I had always thought that Quebec was a quintessentially French word. The Algonquin tribes that settled here named the place “where the river narrows” and French dudes like Samuel de Champlain adopted it when they settled there in 1608. It’s got a perfect strategic spot on the St Lawrence River, and it has the only remaining fully walled city ramparts remaining in North America.
History reeks out this city’s pores like garlic. The architecture, the cannons, the battlefield, the Chateau Frontenac’s soaring rooflines, the cobbled streets and the old waterfront, all have hundreds of years of stories to tell. We hired a guide, an engaging but somewhat stoic twenty-something with a deep tempered love of this place. With Quebec-accented English, he helped us understand the pride his fellow Quebec-ers had in their city, province, and esteem approaching arrogance over the rest of Canada. The early settlers had a good thing going, got along with the Natives, and overcame years of adversity to build a place here, which they considered the heart of the New World.
Then the British came and messed it all up with their pompous attitudes and cruel disdain. Fed up 200 years later, the Québécois separatists almost pulled it off. And now here we were a fifth of the way into the 21st century, and here is the city with all the charm and character of many of its European counterparts.
Just seeing the city from the ferry the evening before was like only looking at pictures of a museum. Walking through the city with this young man who had traced his French roots back to the Middle Ages and seeing his pride and passion about his home town helped us both understand that bit of unique and palpable separation we’d encountered in this part of Canada.
A note to readers: if you’re thinking of going, go soon. The current mayor is trying to open up access for even more cruise ships. Parts of the city closest to the docks were crowded, and the businesses catering to the tacky crowds are metastasizing.
