Back to CanadaWe're told that if you've got just one full day to spend in this part of Maine, the place to visit is Campobello Island in the Canadian province of New Brunswick. Even though we can see it from the back deck, just two miles away, it takes a full hour to get there by car (and there's no ferry). As one navigates a huge arc around numerous lakes, inlets and peninsulae, one comes to understand the saying that is heard so often here in Maine: "you can't get there from here." In the late 1800s, a group of developers purchased one third of the island and built three large luxury hotels. Their goal was to attract wealthy tourists, introduce them to the natural beauty of the island, and then sell them a building lot for a house of their own. Although only a fraction of the available lots were sold and the hotels themselves were either closed or razed within 30 years, one couple that did buy a lot and build a cottage was James and Sara Roosevelt and their infant son, Franklin Delano. FDR was by far the most famous resident of Campobello Island. He spent every summer there until he was an adult, buying his own cottage right next door after he married Eleanor. They and their children continued to come to the cottage until 1921, when FDR fell ill with symptoms of polio while vacationing on the island. After that, his family continued to return annually, but FDR came to Campobello only three more times in his lifetime, in 1933, 1936 and 1939. Yesterday, Alison and I visited the island and the Roosevelt Cottage, along with our Eastport hosts, Don and Beverly Bley. For those of you who don't know them, it is quite simple how I'm related to Don:
The SelfiesPanoramasTidbit
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Up and over
No tidbits, selfies, links or accents?Alas, no. First, I'm hobbled by working from the laptop and not my monster iMac. Second, Alison is urging me to finish this so we can head out for the day and find some government official to lie to or possibly bribe. More tomorrow.
Our last day in QuébecToday was our last day in Québec, and it's been a long one. "Yesterday" would actually be more accurate, since it is 12:16am on Sunday as I write this, but since I haven't slept yet, "today" seems more appropriate. What's more surprising than me writing at this hour is that Alison is out for a drink right now (yes, 12:16am) with Amélie at the Château Frontenac! Before their current drink at the château was another drink at a very small bar a few blocks from here, one off the beaten track and frequented only by locals. Alison and Amélie had gin and tonics; I had water. There was a four-piece band playing the kind of modern, dissonant jazz that I always expect to "get" if I listen to it long enough, but it hasn't happened yet. Before the first bar, we had dinner at L'Entrecôte Saint-Jean with Amélie and Ariane, where one "goes for meat" as per our new friends. The women shared a bottle of sparkling wine; I had a bourbon and ginger ale and could barely finish it (as per usual). Before dinner, Alison gave a haircut to Madame Daoust, Ariane's ailing mom, on the back porch of their second floor apartment. While Alison gave her a very stylish new haircut, Madame Daoust and I chatted about books and art and favorite places in Chicago. Before the haircut, we sat on the patio with Amélie and Ariane and had wine, cheeses and meats. Alison told them both how she'd miss them; they responded in kind; tears were not shed, but it was close. Before the time on the patio, Alison and I took a long bike ride along the Saint Lawrence River from the Old City to the bridge, about 10km or so each way. About half way to the bridge, I got a flat tire. After borrowing a pump and re-inflating the tire, I was able to get a mere 20 yards before it was flat again. I pulled out my trusty iPhone and determined that there was a bike shop about 1-2 kilometers down the road. When a good samaritan cyclist pulled over to help, I told him our plan to walk to the bike shop and he wished us luck and went on his way. About 15 minutes later, the same cyclist returned. He told us that he had ridden ahead, noticed that the bike shop was closed, and then returned to... repair the tire for us! It turns out that in his spare time he trains people on how to repair bicycles. Is that wonderful luck, or what? Québecois kindness at its best. Before the bike ride, we toured The Citadel, the enormous star-shaped fortress that sits atop the highest point in Québec City and is just a stone's throw from our flat. We've know all along that it was up there somewhere, but since it is a real-life fortress, we were never quite sure how to get in. It is surrounded by soaring stone walls and a deep and wide moat. As two college-educated adults, we eventually figured out how to get in. Once in, we witnessed the very official changing of the guard (just like the one in London) and then took a guided tour of the facility. Since it remains an active military facility, one must be in the presence of a tour guide. They made that very clear several times. Tomorrow morning, we leave for four days in Maine, two days in the Boston area and then a long drive back to Virginia. We hope to keep blogging until Boston. The SelfiesThe PanoramasThese were both taken atop The Citadel and is definitely the best view of Québec City that we've seen. Tidbit
Final FridayYesterday was my last day of work here in Québec. While I worked, Alison enjoyed one last day of exploration at the Farmer's Market and the Old City. After work, we walked to Avenue Cartier and had yet another superb meal, dining curbside at Le Rideau Rouge. The fare was simple (beer, burgers, fries, cole slaw) but delicious. After dinner, we returned to Scène Bell for our ninth evening in a row. On the schedule were Bryan Ferry and Duran Duran. With all due respect to Sir Ferry, his performance was lackluster at best, and as he closes in on 71, he might want to pursue new interests. As for Duran Duran, they provided a touch more luster, but mostly through volume: the lead singer sang loudly, the keyboardist pounded away loudly, the electric guitar and bass strummed loudly, and the drummer banged loudly on everything within reach. At least the melodies were discernible and not unpleasant. It was sit-through-able. SqualorSome people have complained that our pictures make Québec look too perfect, like a Québecois Disneyland. They asked for a few pictures of squalor, just to prove that it isn't. So, we purposely sought out some squalor and photographed it for you. Brace yourself... The SelfiesPeople seem to like these, so we snapped some extras yesterday. Tidbit
Beyond the dudRecovering from the dud of the previous night, last night provided a great night of music at Scène Bell. The first act was Julien Clerc; the second was Fred Pellerin; both were francophone, so more than a little was lost in translation. But, the performances were outstanding nonetheless. Julien Clerc is a Paris-born singer who appears at this point in his life to be the "father of easy listening" in the French-speaking world. He reminded Alison of Andrea Bocelli, but to me more of a still-in-his-prime Paul Anka. No matter how you classify him, the audience (us included) loved his performance, singing along (us not included) to almost every song. Fred Pellerin, on the other hand, was the single best entertainer that I've seen at this music festival (or anywhere, for that matter). He is, however, very hard to describe, since he's nothing like anyone that I've heard before (the French aside). He combines the story-telling prowess of Garrison Keillor, the boyish looks and musical skill of John Denver, and the manic energy of Robin Williams, all wrapped up into one energetic, French-speaking-and-singing ball. I can only imagine how entertaining he would be in English. VideosTwo videos from the festival: Julien Clerc (left) and Fred Pellerin (right).
The SelfiesOne measly selfie? Yes, apparently. Tidbit
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