All twenty-six of us on the Roads Scholar trip to Quebec privately feared we would be treated with distain by the Quebecois due to our president’s comments about appropriating Canada. Our fears were groundless. The people we met couldn’t have been kinder. They blamed our government officials; not us. At the end of our seven-day visit, we expressed our relief at realizing that the entire group was of the same opinion: Notre president est con et nous n’avent pas vote pour lui (Our president is crazy and we didn’t vote for him).
“How sad,” I thought “that these interesting people, many of whom were history or science teachers, should be ashamed of our country and its “blowhard-in-chief!” Our median age was about seventy-two. Dan and I were the only performers, but we were all passionate about the lessons history should be teaching us. I had studied French for seven years, yet having not used it, I could only express myself in short phrases. Only two in our group spoke French.
Quebec City is located high above the St. Lawrence river, 1321 feet above sea level. The upper part of town is fortified with a thick wall that has 41.6 km of ramparts. The streets are incredibly hilly and curving; many are paved in cobblestone. Along each side are old stone or brick houses with pitched metal roofs. Many of the oldest buildings are stuccoed white overtop the stones. As this was a tour with approximately three mile walks each day and several hours of standing in or climbing stairs of museums, I worried that some of our less mobile members wouldn’t be able to keep up. Yet, we were a tenacious group. One person had Parkinson's Disease, yet managed to negotiate every challenge.
We visited an18th c. garrison, the Ursuline Museum, and the Marin Literary Society, which had been a jail in the 1700’s. Visiting required going up and down narrow, wooden stairs, worn by centuries of use. The doorways in the jail were short and just wide enough for my shoulders to fit through. One annoying problem was the weather: drizzling, gusty and in the forties. We all packed spring clothing. Our visit to Montmorency Falls, which is 98.4 feet taller than Niagara Falls required riding to the top of the cliffs in a cable car which passed over the plunge pool. The cliffs were nearly vertical, but there were 487 steps one could walk down which led to observation sites. All of us walked several flights, despite being damp from the spray and chilled by the wind.
Our leader was Chantal Bellon, a tireless mother of four in her mid-sixties with long red hair. Happy, knowledgable and experienced in guiding tours, she shepherded us with the careful efficiency of a a Border Collie. Each morning started off with an excellent buffet breakfast at our hotel, followed by a lecture on what ever we were about to view that day. These talks were given by Chantel’s well-informed and amusing assistant, Marie.