Route 132

September 13, 2012

Yesterday was another interesting day.  Still, it shocks me to think all of this was here and I did not know it.  It’s so beautiful and interesting just about everywhere all the time. We spent 3 days in Caraquet, NB.  It is located along the northern shore of the province and is mostly French speaking.  We scheduled a hair cutting appointment with a friend of the woman running the campsite.  We set out to a village 20 minutes away.  We are irritable due to rushing and taking care of business in the morning.  I feel like I’m dragging Neal, but we all need to get hair cuts, so I hope we find this place and it all works out.  

After a few missed turns we find her.  She has a business out of house as many Canadians do.  A small salon in a room near the entrance in her pleasant, modern home.  She cuts all our hair and does a very good job.  Even Neal gets his hair cut.  All of us for 45 canadian dollars (roughly the equivalent of US dollars.) She won’t accept a tip. She tells us she is 5th generation, at least, French Acadian from this area.  She speaks English well.

Finally off to our new destination.  We are headed along the coast through the small villages of northwest New Brunswick.  We stop for gas and at the convenience store - english again!  This, while headed from one french speaking region to another.  We cross a river and we are in Quebec.  Information Center closed, signs only in French.  We ask for  directions and begin winding up a forested road - this feels and smells like the Alps.  All tall pines and fresh air.  But as we wind up, up, up we also realize we must be off track.  We should be on 132 - a major highway.  We should have seen a sign for it by now. Instead, we are passing signs that seem to be saying Steep!  Falling Rocks!  Caution!  This is not 132. We reach a plateau and farmlands.  At a crossroad village with a church we stop and ask for help.  An older woman approaches us from across the intersection. She sees that we’re lost and is coming to help! I smile and wave enthusiastically.  This encourages her.  But apparently she was just crossing the intersection to get to the store and when we ask her for help,  she gestures a bit irritably to ask in the store.  The storekeeper is very helpful and between my few phrases in French and some gesturing and writing, we are told kindly, we need to take a right and a left to get back to 132 West.  

With the new directions, we travel on,  right, left, got it.  Where are we? We are still uncertain about the directions, given the language barrier, but I am enjoying the fresh air and the feeling that I am in the foothills of the Italian Alps. We do find 132 and now go down a spectacular forested road along the Salmon River where we see extravagantly  geared fisherman preparing to fish for salmon.  I’m driving the RV now for the first time.  It’s really no problem on straight roads.  We have the feeling again, of a big adventure, not knowing where we are or where our next campground will be but excited by the unexpected beauty. It’s marvelous. Of course, we will find a campground, but there hasn't been one for a while. 

We  do come across a small campground and stop. The manager of the campground speaks a few words of English.  After my experiences with French over the last week, I have downloaded some French language Apps and am trying to get the pronunciation down.  (Thanks Mona for the impromptu lessons long ago that I have still not forgotten). And there is always the tried and true method of bilingualism - using English and Italian words and giving them a French pronunciation. I’m surprised at the phrases I come up with.  Unfortunately, they make no sense to the confused people I’m speaking with who look at me blankly or gesture frantically at their spouses for help.

We find some tourism literature (all in French) at the campground and now realize the area we have driven through is a popular recreational region called “La Matapedia” where people come to ski, fish, hike, and snowmobile.

September 14, 2012

Overnight we fall into a deep sleep in the cold mountain air but are awakened by passing trains that blow their horns and logging trucks rattling along the road during the night.  We still wake up refreshed in the morning and head forward on 132.  This is the road to the St. Lawrence River and when we reach it, we will be at the northerly most part of our trip before turning southwest.  

Now the road has changed with lots of villages, farms and low country. Today is a day for grocery shopping and gas.  All of this is expensive in Canada.  Gas is the equivalent of roughly $6 a gallon.  A rotisserie chicken is $9. We fill up fridge and tank and then turn southwesterly along the river. It feels disappointing.  It’s a bit overcast and cold.  We stop at a Museum on the river outside a small city called Rimouski.  It holds a de-commissioned submarine built in 1965.  This stop is more for the kids than us.  They enjoy the sub and touch every single gadget  they can put their hands on. Apparently, it’s permitted.  Phillip still manages to pull a label off a dial that has the distinct look of having been glued there in 1965.  On the road again we begin to look for a campground. Now it’s late and it’s cold out.  We find a waterfront campground and stop.  We play with the kids at a playground that has seen better days.  I’m weary. I make dinner and we get the kids to bed.  It was a tiring day.  But this is how travel is.  It’s choppy.  It’s always changing. If today wasn’t so great just wait for tomorrow, it holds something new.