The One Where I Have A Whale Of A Time

Hi. I'm really tired; I'm also really happy, so I can't really complain. Although I did tell Kelsey and Yvet this morning of my fears that I couldn't sustain sunny Canadian optimism much longer and that my true British dourness is steadily seeping back in.

But I have had the most wonderful weekend, and done a lot of that introspective stuff that you've come to know and love me for.

On the induction day for exchange students (the one I never blogged about because it was so dull) wasn't actually all dull. There was a guy there called Stephane who was hilarious, a breath of fresh air and spoke English with a comprehensible French accent for us Brits who can't cope with foreign languages. He was there to promote the outdoors recreation activites run by the GeeGees (the uOttawa sports people/group/thing. And a gee gee seems to be a made-up horse, chosen as a mascot purely to make big knob boasts on the football and hockey jerseys). So beguiled was I by Stephane, that I ran - more lollopped - back to my apartment to sign up for the whale watching tour, from which I have just returned.

*Warning! The following blog post will have those deep introspective moments as seen in previous posts!*

But I'll keep making whale puns, so it's not all bad.

As some of you may know, and some of you will have had the utter joy of experiencing, travelling on short term trips brings out my most fantastically anal qualities of my personality. Since achieving a small amount of courage since coming on my year abroad, this past weekend was an opporunity to test the boundaries of that courage. At the time of signing up for a weekend whale watching in Tadoussac, coming home via Quebec City, it sounded like a great idea. Whale watching? I bet I'll have a whale of a time. But as the trip drew steadily closer, doubts started creeping into my mind. These intensified after the pre-departure meeting.

This is where I now have to be exceptionally careful, as this blog is on Facebook as are all the people who went on the trip!

You will all have gathered by now that I am about as cool as a packet of Tesco Value microwave chips. I'm the worst typical student ever in that I hate late nights, can cope with mornings sans-caffeine, don't really drink alcohol unless I can seriously counteract it with food, and think of clubbing as a type of torture akin to water-boarding. Thus, it dawned on me at the pre-departure meeting that I was probably going to be the loner of the group, the one no-one likes. Furthermore, everyone seemed to be going on the trip with friends, and I knew absolutely no-one. Cue major fear! That horrible, suffocating fear that is some poisonous concoction of self-doubt and self-loathing, and that really has no place in the heart of a courageous theologian in Canada.

Yet, it was there.

The other problem was having to be at Montepetit Hall on campus for 6am, which meant having to set seven alarms, with the first going off at 4am. Trying to apply mascara when there's sleep gunk in the way is difficult. But it's obviously one of those skills which separates women from the girls. Or something like that!

At 6am, we discovered the overwhelming character trait of our fearless leader, Stephane: unwavering energy and optimism. As our collective heads lolled in broken snoozes, Stephane was shouting, microphone in hand, about how much fun we were going to have over the weekend. The first pit stop presented me the opportunity to tick something off my Canadian bucket list: to have a Tim Horton's. Tim Horton's for those of you not in the Canadian know, is a coffee chain here which is basically worshipped by Canadians. Fortunately for me, the non-drinker of coffee unless it contains copious amounts of vanilla, Tim Horton's does do vanilla lattes.

Sitting next to Mark for nearly ten hours on bus was his lucky day for learning about all things British and the line of succession to the throne - it's slightly worrying just how much I know about the British monarchy. As a Seventh Day Adventist, Mark allowed my inner theologian out for some theological fun and I couldn't have asked for a better bus buddy for such a long trip. Those Americans, they're alright y'know!

Lame men walk.

Another break from the road took place in Ste-Anne, just a short while from Quebec City. It's one of those towns which is almost like a knock-off Las Vegas, such as Branson in Missouri. There's a Jewish centre which looks like a gambling hall right next to door to a vivid-white, gaudy monstrosity that is a Roman Catholic basilica. Bless those Catholics, but they do have some of the most tastelessly designed churches...The basilica of St Anne is world-famous because of a statue of its namesake which is said to cry tears of blood, occasionally. Thousands of pilgrims flock to her stone likeness each year to ask her to pray for them and their healing, and inside the church are two wall brackets bearing dozens of crutches, walking sticks and splints, and even an oxygen mask, all left there by healed believers. Whilst there is stunning stained glass inside, the church does have a touristic mark on it, one which sits quite uncomfortably with me. But I'm not a Catholic; some things of their way of worship and saints and churches I will just never understand! But then again, I'm supposedly a member of the Church of England, and we get up to the craziest "Christian" crap!

Fall is here!

The best thing about heading so far North was heading straight into fall. And boy are the colours of fall stunningly gorgeous! The rows and rows of endless trees are a mixture of deep green, shining orange and gleaming red - utterly, utterly gorgeous! To reach Tadoussac, we have to catch a five-minute ferry ride across or a one-hour detour if they're on strike. (Striking, obviously a French thing!) The air was seriously fresh and the lake which just continues to the ocean was a far cry from the Ladygrove Lakes of my housing estate in Oxfordshire where your eyes are drawn to the discarded Tesco shopping trolleys as opposed to the organic beauty of nature. Tadoussac 1, Didcot 0.

