The Usual and The Unusual

We can go long stretches of time comfortable in our own little neighbourhood, our own little house, our own little haunts where people know us by name, know what ‘the usual’ is. As a rule, we know who to court, who to avoid, who is reliable, who is finicky, we have bearings. We know things about our days and nights, and we have at least some idea of what to expect.

I’ll admit to loving those things about the Townships, and also loving how there can be the unexpected every day if you let it happen. You can embrace the small, and sometimes big, changes that can take place around you.

Yet, there is really something to be said for getting the heck of out of Dodge once in a while.

It had been two years since my last departure from greater than a, oh, say, three-hour radius. Considering just the scope of our country, that’s a pretty small sector.

I know that it is easy. I know that it feels good. Comfortable. Simple. Easier on the pocket-book too.

It took two years to save, but we (the boyfriend and I) did get away. We didn’t want anything on credit – we wanted to save a little more than we thought we’d need and then know that when we came home we weren’t reliving the vacation every time a credit card bill came in. So, instead of getting away last year since we couldn’t afford it, we waited two.

We drove through three provinces and took a five-hour ferry to end up in the province of Quebec again, only this time we found ourselves floating, in the stretch and cluster that is the astoundingly gorgeous Magdalen Islands.

It is a hope for me that somehow, the word truly gets out there to Canadians that while we can save and head off to trips around the world, it is so tremendously worth it to visit ourselves – to see the remarkable and enormous land that is our home, this huge place we are citizens of, this expanse of climates and time zones. I know some have understood and gone exploring here, yet it still feels like southern all-inclusives are still just the most attractive option travelwise. It may have cost us the same amount to visit one, but I just can’t imagine how it could ever compare.

Six islands, hours and hours of beaches to walk, each different than the last, each with different beachcombing (my favourite holiday activity), each with different accents, but all with a rhythm that is just a notch calmer, just a tad slower, a beat that brings us down to Earth in a way that we deeply need and too often don’t practice.

After the five hour ferry ride that lasted from a 1:00 a.m. boarding, 2:00 a.m. Maritimes departure and a 7:00 a.m. Cap-aux-meules arrival (with a rather fitful sleep in the airline-style seating – we didn’t opt for a cabin), as our vehicle pulled off of the boat to the road I felt my eyes sting with tears. Les Îles are a lot like the Townships – it’s easy to feel at home there, and I was in the only other place where I have felt that way, after what felt like too long.

Two years ago, on my first visit, I developed a friendship with Nancy, who was our morning waitress at Café de la Grave. When we left that time, it was with huge, tight hugs, her slight frame thrown right against us in wrap-around hugs. We had promised to keep in touch, and that we did. We wrote via social media for two years, and so our early morning greeting was even more wide open love, like childhood friendship. We were so glad to spend other time together, not just as she served us. She shows us les Demoiselles crests where you can see almost the entire islands stretch – where it truly feels like the top of the world, overlooking Havre-aubert.

We sat at tables with strangers, because if there is room at a crowded restaurant, that is where you are seated, and as a result we met folks from all over. This includes our first night at our favourite spot, the raw and warm Café de la Grave at Havre Aubert, where on our first night the Vigneau family (on site showing support for one of the younger family members who was playing music there that evening) included us at the Café’s long middle table, where we became Vigneaus for the evening. Robert Vigneau talked our ears off, his lilting accent and boyish charm rising above the music and voices, as we ate pot-en-pot aux fruits de mer (otherwise known as seafood pot pie – pot-en-pot is a common warm meal there) and then followed it with his recommendation of Café de la Grave’s bread pudding.

Friends joined us wherever we were and invited us wherever they were, because people just naturally gather there, gather and share, and so many are from other places, drawn to the Maggies because of the rhythm, because of the wind-sun-sand-sea, four elements at their richest. Some of whom have opted to live there year-round as well, in spite of harsh and unrelenting winters. The warmth then comes from the people, and again they gather.

We visited the local community thrift shop, aptly name Ré-utîles (with the islands play on words in there for reusable), we bought fishermen’s rope at the hardware store (used for repairing lobster traps), we bought rock candies and sand sculptures at Les Artisans du Sable and gorgeous prints at La Marée Basse, where our friend artist Nicole Gravel told us of her work with Simons, and how her work is printed and framed in the Magdalen Islands, providing work for locals before making its way to Simons’ well-curated home furnishing collections.

Shells, rocks, sand, driftwood, local art and islands items weighed us down for the long trek home. After the return five hour ferry arriving at 1:00 a.m. PEI time, we began the drive, sleeping in parking lots a few times on the way to take the edge of fatigue off and not risk driving drowsy. We stopped to gas up, to eat a few times and then after what seemed like forever, we found ourselves surrounded by much taller trees, the cool, clean, clear Townships air.

In spite of a constant layer of sunscreen, I am a Jackson Pollock of freckles, splatters of every shade from white (yes, white freckles) to dark brown. I think my skin wanted to be the beach. In even just a few days’ time I know it will begin to fade. In my blood though, I can feel the sand run, I can hear the click of tiny crabs, I can feel the wind around me...i can remember that different sun.

And that is how I know I will return to the Maggies.

Because while I love my usual, and I adore our Townships, there is also no place like home-away-from-home.

Until we meet again, mes chères Madelinots et Madeliniennes!