The Navigators’ Route (part 2)

Posted on 13. Jul, 2008 by Kerry Banks in Writing from the road

It is still raining, but not quite so heavily, a distinction that is probably lost on the soggy cyclists that we pass, struggling east on Route 132. This stretch of highway, hugging the south shore of the St. Lawrence River, is known as the Navigators’ Route. The cylists could use a navigator today. A heavy mist has descended, so thick that we can’t see the horizon. “Pea soup,” says Cinda, which seems appropriate. The inclement weather is bothering Richard. This is the Frenchman’s second visit to Canada. His first, to Alberta, was also plagued by grey skies. He glimpsed the sun only once on that trip. He sits slumped in the back of the van and moans, “Le soleil! Le soleil! Ou est le soleil?”

You have to feel for Richard. He speaks little English and likely enlisted for this tour because he figured he would be in familiar surroundings–travelling in a French-speaking province with a French-speaking guide. Unfortunately for him, he has hooked up with three Western Canadians who can barely string two sentences together en francais. Our guide, Suzie, gamely tries to interpret, switching from French to English and back again. The exchanges make for some amusing word play. At one point, Suzie explains that the easiest way to learn a foreign language is to have a lover who speaks it. “Le langue de l’amour,” she says, “the tongue of love.” This provokes a round of laughter, since the phrase’s meaning in English is not quite the same thing.

Richard and Suzie both find the English language unattractive and difficult. When I first learned English it felt like I was speaking with a potato in my mouth,” she states.

Our route winds through a landscape of rolling green farmland, dotted with farms and wooden cottages. From time to time we pass monadnocks, strange rock formations that jut suddenly upward from the plain. Often called “coffins of the giants,” their unusually solid quartzite formation explains how they were able to withstand glacial erosion. We stop in the resort town of Kamouraska (population 715), where we visit a general store, soap shop and bakery. Along the coastline here, nets used to ensnare eels are perched over wooden stakes stretching several metres long. The town, which boasts a waterfront promenade, quays and fine old ancestral homes, is best known in English Canada because of the 1970 Anne Hebert novel Kamouraska, and the Claude Jutra film of the same name, which were both based on a murder that occurred here in 1839. But Kamouraska also produced two famous Quebecers: Adolphe-Basile Routhier and Rene Chaloult.

Routhier, a judge and author, wrote the original French lyrics for the National Anthem, “O Canada.” Interestingly, those lyrics, penned in 1880, do not resemble the English version, which went through several versions before finally being officially adopted in 1980. Routhier’s song begins:

“O Canada! Land of our forefathers
Thy brow is wreathed with a glorious garland of flowers.
As in thy arm ready to wield the sword,
So also is it ready to carry the cross.
Thy history is an epic of the most brilliant exploits.
Will protect our homes and our rights
Will protect our homes and our rights.”

Chaloult, a member of the Quebec legislature, designed the Quebec provincial flag, the Fleurdelise. Unveiled by the province on January 21, 1948, it was the first provincial flag to be officially adopted in Canada. The Fleurdelise is highly visible today in Quebec. Many of the homes fly it proudly, proclaiming a keen sense of individual identity. It’s a startling departure from what I am used to. You rarely ever see provincial flags in the other Canadian provinces, unless you happen to be standing outside city hall or a courthouse. In fact, I can’t recall ever seeing a B.C. flag attached to a home. But here they flutter in abundance, outnumbered only by the wild roses strewn along the roadside.

The other distinctive feature of the settlements we pass is the pervasive presence of the Roman Catholic Church. In every town the largest building is a house of worship, invariably topped with a slender, grey Gothic steeple. However, the presence is largely historical. Today, only seven percent of the Quebec population under 35 who call themselves Roman Catholic, still go to church on a regular basis.

In the afternoon we stop at Vin Artisanal le Pacomois (Pacomois Artisan Wine) where we sample wines made from strawberries, raspberries and blueberries. It’s a boutique winery, producing 10,000 bottles a year. Despite the small scale, things can get very busy here during summer. Our hosts, Robert and Natalie Vallier tell us that they often have people lined up eight rows deep at their tasting bar.

The title of our media tour is “Charming Inns” and we’ll be staying at several of them during the week. The first night’s stop is at Auberge La Solaillerie in St. Andre-de-Kamouraska. Erected in 1892, the beautiful white heritage house has its own chapel attached to the main floor. The place is filled with antiques and assorted art objects. One of its more eccentric attractions is a huge safe in one of the two dining rooms. The owners are chef Jean-Marc Baup and his wife Therese Servant. They bought the house in 2007, moving here from Paris, to fulfill their dream of running an inn. Baup, a burly bearded man, modestly claims that he is not a technical genius in the kitchen, but that he “has a passion for food.” His passion is evident at dinner. The food is delicious. You would definitely run the risk of putting on a few pounds if you ate here every night. The menu employs local products (lamb, duck, game, fish, seafood), organic vegetables from their garden, wild mushrooms and wild edibles picked along the St. Lawrence and home-smoked salmon.

Maybe it’s the wine talking, but I find that some of my old high school French is slowly emerging from hibernation. Eager to try some new phrases, I take a stab at ”I’m full.” When Therese comes by our table and offers us more coffee, I pipe up. “No merci, je suis plein.” This causes Suzie to convulse in giggles. Evidently “plein” means full for everything but the stomach. Says Suzie, ”What you said, was ‘No thanks, I’m pregnant.’”

(To be continued …)

Photo Credits:

1. Pointe Ouest
2. BBCanada.com