. During our journey from Thunder Bay to Sault Ste. Marie, we have experienced dramatic weather, incredible campsites and spectacular scenery. Not to mention six days of long, hilly riding that rivals the Rockies in level of difficulty. But the greater challenge always equals a greater sense of accomplishment at the end of the day.
Other than small towns located about 100km apart, North of Superior is pure wilderness. In White River, we were visited by one of the many black bears that has recently been found feasting on the town's garbage cans. Luckily, the bear - the biggest black one I have ever seen - got no closer than 200 meters from our tent. This was close enough to make me want to book it over the motel across the street (which we didn't; and thankfully, both we and our food was left untouched). A local told us that in 100 square kilometers, there were and estimated 60 bears. I'm not sure, but it'd be a pretty good guess to say that this beats the human population in the area.
It amazes me how the highway finds its way through this landscape of such concentrated rock and boreal forest. It's absolutely superb riding, through majestic rock faces on either side of the road, with each rock a slightly different shape, colour and pattern than the last: green, red, grey, pink, and purple; jagged, curvy, flat and cubic, with each covered with an assortment of mosses, lichens, plants and fungi. The closer you look, the more you see. I could spend hours gazing at these rocks in wonder; bus alas, we must get back on the bike and ride another 100k.
The shores of Superior have damned us and blessed us on separate occasions. One day, it rained from 11 to 6 without stopping, and we cursed the world as we peddled, soaked to the bone. Just the day before, we spent the afternoon on the shoreline, soaking in the sunny, cloudless sky. We spent another night on the beach of Superior, surrounded by a dense fog that made me feel more like I was in a dream than in Florida. (The frigid temperature of the water was another reminder). For two days, we were riding in and out of clouds; sunny and warm one minute, cold and foggy the next. Talk about a constant change of scenery! I love riding in Ontario because, unlike other provinces, you never get bored.
The last couple days have been our longest stretch yet: 165 km each day. We are currently resting in the the Soo. It will be sad leaving Superior tomorrow, a lake I have developed a sort of connection to. It's now time to discover Huron, as we continue across the wonderous province of Ontario with its plethora of lakes, rivers, wildlife, rocks and trees. As the license plates attest to, it truly is "ours to discover." Ciao!
Of the big lake they called 'Gitche Gumee'
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy...
Canadian singer and songwriter Gordon Lightfoot knew what he was talking about when he wrote 'The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald', a song about the Great Lake Superior. Having spent a week on the shores of North Superior, I have developed an appreciation for its name and legend. During our journey from Thunder Bay to Sault Ste. Marie, we have experienced dramatic weather, incredible campsites and spectacular scenery. Not to mention six days of long, hilly riding that rivals the Rockies in level of difficulty. But the greater challenge always equals a greater sense of accomplishment at the end of the day.
Other than small towns located about 100km apart, North of Superior is pure wilderness. In White River, we were visited by one of the many black bears that has recently been found feasting on the town's garbage cans. Luckily, the bear - the biggest black one I have ever seen - got no closer than 200 meters from our tent. This was close enough to make me want to book it over the motel across the street (which we didn't; and thankfully, both we and our food was left untouched). A local told us that in 100 square kilometers, there were and estimated 60 bears. I'm not sure, but it'd be a pretty good guess to say that this beats the human population in the area.
It amazes me how the highway finds its way through this landscape of such concentrated rock and boreal forest. It's absolutely superb riding, through majestic rock faces on either side of the road, with each rock a slightly different shape, colour and pattern than the last: green, red, grey, pink, and purple; jagged, curvy, flat and cubic, with each covered with an assortment of mosses, lichens, plants and fungi. The closer you look, the more you see. I could spend hours gazing at these rocks in wonder; bus alas, we must get back on the bike and ride another 100k.
The shores of Superior have damned us and blessed us on separate occasions. One day, it rained from 11 to 6 without stopping, and we cursed the world as we peddled, soaked to the bone. Just the day before, we spent the afternoon on the shoreline, soaking in the sunny, cloudless sky. We spent another night on the beach of Superior, surrounded by a dense fog that made me feel more like I was in a dream than in Florida. (The frigid temperature of the water was another reminder). For two days, we were riding in and out of clouds; sunny and warm one minute, cold and foggy the next. Talk about a constant change of scenery! I love riding in Ontario because, unlike other provinces, you never get bored.
The last couple days have been our longest stretch yet: 165 km each day. We are currently resting in the the Soo. It will be sad leaving Superior tomorrow, a lake I have developed a sort of connection to. It's now time to discover Huron, as we continue across the wonderous province of Ontario with its plethora of lakes, rivers, wildlife, rocks and trees. As the license plates attest to, it truly is "ours to discover." Ciao!
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