The Maple Leaf Forever - Hah!

June 1-3, 2006

Before leaving Ontario, we went into the little village of St. Albert to visit their cheese factory. It is a very French town and you’d have thought we were in Quebec. St. Albert Fromage is the only privately owned cheese factory left in the district. Big conglomerates like Kraft have bought the rest out. We loaded up on cheeses of all kinds including a bag of curds, a Quebecois delicacy and a hot loaf of freshly baked French bread – we are cheeseaholics! Guess what we had for lunch with a full-bodied red wine.

The temperature was more moderate, puffy clouds decorated the sky and the smog was not so obvious, after the wind and rain of the prior night. No sooner had we crossed the border to Quebec, Fernie was cursing “Les maudit tete de vache!” I’m not sure why he called everyone a meathead or more literally “damn cow head” but it remained his favourite expression while we drove through the province.He did finally admit to me that it didn’t matter how nice the Quebecois were to him, he hated their political stance and did not want to linger or spend money in the province. I, of course persuaded him to visit awhile in Montreal and Quebec City. As to the area where his father’s family originated – around Chicoutimi – we visited the district about fifteen years ago, didn’t like the attitude of the locals and he didn’t want to return. I do remember that there were thousands of Boivins in the phone book probably all related to him but he says he doesn’t care. I told him to just tell them that he’s a Boivin and they would welcome him. He says if they can’t be nice to him without knowing his name, he’s not interested in them.


Noticeably absent in Quebec was the Maple Leaf flag of Canada even in Montreal. The blue and white cross and fleur-de-lis flag was displayed prominently almost everywhere. The only Canadian flags we saw were on Walmart – Vive Walmart! and on Federal buildings.Fernie approached the store manager of the Walmart in St Eustache a northern suburb of
Montreal and asked him
“Veuillez pouvoir nous garons notre motorhome durant la nuit dans votre stationnement sort?“
He replied with a smile
“Aaah – Winnebago eh?”
I guess Winnebago is the generic term for motorhome.
“Oui, certainment – as long as you ‘ave dejeuner at MacDonalds in the morning”
Fernie naturally concurred.
“You won’t ‘ave any trouble in Quebec Walmarts when you want to park your Winnebago” he continued.
As Fernie walked away, he heard the manager say to his assistant “Les Etats Unis” not knowing Fernie could understand.

I’ve visited Montreal quite a few times in the past and yet I’m still enamoured by its Parisienne style. That never changes. I love so many things about this atmospheric city.




· The rows of walk-up apartments on shady tree-lined streets some with ornate balustrades, filigree balconies and quirky turrets.
· The little sidewalk cafes and quaint shops in the various neighbourhoods.
· People live outside on the streets, in the cafes, bars and parks. (summertime only)
· Its Parisienne atmosphere.
· Beautiful young women in skirts riding bikes with flowers and bread in their baskets.
· Young men in berets.
· An older man and a beautiful young woman on a bench in the middle of a busy square kissing passionately.
· A young lithe couple in matching striped tight shirts; he with hair cropped close to the scalp and she with a short angular hairstyle.
· Street musicians in unexpected corners of the city. One lone fiddler playing classical violin with no one around. The melancholy sound echoed through the alleyways.
· Ville Marie, Vieux Montreal – a historic district with flare and panache (hope that’s not redundant.

We had Caesar with us when we strolled through the streets of Ville Marie so we couldn’t sit in one of the charming little bistros; instead we had ‘frites avec poutine’ on the waterfront. The temperature was perfect shirtsleeve weather.

The gay district of Montreal at the eastern end of Rue Ste. Catherine is the most flamboyant and vibrant gay area you can imagine. Patrons of the open bars and restaurants flowed noisily into the streets, drinking, smoking and just plain having fun and a lot of l’amour - naturellement.

Our tow hitch is still giving us trouble. When reading the manual, we discovered that it needs dis-assembly, cleaning and lubing inside, but we don’t have the tools (or expertise) to do it. We called the manufacturer in Iowa and they referred us to the Quebec distributor who in turn referred us to “Charest, Experts” in Trois Rivieres. Wouldn’t you know it, les Charest said they couldn’t work on a 31-foot motorhome – too big. So why are they the experts on RV tow bars when they can’t service big RV’s? It’s Friday now – guess we’ll find somewhere on Monday.

In spite of the remark by the Walmart manager in St. Eustache, we did have trouble at a Walmart in Quebec City. There were huge bi-lingual (the only time we saw a bi-lingual sign in Quebec) signs in the parking lot blaming La Ville du Quebec followed by an apology from Walmart – aren’t they nice folks? We made a phone call to the Walmart in Beauport, only five miles further along but outside the city limit and they welcomed us with open arms and friendliness but a scarcity of Anglaise.

