Toads Go East - Day 11

Ile D'Orleans as it should be

Tuesday.

We awoke to rain. Rain on rain. Measly single digit temperatures, too; we've camped in October in better weather than this. Everyone was tired from the previous day and even I was a comparative sluggardibed, using Towed Haul's facilities rather than the KOA's shower block. Today's options were a drive around the Ile D'Orleans or a day walking in Old Quebec City. I think you can work out which option we chose.

We didn't hit the road until about one in the afternoon, especially as breakfast had morphed into lunch. Not that it mattered because the grey skies were glowering and rain didn't look too far away. Why, I even stowed the awning before we left as the wind was getting decidedly blustery. August? Smaugust!

As soon as we hit the autoroute we were into a forest of orange cones, one that didn't really seem to dissipate until we left it just before we crossed onto the Island. To be fair, this part of the world has shocking winters and between December and April no outside work gets done as it's just too cold, so roads works are summer tasks and boy, were they busy! Mind you, the circulation was fluide so we made good time. We crossed the Pierre Laporte Bridge across the mighty St Lawrence River and went to the north side of the city before striking up the north bank of the river to the suspension bridge that links the island to the mainland. That bridge was alarmingly narrow for two lanes, especially with big trucks coming at you but we were soon on dry land and heading towards Sainte-Patronille on the southern tip of the island. The Ile (I don't know how to get this US English keyboard to put the circumflex, the ^ symbol, on the word Ile) is about 30 Km long by 2 Km wide and sits in the St Lawrence River. It was, I'm told, one of the first places that the great French explorer, Jacques Cartier, set up camp as he started to open up this part of North America to Europeans. Today the island is still farmed using the Seigneural System of land tenure where fields were made up in strips in each parish. Indeed, all the parishes still exist and you pass from one parish to the other as if they were small towns, Sainte-Patronille being one of them. This Seigneural System was how land was allotted in New France and in the Province of Quebec the evidence is still plain to see.

We drove around the island on the circular road that linked the parishes. The southern end, nearer Quebec City, was more monied and there was a mix of old French farmhouses and modern, expensive looking places, especially on the south-eastern side facing La Fleuve, the name the locals have for the main stream of the St Lawrence. Strawberries and raspberries seemed to be the main crop, at least in amongst the ubiquitous corn. As we made our way further north, the farms and houses became less expensive looking although each parish boasted it's own grand church and curiously it was the churches that were providing the only real places to park. 

At the northern end of the island we discovered a small rest area with a large wooden lookout tower that we were able to climb. From there were spectacular views up the St Lawrence river and especially of the mountains that flank the northern bank. The trouble was that the thick, grey cloud obscured almost all of it! we could just make out some of the ski areas on the slopes but most of what we could see was cloud. It was cold up there, too, although Mrs T is to be congratulated for climbing the many steps and the big tadpole for actually doing it at all as he's not good with heights.

Down the north west of the island we hit yet more road works but continued on to complete a circuit. We'd been looking for an ATM as we had no Canadian money at all, but apart from the one I drove past (much to Mrs T's chagrin) on the other side of the island, we hadn't found a single one. At the one set of permanent traffic lights on the island, I was waiting on red, signalling right and looking at a gas station across the road when I realised that it did have an ATM. Unfortunately, in the process of my discovery, the lights had gone green and the guy behind let out a long blast on his horn, no doubt cursing the tourists from Ontario. Stung by the sound, I shot forward, not turning right, and just across the junction turned left into the gas station, feeling ever so slightly harassed. This would be an opportune moment to mention that the drivers in both New England and Quebec display a marked lack of patience when they perceive that they are being delayed for anything more than a millisecond.  Downtown Boston was a cacophony of car horns and Quebec wasn't much better. Still, it's the duty of dawdling tourists to upset the local racing drivers.

So, armed with some Canadian dollars, Mrs T enquired of the best place to get Poutine, that local Quebec delicacy (French fries and cheese curds smothered in a thick beef gravy). The nice lady in the gas station suggested the best place was three minutes away on the other side of the island or one minute away on the approach to the bridge. She recommended the three minute trip, so off we went up the hill, on the look out for the Cafe D'Ete. I drove past it once, went a way down the road looking for somewhere safe to turn around and was further harassed by the local drivers as they attempted to drive over the top of me as I drove along looking. I did eventually turn around and drove back to the place only to find the little shop was open but not the Friterie. Double grrrr. In my now agitated state, not helped by the grumbling tummies of my traveling companions, I turned out onto the road onto the wrong side. I haven't done that in a while and no one else in the car spotted it until a big pick up truck came down the road straight at me! A quick drop into reverse and back into the cafe's car park and we were safe but goodness knows what the truck driver thought. 

Composure regained, we went back to the Friterie at the bridge approach but, as we rolled to a stop, a woman called out to us that the place was "no good". Mrs T made an executive decision to press on and we left the island in a state of confusion.

Just over the bridge were the Montmorency Falls, a big waterfall that was visible from the road but looked like it needed exploring. It was gone five by now and as we turned into the Montmorency Park were confronted with an $11 parking charge. At that time of the evening it was too rich so we, and others behind us, did a u-turn and headed out. We set course for the Provigo grocery store that was nearest to the KOA and promised ourselves a sit down meal in a local restaurant. Inevitably we hit the cones on the autoroute, and some circulation that wasn't fluide at all; well, it was rush hour, in the road works and there had been an accident. 

The Satnav dropped us off the autoroute at Saint-Foy and up the road we needed. As we turned into yet another forest of cones we realised that it was in fact a route barre and was blocked. Now I know that I'm not always that observant but I didn't see a single sign to indicate that the road was blocked, nor that there was a diversion in place. Had the locals been playing silly buggers with the signage? On turning around, we did find the diversion signs some way down the road and then made an alternative route to our intended destination.

It turned out that we were in the Laval University district and the street that the store was on had a number of reasonable restaurants. We chose one and whilst it wasn't cheap it was pleasant and the waitress spoke impeccable English for us, which certainly took the stress out of the event, and indeed out of the day. We gave her a big tip.

Shopping was achieved with minimal fuss, although for about the twentieth time that day I found myself apologising for my poor French and trying to get people to speak English. Actually, everyone bar the checkout operator in the store has had a go at speaking English, with no complaint at all; I'm hoping it's because I do at least try to speak a bit of French, even if it's to say that I don't understand! It was a pleasure to be able to buy wine and beer in the grocery store; Quebec's legislators need to be talking to their counterparts in Ontario to get them to see sense.

What with the traffic and the road works, we decided to call in at the KOA store on the way back in to book seats on the shuttle bus into town tomorrow. It'll certainly save us a lot of stress trying to park, or even to get there, so the $56 will be well spent, I think. The KOA store was actually very well stocked, with wine and beer as well as all the camping stuff; we were very impressed.

At about bedtime the rain started up again, and we settled in with the hope that our trip into town wasn't going to a wash out. Here's hoping!

More tomorrow, Toad fans.