Tadoussac itself is somewhere I could never live. It's small-town, middle of nowhere, everyone knows your business claustrophobia-style and where Stephane genuinely had to warn us girls against the leery lecherous seamen who wanted to take us out for one-on-one midnight boat rides. But that's the charm of the small town! Plus, I know I am looking for my future husband,but toothless, Quebecois fishermen aren't really my type! Having said that, the most danger Tadoussac presented me wasn't those seamen, but this one European girl from out group who seemed to take an instant dislike to me and who grudgingly agreed to be in a dorm with me - how I didn't get murdered in my sleep, I shall never know! Although she wasn't the only member of the group who was a bit, um, interesting. There was a French girl who had this unnerving facial expression that was a smirk, coupled with piercing eyes that looked you up and down and then sharply through you. And then there was a trio of Belgian girls who were just obnoxious. And an Aussie who was a bit standoffish. Then again, I probably bored them or inadvertently offended them!

Meriem and me on a hike in Tadoussac.

As for the wonderful people I became friends with: Meriem, Sara, Roxane, Tonje, Kat, Nicola, Claire, Geog, Lihan, Hanna, the other Brits - they were great!

Less great? Tadoussac hostel. Cold, with the most unstable bunk beds ever designed, I pulled my mattress from the top bunk and put it to the floor, having to shove a good third of it underneath another bunk so as not to provoke murderous European even more. I'm 5ft8. I need all three thirds of a single mattress! That night I took the Pain Train to Arthritic Agony! Fortunately, courtesy of Stephane, we had earlier toasted the trip with a shot of Caribou (a red wine/whiskey combo) and that was a sleep-inducer of the best, most throat-burning kind.

Saturday morning was D-Day. The day for which the trip was conceived and for which we poor international exchange students had forked out quite a few of those Canadian dollars for. In order to be somehow protected from Atlantic Ocean, we were kitted out in the most full on waterproof phenomenon of plastic trousers and a luminous over-sized orange montrosity of a coat which made me look like an Oompa Loompa having an anaphalactic shock! Bet those toothless Tadoussac seamen would've been gagging for me right at that moment!

We nearly drowned on the promenade leading to the "boats" as they were floating, so when there was an odd number of people on each section, the next section would start to sink! The "boats" were more like slightly solid rubber dingies. My legs were equally as rubbery but totally un-solid!

But I have never done anything so fun!

Casusal Atlantic boat ride.

The boat ride was great! Freezing cold air, ocean water splashing over us, waves so violent we were thrown from out seats and you had to play the game of grab-the-nearest-Norweigan's-thigh to stop yourself from being thrown overboard. (Great game, can be played with any European.) The Captain took us fast and furious and it was exhilarating and felt like flying. I genuinely would have loved for that run into the ocean wind and waves to have lasted forever.

When we came to halt, in the middle of the sea, we were the first boat there and the silence and vastness of the scene around us was awe-inspiring. The Captain told us to look out for bursts of spray as that would be the whales. Unfortunately for Nicola and another girl, the constant rocking of the boat by the waves sent them to Chundertown and a rather unfortunate shade of green...

But then we saw the burst of spray, several feet high, on the horizon! We raced over there, ignoring the safety regulations of staying seated at all times, desperate to see a whale. And we did! Yes it was brief each time, a glimpse of massive body and distinctive fin - but we saw them! We went whale watching and we watched some whales! Mission accomplished, money well spent.

Post-whale watching and looking pale!

After a good couple of hours on the water, when Nicola had thoroughly expelled her morning toast, we were whizzed around some more and taken to a gorgeous waterfall, the romance of which, the Captian destroyed by saying it was 'caribou piss'. Charming man. I wish I could have stayed on that water all day, even if I was starting to lose all feeling of my ear tips and toes. It was amazing!

Back on relatively dry and stable land, and once Nicola had recovered, it was soon farewell to Tadoussac and its eligible bachelors and back South-ish to Quebec City.

The approach to Quebec City was miserable, dark skies and gloomy. On first site of the city, it looked to me like a knock-off Paris. The high-rise buildings were devoid of architectural presence; it was just grey grey grey. To put it bluntly, if you go to Quebec City, only go to the preserved Old Quebec - the rest, it would appear, is a bit shite...



What's 'grrrr' in quebecois?

But Old Quebec - what a stunner! Every other street is like being in old London Town or somewhere like Lincoln or York, and the rest of the streets are straight out of idyllic Paris. It's bona fide Europe, especially as there aren't really any Canadian flags to be seen. Those Quebecois seem intent on separation and the prevelance of the Quebec flag everywhere was testament to that. Separate and be screwed, Quebec. The same goes for you, Scotland! Dinner in the fasionable district with the crew, late-night walk back in the rain with Meriem (who I adore so much) and a Sunday in the sunshine exploring the Old Quebec. The highlight was just being with my new friends, taking photos and messing about near the Quebec Parliament. One of those only-on-a-year-abroad moments that I shall cherish. Quebec City's tourist attraction may have won me over, but the rest of the city - well, I wouldn't go there!

Our final meeting as an excusion crew was to an all-you-can-eat buffet where Kat literally stunned with her stomach capacity! But time with friends is all you can ask for.

***

It's taken me all week to write this blog, and when I started it on Monday morning, I was feeling all self-conscious that I hadn't made any friends. It's not Thursday evening. And I can look back on the weekend now and see it for all the good and fun and laughter that was there. Heck, even the quasi-murderer can be turned into banter!

Happy. Happy happy happy.

Friends.