THAT'S SNOW BUSINESS!
Quebec's carnival packs a punch, celebrating winter with tradition, fun and Bonhomme
The carnival ... is celebrated in many ways, not least through its trappings: the sound of trumpets blaring along the Night Parade route; the young and old sporting the arrow sash; ... the sculptures, songs and skating. Andre Ramshaw
I learned two important lessons during my first visit to Quebec City and its renowned winter carnival. The first is that hockey and a few hand gestures can make up for any lack of facility in Canada's other official language. And the second is that the consumption of enough caribou blood will make the whole debate moot.
Let me explain the first bit first. I'd arrived in the Quebec capital from England, where I was living at the time, and I was still getting reacquainted with travelling on the right-hand side of the road, never mind bilingualism, when I attempted to converse with my cab driver. My Grade 8 French carried me as far as “bonjour/ hello” and his English extended to “hello/ bonjour.” After a round of good-natured grunts about Les Habs and Les Nordiques, we settled into nodding heads at each other incomprehensibly. Two solitudes, indeed.
That said, it was a most wonderful sensation to feel like I'd “come home” to Canada only to find myself back in a foreign country. I later learned my difficulties in communications were not unique.
Quebec City and its population of 540,000 is 95 per cent francophone, and if your French is as rusty as mine, you might struggle to maintain any conversations that go beyond miming “he shoots, he scores.” Rest assured, though, that most Quebecers associated with the tourism industry are fluently bilingual and will put lingua laggards on the right path.
Now to the second bit: caribou blood. This is one of the (alleged) ingredients comprising a potent alcoholic punch that is as much part of the carnival experience as sharing fist bumps with Bonhomme, the jolly sash-wearing ambassador of the February proceedings. Known simply as caribou, the concoction of “medicinal spirits” can be served warmed or chilled and is intended to loosen Quebec City's icy embrace. It also loosens tongues, and with each glowing slug mine began to fail me in both official languages.
Myth-makers have it that the carnival elixir, similar to a mulled wine, was a mixture of caribou blood and whisky swilled by hardbitten colonial-era loggers and hunters staving off the harsh climate of frontier Canada. Amateur historians say it's more likely Indigenous people simply mistook the dark fortified wine the French trappers drank for animal blood.
As to its sanctioned ingredients, that seems to be a trade secret beyond the building blocks of whisky, red wine, sherry, vodka and spices. Seasoned bartenders say the drink is an intoxicating palette, awaiting splashes of anything as long as it's wine and alcohol.
It has long symbolized the joie de vivre of the 10-day bash and can be served in glasses or, much more fun, a red cane with the plastic head of Bonhomme as a screw top.
The history of the pre-lenten festival dates back to 1894, but it didn't become a fixture on the winter calendar until 1955, when Quebec City authorities decided to capitalize on its economic potential. Over the years, features such as the duchesses' pageant have waxed and waned amid changing political tastes, and since the 2000s organizers have tried to create a more family-oriented atmosphere.
The carnival, though, is celebrated in many ways, not least through its trappings: the sound of trumpets blaring along the Night Parade route; the young and old sporting the arrow sash, a 19th-century waist warmer and belt; the sculptures, songs and skating.
All this set against the backdrop of the “snow capital of the world,” a 400-year-old UNESCO World Heritage Site, the birthplace of French North America and the best-preserved walled city north of Mexico.
The brightly coloured sash, which combines the techniques of Indigenous and French-canadian weavers, is considered unique in the world because of its use of arrows rather than chevrons and is a much-sought souvenir. Mine is still going strong.
Since 1976, ice-canoe racing across the frigid waters of the St. Lawrence River has become a sporting highlight, with teams from across Canada competing in the gruelling crossing, while snow-sculpture competitions, axe-throwing and other games pump the adrenalin.
Divided into upper and lower towns linked by nearly 30 sets of stairs, Quebec City is a treasure to explore on foot, from the 98-hectare Plains of Abraham — the city's answer to New York's Central Park — to its 4.6 kilometres of ramparts. Shoppers and diners will be charmed by the Rue du Petit-champlain, an artisanal throwback to the days of New France.
Though the festival attracts many European and U.S. tourists, its enduring success is attributed to support from Quebecers, whose attachment to the event is deep and abiding. It starts days beforehand when Bonhomme visits the elderly, children in daycare and even prison inmates. When he enters the provincial capital, he's given the keys to the city and begins a hectic slate of appearances.
Unlike symbols of winter carnivals elsewhere — made of straw or wood, and then unceremoniously sacrificed — Quebec's mascot simply takes his leave at the end, travelling the world to spread the message about next year.
As with everything today, the pandemic has knocked the stuffing out of Bonhomme's itinerary, but planners are busy behind the scenes readying the 2021 showcase.
In the meantime, brush up on your Quebec City history, burnish those French skills and beware hawkers bearing blood-red beverages of questionable origin.