La Belle Province

It was hot and my feet were sore. I sat on a bench and reached into my backpack for a water bottle.

“Can you imagine trying to fill two days walking around down-town Calgary?” Jim asked. It was an easy task in Quebec City.

We started at the Plains of Abraham. That is where the English defeated the French (Don’t mention the war … ). We walked round the bluffs and over to the Chateau Frontenac. This opulent hotel is the centrepiece of the old city.

The streets of ‘Vieux Quebec’ are paved in rough brick. The buildings are decorated with window boxes and ornate facades. Tiny hotels, street dining, buskers, historic plaques and the odd cannon completed the scene. We just walked. Every street contained something of interest or delight. Quebec city is getting ready for its 400^th anniversary. (Canmore has the oldest hotel in Alberta – it just celebrated its 100^th year).

I sat on the stone wall of the old fortification and waited for Jim as he took his sunset pictures. Looking around the city, I counted ten Fleur-de-lis and only one Canadian Flag. On the parliament building, they had three flagpoles. One was flying the Quebec flag, one the French flag – and one empty flagpole.

That evening we decided to splash out and eat in a nice restaurant by the main square.

“We have to sit at one of the street tables so we can people-watch,” Jim said.

Across the St Lawrence is the community of Levis. We took the ferry early next morning from Levis to the old city. I found a comfortable bench, wrote in my journal and contemplated life. Jim wandered the now empty streets with his cameras. He returned to me and announced he found a place to go for breakfast.

“I’ve been watching the locals come in here,” said Jim as he opened the door to the Patissarie. Healthy food be dammed. I had a chocolate filled croissant covered with toasted almonds – still warm from the oven.

I love old churches. I love the sense of history and spirituality. The Basilique Notre-Dame de Quebec looked plain on the outside. I felt a little like an intruder when I entered - until I read the large notice in the foyer:

Church – House of God – House of all People. It Beckons. Whether you be Christian or not. Whether this is your homeland or you are just passing through. Whether you are filled with happiness or sadness – ENTER – feel welcome, knowing God’s house is also your house.

Inside the church, it was as if its huge space was drawing your eyes to the ceiling. There, painted clouds were surrounded with gold embossed angels. The gold did not stop there. The large statue of Jesus behind the altar was flanked with six angels connected to him by ribbons – all in gold.

Back in Levis, we finally got to take our bikes off the roof rack and pedal along the wide, smooth bike path that follows the St Lawrence – and get one last look of the old city from across the water. It sure is an amazing place.

Now we are off to the Maritimes Proper – New Brunswick here we come.

We have surprised ourselves by how much we have enjoyed doing this Blog. Hope you are enjoying it too. We love to hear from you.

Street scene Quebec

Old City - Quebec

Frontenac Cannons

The Wiebe Rig

Onscario

As we left Owen Sound the little squeak in the truck turned into the kind of noise that makes pedestrians stop walking and look around. The Ford Dealership in Barrie took the truck in to the repair shop immediately. In less than an hour and a half and $150 we were back on the road with a new universal joint.
Today is our last night in Ontario. The great lakes have been a real treat for us. I had an image of pollution but they are a glorious clear blue green. They have wind and waves and great expanses just like the ocean. We find ourselves (out of habit) looking for a whale blow or seals off shore. It just seems weird that it’s not salt.
We were sitting on a dock in Lake Simcoe watching the sun go down, sipping on a beverage, when a couple came down and started to chat to us. The conversation led to us telling them we were going Down East to the Maritimes.
“You go Down East – and Out West – what do you say when you go to Ontario?” they asked.
“I’d say I was going to Hell,” Jim replied.
Now that we have left Northern Ontario, we aren’t going to drive ten-hour days. Hopefully that should slow down the spending of money on gas. As Jim told Bob, “Perhaps when we were planning this trip, we should have notified OPEC so they could have ramped up oil production”.
I am sitting at our campsite (of the picture) on the banks of the St. Lawrence. Across the water lies Quebec. Jim was looking with binoculars.
“From here it doesn’t look evil,” he said. We go there tomorrow to spend a couple of nights in Quebec City.

