The régions of Quebec are a special place. They are the province's biggest power reserve - in more senses than one - and in my opinion, a society nigh on impossible for an outsider to truly comprehend. The further you get away from Montreal, the less likely it is anyone will come to your rescue in English; the more you feel that the odd clues here and there hinting that you're still in Canada (Postes Canada, Radio Canada) are little more than niceties put there by some well-meaning old soul who sincerely believed in a truly bilingual Canadian Dream; if you don't have a car, your self-esteem pretty much drops below the negatives, because there is some gorgeous stuff out there but there are no buses or anything so you can't help but feel like maybe you're not allowed it.
The province is so vast that of course I haven't been everywhere. But I was keen to revisit one place and try out another.
As explained here, I lived in Rimouski for a little while around three years ago and left abruptly. I approached going back like visiting an ex I had some leftover beef with.
My carshare driver from Montreal was 30 minutes late arriving at the pick-up point and on the way, made jokes about me needing bathroom stops and whose slapdash driving caused other drivers to make wtf motions with their hands (luckily there was another, equally bewildered passenger in the car to witness the antics).
|Pit stop at the famous fromagerie in Trois-Pistoles, an hour or so from Rimouski|
Nevertheless, we all arrived in Rimouski alive and I checked into a motel. Yes, a motel. That night, I went to François' place for a big vegan Indian dinner with some people which was really nice and fun and helped me feel a little less lost.
|I count scratchy motel decor among life's little luxuries.|
I spent the next day wandering around Rimouski's main thoroughfares, checking out old haunts and doing exciting things like laundry.
As always, with the evening came the most spectacular sunset - the kind that makes you think the world is ending. I recalled how I used to walk along the littoral in the evening, looking at the colours in the sky when things got too much, telling myself that even if I wasn't happy, at least there was this beautiful nature. For this reason it was even a little distressing to sit there, listening to music that had been released since I had left Rimouski and therefore hadn't yet had the chance to get melancholy associations stuck on it.
I returned to Montreal very early the next day and was kind of glad. I am now able to view Rimouski subjectively, which I suppose was the goal.
"Why are you going there?" people asked me. True, Trois-Rivières may be unassuming to those who are either more urbanly inclined or want stunning natural sights. My original plan had been to go much further north, such as to Rouyn-Noranda, but my budget was fading fast. I'd heard talk of Trois-Rivières, though, and was curious. It's located smack bang between Montreal and Quebec City.
I got a carshare again with possibly the nicest, most uncomplicated driver I've had (even from carsharing all the time when living there). I stayed in the HI Hostel.
Trois-Rivières was bigger than anticipated. There's the downtown and old town bit, next to the river - but that's only half the story. A lot of stuff is actually at the other side of the highway that runs through, near to the university. This made things a bit difficult to plan, admittedly, so I only ventured out there once.
|View over the St Lawrence looking west|
|I came to Quebec in September for fall foliage. Apart from these, I left empty-handed.|
|Femme American Football LP|
As you can see from these impressions, it's a nice place; I found it quite atmospheric.
Café Frida (15 Rue des Forges)
No joke: this is one of the loveliest cafés/restaurants I have ever been to (just got done writing an email to the owner to let her know this). I think this is because of the lovely staff and its kind of maritime-meets-hip vibe. The food is all vegetarian so I went there for brunch. In the evening I returned and drank a couple of craft beers while writing. There was a screen projecting The National's documentary followed by the latest Nick Cave one. Just so nice.
|Vegan huevos rancheros as part of Café Frida's amazing veggie brunch range menu|
Éléphant (830 Boulevard des Recollets)
I literally trekked 4km - crossing aforementioned highway - to get to the only Indian restaurant in the region of Mauricie. The servers were amazingly friendly and curious about where I came from, but not in an imposing way. I had roasted chickpeas to start with and rose petal lemonade - both of which were absolute firsts for me and both of which reignited my faith in, well, food. Then I had a curry. Then I walked 4km back to my dorm.
Le temps d'une pinte (1465 Rue Notre Dame Centre)
A microbrewery I came across quite by accident. It was a good place to get a midday beer - a Berliner Weiße, specifically. Ha.
I thought about it and if I had to return to la belle province - and wasn't allowed to live to Montreal - this would be my pick. Getting to either surrounding bigger city takes less than a couple of hours and is quite affordable (around $30 one way by bus - a mode of transport usually notoriously expensive). Going by all the posters around town, there is a scene, too; it was just too bad it was all happening just after I left! Also, its inhabitants are called Trifluvien(ne)s! Mark my words, guys. Trois-Rivières, next big thing.
In general, I was reminded of inconvenient things about day-to-day life in Quebec: the complicated politics tipping in basically any customer service situation; the need for a car; drinking outside of a licenced establishment being frowned upon. I seemed to remember that living there gave me a kind of muggy feeling in my brain all the time. So I was absolved of negative feelings and happy to be living where I am living now. I did hurt my neck looking desperately down out of the plane window at the night lights of Montreal as I left, though, aware that this might be our last goodbye.
Quant à mon français? Well, I only really got used to speaking - and thinking - in French after about a week. Up until then, whenever I searched for a French word, I got a German one instead. Or sometimes I said sentences with French words but a German construction. I found it maddening and I had a lot of self-doubt; what if it's impossible to be truly trilingual?
After I felt reasonably comfortable in French again, a few days later, it was time to return home. Annoying. One observation I can make is that in smaller places, people won't ask if you'd prefer to speak in English - but rather whether they should speak to you in French slower. I think this is a solution that makes everyone happy. I brought back some Québécois literature with me to inspire me to keep up my French when I arrived back in Berlin.
Overall, there is the knowledge that this was the last big trip I'll be able to take in a long while. As I go further into my 20s, life is costing more: various direct debit payments, contributions to my pension fund now being taken from my paycheque, even my bank sent me a letter the other day saying my current account will now cost €3/month. A measly amount, I suppose, but what the hell is the alternative? Request to get paid in cash and store it under your mattress?
There is one more thing I feel it's important to mention: I flew with WowAir and I wouldn't recommend it - not for a transatlantic flight, at least. Its two big pluses had been the low price and flying via Iceland (which I have always wanted to visit and even though I wouldn't actually be in Iceland I still wanted to see it from up in the air). My flight from Berlin to Reykjavík had been delayed, but what was worrying was the window to catch the connection to Montreal was extremely slim - one hour. Factor in half an hour of delay and I had to sprint to get on there. There were no complimentary refreshments at all and prices were in Icelandic Krona. Unless you are an Icelander, you probably don't carry this currency in your pocket, meaning you invariably use credit card to pay, i.e. more fees. The leg room is also about the same as on Ryanair, which is fair enough if you're only flying a couple of hours. But for five to six hours? Just no. Also, there was no fun flight path map on the back of the seat!