A Mixing of Cultures

They came in, like a wave of noise, chatting, yakking, nattering and their numbers were strong. I immediately closed it feeling my heart rate increase. Then another family came in to our space speaking English of all things, a Caucasian gaggle. After finally converting to French, how could they. Hal and I sat down and prayed and the cacophony grew. The tension was palatable forcing ourselves to enjoy the bounty of the ocean. Eyes were darting from table to table. One of the men was furious about something, the son about 20, was trying to draw his attention to lower his voice. Two Asian women cooked dinner for the mass, silently plunging greens and thinly cut meat into a single brassier within half an hour a wondrous smell filled the large hut where we were huddled in to avoid the deluge. One of the fathers prayed and the silence that followed was glorious. We prayed too and smiled at the faces of the children who looked on for approval. It just proves what a smile can do.

Riverie aux Renard had the café, to close all others. Tucked behind a corner grocer a multi texture, orange colored room invited you to sit on any of the cushioned chairs not one matching, a mixture from her travels abroad for 3 years. Tens of painting, pictures and drawing uniquely framed led down a corridor and blocks of wood hanging about 3 inches square with faded photos of animals hung in a mosaic below several goat antlers. Then Madeline appeared, her smile warmed your heart prior to her hands welcoming us into her café. We gingerly stepped in asking if it was okay that we drank only a café. “Qui, bein qui, vein, prend us chase. Her youthful bounce into the kitchen gave us time settle in and look at the coffee menu. She was the perfect waiter, prying only enough to make sure your experience is what you expected and more. Her eyes light up a conversation asking how to pronounce English words and how to say certain words. Delighted to assist her, we found out she had resided in Banff and travelled much of the world in 3 years. The clothe hanging from the ceiling lamps was from Nepal, and India. The snail shells in the canning jars were local, yet the spices she used in the coffee, only with requests were from Asian and even the Orient. Then she spoke of University and her years there, she looked about 22. Satiated is not the word to describe how we left, having reached the end and yearning no more is.

The gently warn trail we followed along the coastal route to the Cape Gaspe Lighthouse and Lands Ends exceeded my expectations. Ocean waves crashing onto the shore below eroding the sedimentary rock that lay sideways my heart could be nowhere else. I have rarely thought to ask if he feels the same when we hike, but there is a sensations, like drugs that moves one foot in front of the other. A history engulfs us passing heritage home of families that have staked out terrain in any of the bays, it is called “Les Graves.” The last 100 straight up meets our eyes with a little amazement, we push onto to the oldest lighthouse and reach the end of the Gaspésie.