Civilization is good.
Ed and I pull out of Baie Comeau and, wow, what a difference...paved roads, people, stores, towns...it's all coming back now. The road to Quebec City is excellent...mostly two lanes through little towns near the water. At one point, the Garmin takes us inland over rolling hills and more towns...beautiful. Two hours into the drive, we discover that we have another ferry to take...this one across Baie St. Catherine...it's fast, fun and, best of all, free.Fifteen miles or so north of Quebec, we get on a real freeway...with four lanes and exits...wow!
Our campground is on the south bank of the St. Lawrence, so I get to drive over a particularly tall and scary bridge...nice. At the KOA, we find that things are pretty booked because there is a week-long festival in Quebec City celebrating history and culture from the 1700 and 1800's. But Ed and I are able to use our great skills at speaking French to charm the campground manager, and she gets us a nice spot for four whole days.
For dinner, it's more fried bologna...this time with some spicy Indonesian noodles...it's "fusion cuisine" for campers. Sparkling wine is the obvious choice here, so Ed and I celebrate our return to civilization with a cold bottle of Domaine Chandon Blanc de Noirs...it tastes really, really good.
And...tomorrow, we'll be in the "old city" eating authentic Bistro food...I can hardly sleep!
Ed's Sidebar, Days 47-50:
Sunday, a day of rest and laundry. I have one eye swollen shut. We are nearly out of ammo to fight the black flies. Come morning we will withdraw along Trail 389 toward Baie Comeau and safety. Once out of reach of black flies, we will declare victory over the Labrador Highway and all its allies.
We hear coyotes almost every night. Their howls sound the same across the lake or from the ridge as any other coyote from Colorado to Arizona. The Atlantic coyote, though, has interbred with wolves. In this regard, the horse-drawn carriage has met the gasoline engine.
We drove a gravel road again through mountains of fox and porcupine in late afternoon. One fox stared at me, a squirrel in its teeth as we passed. --One summer I held a sausage in its bun while Larry's dog meandered through my yard.
There is no dark like the dark of a moonless Labrador, where the loon answers the coyote's call at exactly twilight.
Six weeks in the woods.
I do not care if I see
Hansel and Gretel.
I left nothing of myself in Quebec City on my last visit about 35 years ago. Now I see the skyline of Chateau Frontenac again. Je me souviens!
Fried baloney and spicy noodles 'en terrain du camp ce soir'--simple French fare, trapper's fare is our lot. Beaver pelts our unlikely reward.
For purposes of this study we have removed the English language. Also the black flies. We have added only two mosquitoes and less temperature to avoid the misconception of summer. Other controls remain the same, the wind, the clouds, the gathering rain, the cold nights. Our subject rummages the camper maze again. Mittens were not added. He finds an oven glove, tries it on.
Misc...
You won't find hominy in Goose Bay, Labrador. Don't ask for Tabasco sauce in Labrador City. You can't roller skate in a caribou herd. Not that we saw any caribou.
Handy guide...
To convert Celsius to Farenheit, multiply by two and add thirty. To convert hectares to calories, reduce heat and simmer a million years. Note there will be fewer calories per gallon in Quebec than in Tampa. This should not dissuade the serious chef.
They should post a warning about the genetically-altered mosquitoes here. I took a swat at one in the shower and it only laughed. At what, I do not know.
Ed's Sidebar, Day 51:
A mosquito is in my wine, its oil slick slowly spreading. 'Interesant,' I say, trying out my latest Francaise. The mosquito does not reply. Nine at night and I still see frost on my breath in August. A mosquito does not care.
Ed's Sidebar, Day 52:
Dear reader, he puts down, home to Tampa tomorrow and it has been, how shall I say, an interesting, which is not to say particularly, he puts down, enjoyable, though anything can be enjoyed once the shock of it is embraced, seven weeks in the wilderness. Plus Quebec City, the Paris of North America. A contrast like that is good. Contrast is a space-fossil headline, the black fly in a sock, a maple leaf found between the pages of a book years later. C'est finis, good bye for now.
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