Owen Sound/ Georgian Bay
When we were in the initial stages of planning this trip, we (or perhaps I should say – I), was considering moving to Owen Sound. My friend Brenda lives there. She would help me get work and provide a friendly face in a new town. I had listened to her wax poetic about the beauty of Georgian Bay, the Great Lakes and the Ontario Fall colours. I laid out my argument in favour of Owen Sound to Jim.
“There is a big problem with that Michelle,” he replied. “When we wake up in the mornings – we’d be living in – ONTARIO.”
As we came closer, we picked up some travel guides to Owen Sound and the Bruce Peninsular and began reading of the areas attributes.
“Cultural Capital of Canada – that’s what it says here,” Jim said as he pointed to the headline in the brochure. We drove through town, past the Tim Horton’s, past the ‘Old Time Tractor Pull’ and onto Brenda’s Place.
Brenda’s husband Ralph has a business buying and selling boats. We came at a good time. They are at present proud owners of a 32ft Trojan Motor Cruiser.
“Is this the biggest boat in the Harbour?” I asked Ralph as we met at the marina.
“If it’s not the biggest – it’s the tallest”.
Ralph was gassing up the boat. The $ sign flipped by 99 and back to 1 – through 99 again …. $315 later we were ready to head out.
“I’ve puked in many of the different oceans of the world but I don’t think I’ve ever thrown-up into a lake,” Jim said as we pulled out of the bay.
Brenda and I sat in the sunshine on the substantial expanse of deck. The fancy houses passed by as we headed up the bay. We began to get wet from the wind and the waves. We headed to the back deck. It was warmer there for a while then we began to be splashed again. We retreated to the fly bridge. The four of us sipped on beverages and munched on snacks and wondered what the poor people were doing.
Our destination was Lion’s Head. The entry to this small bay is lined with high pale cliffs. We watched the rock-climbers and then began to prepare for docking. I raked the back corners of my mind to remember the procedure.
“Wrap the line around the cleat as quick as you can. If you stand there and try to hold the boat yourself you’ll be ripped off the dock and into the harbour,” Ralph reminded us just before docking.
Good friends, good wine and the gentle lapping of water against the hull of a boat make for great meals and memorable evenings. Jim and I slept on the upper deck and had the door open looking at the stars till we fell asleep.
Leaving Lion’s head the next afternoon, we sat again on the deck of the boat and watched as the cliffs passed us by. Brenda asked Ralph if we could stop to swim and at Jackson bay we dropped anchor.
Jim was quickly up the ladder and hanging onto the outside of the fly-bridge. He dove the ten foot down into the water.
Brenda doesn’t think it is good for your heart to jump into cold water from a height first dive. She had a quick dip off the swim bridge and then climbed up to the fly bridge also. Splash and bubbles soon followed.
I hate to be outdone so I climbed the steps also, swung round the railing and … oh my, it seemed like a long way down. It was a long way in too – the water there was 85 feet deep.
“How far is this compared to the high tower diving in the Olympics?” I asked.
“You are on the three meter springboard – jump in,” was the reply from Jim.
Brenda and I later demonstrated synchronized diving off the back deck.
“No rip entry there,” Jim called out to us as we surfaced.
Jim then joined us in the water for synchronized swimming. I am not sure who was supposed to be ‘the little blue cow’.
That night at Brenda and Ralph’s we looked at a map to see exactly where we had gone. It was then I learned of the other name for Owen Sound (beside Cultural Capital of Canada). Get a map of Ontario and look at the southwest area closely. With little imagination it is the shape of an elephant. Windsor is it’s trunk, Niagara is its front feet. The Bruce Peninsula is its tail. Owen Sound is the significant indent at the base of the elephant’s tail.

The Elephant

Boating Brenda

Georgian Bay/Escarpment

King of the World