The first afternoon, we went on a hunt for a homemade tourtiere at les boucheries. We found sugar pies but no tourtiere except for a frozen President’s Choice one. And there was no pea soup anywhere. I guess we’ll have to go to one of the tourist restaurants in the old town to have a traditional Quebec meal. The hunt turned out to be fun though. One supermarket we stopped at had a saxophonist roaming the aisles. Where else could you have so much fun food shopping. We got a bit lost touring the little curvy streets and we eventually had to retrace our steps. It’s hard when you don’t have a map. A funny thing I noticed about the old houses – they were all built at a 45-degree angle to the road making for a strange looking arrangement. I wonder what the reason for that was.

I am feeling like a pariah here. I can’t engage anyone in conversation and it’s killing me. We were being voyeurs at the scene of a bad motor vehicle accident, when a man spoke to me – I so much wanted to talk to him but I just answered “Je ne parle pas Francais”. He understood me so I guess my phrasing was close to right. Fernie makes constant fun of my attempts to pronounce French Canadian but I just tell him that I could laugh at some of his English – like ‘nord’. Also, my school written French has stuck with me enough that I sometimes know the correct word that he can’t remember.

One thing that’s really been obvious to us on this journey, is that nomadic RVer’s like ourselves have to accept all sorts of weather from freezing to boiling; from humid to arid; storms – rain, snow, ice, thunder, wind. It seems the weather is constantly changing – cyclically – except I don’t suppose we’ll see snow or ice again on this trip.

On our second day in Quebec City, we awoke to a typical Vancouver day – overcast and rain, off and on. The trouble was the rain got worse as the day wore on but it wasn’t cold. So strolling through “Vieux Quebec” was not as pleasant as it could have been. The wind was high right on the St. Lawrence River and it drove the rain hard. What was nice though is that there was no cruise ship in port and only a couple of tour buses, so it was far from crowded. We’ve visited Quebec before so the Citadel, Chateau Frontenac, et al were a bit ‘déjà vu’. Fernie, still on the hunt for a tourtiere, spied ‘Le Marche’ just a mile or so away from old town. It was primarily a flower market but he found his tourtiere, which we had for dinner later and it was superb.

A rainy day – what to do? Ah Hah! A visit to Costco, just like at home. I absolutely adore Costco – I’m addicted. We really went there to inflate the Honda’s tires, which are filled with nitrogen – only Costco uses it rather than air. Our tires lost about two pounds each across Canada. I came out of Costco with new shoes (a travelling show), jeans, wine, cheese, etc. etc. The nice part is I used our Costco cash card from Fernie’s retirement present.

We were parked near a big Cineplex complex so thought we’d enjoy seeing a film that evening, but all films were ‘French spoken over English’ and we figured it would be much too hard to understand so passed on it. Instead we took a drive to L’Ile d’Orleans and what a charming island it was. We enjoyed our time there far more than the tourist trap of Vieux Quebec. At the western end of the island is the little village of Ste. Petronille. Most of the island is designated agricultural and the ‘fermes’ are owned by families that have passed them on from generation to generation but Ste. Petronille is full of upscale homes, in the traditional Quebec styles; stone houses with red ‘ski-jump’ roofs predominate. Verdant with trees and shrubs on curving narrow lanes, homes fronted by vast lawns stood serenely at the end of long driveways, overlooking the St. Lawrence River and the hills beyond. At the end of the island, there was a terrific view of the city over the tremendous width of the river. Touring the agricultural end of the island gave us a different aspect of the culture. We traipsed through cemeteries and found that certain family names appeared over and over. The oldest church on the island, Eglise de Sainte Famille, was built in 1743. The same family names could be seen on the silos that were branded with the owners’ names; i.e. Ferme de Pierre et Marie Turcotte.

We left Quebec City on a beautiful day crossing the St. Lawrence to take Hwy 20 northeast along the river to Riviere-du-Loup where we headed inland to New Brunswick on Hwy 185.. It was a lovely drive but Fernie was in a hurry to leave Quebec. It drove him mad that he had to buy gas in the province but we couldn’t last until New Brunswick.

The price of gas was higher in Quebec. $1.08/L around Montreal; $1.11/L in Quebec City. The lowest we’ve found in Canada was in Toronto at $.893/L. I don’t think we’ll see that again.

We crossed into New Brunswick and were delighted to see the huge Maple Leaf flag at the border info centre. New Brunswick, while very French, is proud of its bi-lingual culture and the info centre clerks exuded warm friendliness. Free internet access at several computer stations was a nice touch too.