In praise of patience

petite-pause-quai-riviere-renard(Quebec) We got up at 9:30 am confident, walked to the 132, without breakfast, not even coffee. No problem, said we, in an hour, we have a long way indeed, we stop for a snack quiet and enjoy a good.

We took our coffee at 14:30.

The thumb has called us to order, so do not predict. We stayed planted an hour on the roadside just outside Sainte-Anne-des-Monts, watching cars and minutes pass.

It was beautiful sunshine.

Dozens of cars passed before us, the Westfalia also Westfalia never stop. Like the Volvo elsewhere. Honda and Toyota are good parties, especially older models.

Honda has stopped, a young couple in, the guy and the girl came out of the woods where they had spent the night. They still smelled campfire. They went to the Sea Shack, a few kilometers away, the famous festive inn where we’re going to party, not to sleep.

The guy had just inherited the woodlot of his maternal grandfather, as transmission roots, one can hardly do better. They came from Montreal, intended to build a caboose, which was to become their home port. They want to travel, and always return here on earth the grandfather.

They left us in front of the Sea Shack, also, we have discovered a den of pouceux in search of adventure.

It was the first pouceux that we saw from the beginning of the trip.

An hour passed, under a pristine sky, with the river in the background. We laughed, smiled at the people who made us know that they would have liked to stop, would have been an overflow car, children behind, fear too, perhaps. Whatever, we were happy.

We were anxious, though, someone stops, eager to see with whom we would continue our journey. Waiting increases the desire, this is also true for the run. I wanted a couple of vacationers, who went to Gaspé, and would stop here and there along the way.

Two students from Montreal were arrested, two sisters, they were on vacation, were going to Gaspé.

Their Toyota was packed, we stacked the pillows, backpacks, boxes and our bags on the seat behind, we built through it all. No presentation, loud music, here we go again. They were the Gaspé round in six days had no itinerary, no reservations.

A bit like us.

They had made reservations for the road, bread, biscuits, fruits, offered us an orange and a grapefruit that we devoured. It was our lunch, it was 13:30.

We paused at Rivière-au-Renard, stopped on the platform, where Sunday fishermen literally teased mackerel. We found a small beach, not far from the tourist information office, the girls fell asleep on the beach, we took the opportunity to share a club sandwich.

They asked us, waking up: “We do not have too much delayed?”

We can not be late when you are not expected. We intended to spend the night in Cap-aux-Os, in Forillon Park, a village quieter than we imagined. The girls left us at the door of the Little School, as the name says, a school converted into an inn.

In Sainte-Anne-des-Monts, too, had slept in a former school. Further proof, if any were needed, of the exodus of the regions.

It’s been 10 years since I had not set foot in the Gaspé, I had forgotten how this corner of Quebec is beautiful, especially in the string of villages from Mont-Saint-Pierre. The girls had come when they were small. They also made a trip back in time.

We’ll see maybe further.

At Cap-aux-Os, no great restaurants, a snack bar and a family restaurant where you do not serve alcohol. We opted for the convenience store, where we grabbed a “six-pack” of Black Label and half a bottle of white, a great Marquis de Méricourt (!), Two packages of meats and two cheeses we tasted before the setting sun.

It is from there that I write.

Before us, the locals tease mackerel both feet in the water, to the amusement of marine wolves.

And tomorrow? Go figure. We head south now, we’ll see where chance takes us. We like seeing Percé, before setting sail for the Bay of Chaleur, which, hopefully, will carry its name. Regardless, we still have time and the desire to continue.

Certainly, we will take a coffee before leaving.

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