The Enchanted Island

Saturday morning, we switched from one hotel to the other. Since checkout was 11am and check-in was 3pm, we had several hours to kill. I wasn't keen on traipsing round on foot for that amount of time, with 2 dogs in tow on a hot day, on the eve of a marathon run, so after I went and collected my race kit at the expo, we decided to take the car and head over to the Île d'Orléans for a drive around the island.

Île d'Orléans sits in the middle of the St Lawrence River, just a few kilometres east of Quebec City. It's 34km long and 8km wide, and it's known as the ''Garden of Québec'' because it is covered in farms, vineyards and fruit orchards. It's also incredibly picturesque, with rolling hills, distinctive architecture, and water views at every turn. 

Île d'Orléans also has an important place in folk tales of the region: it was thought to be inhabited by witches (sorcières): in the early days of the colony, the people of Quebec City would anxiously await the arrival of few-and-far-between supply and troop boats from France. The habitants of Île d'Orléans were navigators, and often ranged long distances in their fishing. In consequence, the colonists often turned to them for prognostications on when ships would arrive. Sometimes their guesses were accurate, and so they came to be regarded as clairvoyants.

Also, in the old days, there was an abundant eel fishery in the waters around the island, and the tides dictated the best fishing times. When all of the fishermen were out at their docks at night, holding torches to light their way, the people of Quebec City would look up the river and see feux follets - dancing lights, like fireflies, all over the island, and thus the will-o'-the-wisp legend was born.

Here, then, are a set of photos from our sunshiny tour of the island, including (naturally) a detour to the St Lawrence for a swim for the dogs. The distant mountains in some of the later pictures are the Laurentians; some of Mont Ste-Anne's ski runs are also visible. The large church nestled at the bottom of the mountains is Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupré.

Although the main point of going to Quebec City was for me to run the marathon, we did manage to pack in a fair bit of sightseeing and photography, so I am going to spend the next few posts journaling about what we saw and did.

And of course, the dogs came along with us. We found a couple of wonderful, pet-friendly (sister) hotels in the heart of the Old City, and the dogs were welcomed with open arms, this despite the fact that I'd hedged (quite admirably, in French, where number and gender actually dictate a changed spelling of the word) about having not one but two canines along for the ride. (I've been born and bred into this: years ago, my family used to rent a condo in Florida every summer, and for several years we had three dogs - two yellow Labs and a black Lab. The condo limit was two. So we made sure to only ever walk one yellow dog and one black dog together).

Quebec wasn't the only choice as a late-summer marathon for me, nor was it the closest nor the easiest in terms of terrain. But the city holds a very special place in my heart: exactly 30 years ago, I had been very ill, and had just come out of an extended hospital stay. It was late May, and the school year was almost over. The powers that be at the school board had somehow come to the surprisingly benevolent decision to credit me with my final high school year, even though I did not quite complete it, and I think my parents thought that the best thing for me was a complete change of scenery. So my mother and I took the train to Quebec City and spent several days visiting and learning and falling in love with the place. Years later, I ended up choosing a Quebec City author and his oeuvre as the subject of my doctoral thesis, and spending several years researching and writing about Quebec. Through study of his writing and that of other Québécois authors, I came to feel like Quebec was an imaginary second home.

Quebec is about 850 km from where we live, so it was going to be a full day's drive, and when we left on Friday, we ended up dealing with Friday rush-hour traffic not only in Ottawa, but in Montréal as well. What should have been a 9 hour trip ended up being closer to 11 hours. 

In the morning, just before our departure, Tim, who has just recently returned to the art of blacksmithing after a nearly decade-long hiatus, was perusing an online forum about his métier, and he noticed an ad from someone selling all of his equipment and supplies along the lines of ''everything must go''. Tim immediately recognized the seller as a former mentor and close friend who, like so many others in the life we all lead today, had become a name on a Christmas card list, an annual hello. Tim was concerned why his friend was selling up, and he called and left a voicemail to that effect. A couple of hours into our drive, a call came through on bluetooth, and we learned that M had been diagnosed with cancer six weeks ago, and there is only one outcome. He asked us to drop by and see him when we came back from our trip. He was cheerful and upbeat, his usual self, but the gravitas was palpable.

We spent a lot of time in silence after that phone call, each grappling with the news, circling back to it as the kilometres rolled endlessly by. 

We made pit stops along the way, including this rather uninspired one, just outside the East gate of Algonquin provincial park, just after we'd learned the sobering news. The dogs managed to trample the geraniums quite marvellously.

We arrived in Quebec City well after dark, and after having walked the dogs, we went for a wander. The place was still pulsing with activity and people, and the sidewalk cafés were crammed with late-night diners and drinkers. It was a balmy night, and many, many people were out and about, enjoying the street performers and watching the artists at work. I've chosen to post this set largely in black and white because I loved the look when I processed them.

That night, at the end of our long journey, walking around in the warm embrace of a summer's night, in a postcard-beautiful, vibrant, historic city, I reminded myself that moments really are made to be savoured and treasured and lived, while we have them.

Thanks for the memories. And the lactic acid.

Now, the long drive home.