Au revoir Quebec

Spent another night in St. Simon, on the gaspe, because I really loved the people who were running the gite where I stayed. The gite was full, so they had me, both nights, staying in a mobile home thingy, which was really fun, in their back lawn, which basically was the beginning of about 3 farms that extended beyond their land – wheat and corn fields. Mountains in the distance. The shower was an outside shower, closed but for the back, so I could see the fields in the buff. Alain, the owner, has 3 kids, each from a different woman. One of his daughters is a contortionist in the Cirque de Soleil. His partner, Sylvie, works as a masseuse for the Cirque de Soleil.

They also own a private beach, which we had access to. It’s about 5km from the gite, and gorgeous. There was a writer friend of theirs tenting on the beach there. He just wrote his first book of short stories, and is going to work on his first novel…while doing his PhD in Philosophy. He’s about my age, maybe a bit older. He’s legally blind, which I had absolutely no idea about until he told me at breakfast yesterday. Amy, my new little Canadian friend from Halifax then got up (she lives/works there this summer, in a French-immersion program), and we talked a lot about her having quit school, and her trying to decide what to do next in life, etc. She was at the same school that Sarah McLachlan went to for a year – the art school in Halifax. She even sort of looks like a younger Sarah M., her hair and coloring. We made plans to go to a waterfall later in the day.

I then made an appointment with Sylvie for a massage on the beach, but went first to Parc Bic, a gorgeous park in Bic, not too far from Rimouski. Hiked on a few trails, took a few pictures.

The massage with Sylvie was wonderful, though I felt a bit stressed yesterday about all the plans I’d made, and having to rush around to fulfill them – the first time I felt this sort of familiar pressure on the trip.

Amy and I went to the waterfall, and we talked about Sylvie and Alain, and about school, and travel, and learning French, and which expressions or words messed us up. It was really cool to speak to someone going through the same phenomenon of learning French, and feeling the pain and exhilaration both of that. The waterfall was majorly strong – stronger, she said, than when she’d been there last – but we got in by a safe area anyway. It was freezing, but fun. We then got an ice cream and asked the guy working there about the difference in pronouncing ‘sel,’ ‘seule,’ ‘salle,’ and ‘sul.’ it was pretty funny, and he really seemed to like little Amy, who’s pretty adorable. I feel like she’s my little Canadian sister.

We then checked out this other beautiful lake – lac Mathieu – but it was dark and cold out, so we didn’t swim even though the water was beautiful and warm. We hung out at the gite, and had pizza from Alain and Sylvie, and tea, and Sylvie showed us her pictures taken with Delerium and Cirque de Soleil, and from the Dominican Republic, where she works in the winter.

Today, I collected my things – almost leaving behind my cell and pajamas – and had a long goodbye with Alain and Amy. I took some pictures of them. They were perhaps the hardest people to leave, though St. Cuthbert was the hardest place to leave. I really connected with little Amy, a braver, better adjusted version of the younger me. She’s fun, laughs easily and is into organic this and that, conscientious this and that. Made me wonder more, of course, about the paths I never took, and how my life would be different now if I’d done things differently. What if, at 21, like Amy, I’d done the sorts of things she’s doing, like I’d always wanted to, gotten it out of my system. Where would I be now? Would my life be better or just different? I need to live in a different culture now. It’s a burning need. What if I’d done this earlier in life? Would I be a French citizen? A Canadian citizen? Would I be a human rights lawyer?

Left the gaspe, then, and drove to New Brunswick, where I am now, typing this in a cool coffee shop owned by a cool woman about my age who grew up here, lived in Montreal, and traveled the world. We talked about that burning need to travel, and how staying put brings about agitation, and how this project – the coffee shop, which just opened up this week – is a new idea for her; i.e., the idea of staying put in one place.

It’s just that, why on earth didn’t I see traveling, living elsewhere as a real possibility before now? I was scared, horrified, was convinced I’d die if I did it. Where did that fear come from? Major depression in my late teens/early 20’s. But why didn’t I have faith in myself that I was strong enough?

Part of me feels like I waited until it was ‘too late.’ I’m as fluid and free as I was at 21, I suppose. No house, loans, etc. Nevertheless. Something about doing everything at 21 when I’m nearing 40 seems less something.

I think that’s convention speaking. And, I do know it won’t stop me from doing it.

I visited Fort Kent, Maine today, about 15 minutes from here. It’s where my mother’s mother was born. Going into the U.S. felt awful, industrial, harsh. In fact, it was the first time on this entire trip – other than in Marquette, Michigan – where I heard a car honking at another car. Loud, bossy, entitled, ignorant old U.S. Ah, yes, I remember you.

In any case, Fort Kent is gorgeous, quaint, an intriguing amalgamation of Canadian and U.S. Many people have dual citizenship there.

I am en route to getting out of the U.S. As soon as I get home, I’m sending in my application for Canadian residency. I really don’t want to be American anymore. It’s not representative of who I am, its violence, arrogance, ignorance, sense of entitlement, its lack of accountability to its citizens. I don’t know that I will give up my citizenship, but I want to move, get out of the U.S.

Will go look at my grandmother’s birth certificate at the Fort Kent town hall tomorrow a.m., and then will descend down to southern Maine to be with my parents. Long drive. 6 hours. I’m listening to “The Corrections” on cd. It’s truly brilliant, and flies in the face of all sort of obscene, useless rules about writing that are drilled into our heads in workshop.

I so hope I hold onto the things I’ve felt and learned here. I don’t want to be deluged by less important and more overwhelming quotidian stresses.

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