Ste-Anne-de-Beaupre, Quebec September 14, 1978

Yesterday we ventured into Quebec City and wandered for hours in the old section of town – along the little streets, some paved with cobble stone, peering into ‘olde shoppe’ windows, deciphering the names and ingredients of Quebecois cuisine in restaurant menus, reading plaques on monuments, and enjoying the very active street life.  Quebec City is quintessentially French – Quebecois – and for me a wonderful place to get a glimpse of yet another piece of the great mosaic masterpiece that is Canada.  Interestingly, I fared much better in French with the shop-keepers than I had with the gendarmes.  It was actually enjoyable.  Amazing what anxiety can do to our thought processes, seizing up our synapses, interrupting the flow.  Anyway it was good to know that, in more relaxed situations, my learned French wasn’t quite as hopeless as I had thought.

 

Last night I’d done my usual perusal of maps both national and provincial (I stop at all the tourist info offices and get whatever maps and brochures look interesting).  I happened to spy a place called St. Jules just south of Quebec City.  On a whim I decided to take a little diversion from my eastward sojourn along the St. Lawrence and head to St. Jules.  It took most of the day – a couple of hours there and back – but was well worth it.  The landscapes were lovely, and there was a nice church at St. Jules (there are churches everywhere in Quebec, testimony to the pervasive Catholic religion and its deep deep roots here).  Took a few photos before heading back north, through Quebec City again, and on east.

 

We didn’t get far before yet another Catholic church – the famous Basilica of St. Anne de Beaupre – merited another stop.  The exterior is quite imposing – cut grey stone blocks, so carefully and finely fitted together – and great gothic wooden arches framing doorways and windows, all painted bright green.  Inside all of surfaces – walls, ceilings, floors, and columns – were faced in marble mosaic, with gold, and precious stones inlaid throughout.  Lots of sculptures and candles, of course, and lots of people gawking and praying.  No photos permitted.  As there was no literature available on site, I left still not knowing who St. Anne was.  Another thing about ‘my Canada’ to look up.

 

Note:  According to Wikipedia, “St. Anne is believed, by the pious, to obtain miracles through her intercession. People from all around the world come to visit the basilica. Pillars in the front entrance are covered in crutches from people who are said by the parishioners to have been miraculously cured and saved.”  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Basilica_of_Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupré   (There were no crutches at the entrance when I was there, so that must be a newish phenomenon.)

 

 

As we reassumed our drive along the northern shore of the Riviere St. Laurent the weather worsened. A thick fog descended, reducing visibility to not more than a couple of car lengths. But the local drivers, who presumably knew the road well, kept driving at regular speeds (or faster), passing me as I crept along, looking for a place to pull over and, hopefully, wait it out.  There seemed to be no side roads or exits, not even a widening in the road where I could safely stop.  At last I spied a sign for a campground.  It looked like it might be quite a kitchy place, advertising 'amusements' along with camping.  As it happened, it was another officially closed campsite, but this one was and is truly deserted. The administration offices, toilets, and 'amusement hall' are all boarded up, long abandoned. It was a little spooky at first, especially in the fog, and in the last light of day, but I found a great spot at the end of a large field, nestled up against a grove of conifers.  There was no running water, but there was a nearby stream that looked like it might be all right, and I reasoned that I could boil it. 

 

So I set up camp, and we went for a walk in an area that had been logged over at various times in the past, and was now in various states of regeneration.  There were areas of poplars, or mixed poplar, birch and conifers; meadow areas with thousands of little conifers poking up between the grass blades; and moss gardens where undisturbed forests of dead and dying trees provided mantles for lichen and aerial mosses. The branches of the trees appeared as fantastic coloured lacework in the mist – a fairy-tale effect.  In some of the trees the white lichen on their branches made them look like they were frost or snow-covered.  The effect was mystical and magical. 

 

And now at last the skies are clear and the wind has died down. Indeed it’s a startingly beautiful night after a decidedly grey and stormy day. The sky is a clear deep blue, with stars just beginning to emerge. The moon, still low on the horizon, a ball of white light obscured a little by the laced branches of treetops.  A wisp of cloud around the moon, and illuminated by it, glows with ghostly life.