Our night in Pointe-à-la-Frégate was a bit scary: the wind picked up from the water, and blew hard all night long. We were by the water, and there was nothing to slow down the wind in its path. So I lay in bed hearing the wind blow both over and under our room for much of the night. It was a strong and long blow! Amazingly, the power did not go out, and there were no trees down that we could see. The morning brought a slight amount of rain, but it was still the wind which worried us.
We had waken at 4:30 to get a picture of the sunrise over the Saint-Laurent, and it was beautiful, with the sky quite clear at the time. But when we woke for the second time at 6:30, it was cloudy, and menacing. We decided to eat quickly and leave, which we did. With some relief.
The drive down the coast was wonderful and a bit scary all at once. This area of the Gaspé is quite mountainous—more than I had expected. At times, the road would climb a hill at a 15% grade, the descend with the same speed. At other times the road was right by the river/ocean, with the water's waves slamming against the rocks by the side of the road and spraying up into the air; the other side of the road was an almost sheer cliff going up a thousand feet or so. I had no idea this type of topography existed in Eastern Canada.
Then it changed. We got out of the Land's End part of the Gaspé and into the Haute-Gaspésie, and there was some farmland between the hills, and sometimes between the mountains and the sea. And when we left the Gaspésie, there was even more farmland, with the mountains retreating to the East.
We had left our motel in a hurry, and were anxious to find a good coffee place. In the end, we did not find one until we got to Matane, about two hour's drive from our start. And it was a good one, so worth the wait.
And by this time, the sky had begun to clear, and the wind died down, so it was a much better day. With the weather, and the coffee, all our spirits rose significantly. We went on the Rimouski, where we did some shopping, then proceeded on to look for a place for the night. After Rivière-du-Loup, we stopped at a few places, and rejected them, and then got to Kamouraska. We had wanted a place with internet and washing facilities, and thought we would have to settle for a motel. But we found, in the centre of town, and place called "La Belle Blanche" which had a suite for a good price, and included use of their washer and dryer, as well as internet. So we were all happy. And the couple (Denis and Marie) are charming: he is cabinet-make, and has redone what was his grandmother's house into a magnificent Gîte; she is a gentle woman who seems to cook and do the rest. And they have son who lives in the house as well.
I have to admit that I have fallen in love with this town. It is over 325 years old, has many homes along the main streets which date to the early Nineteenth Century, but have been well-maintained. And it is a farming community as well as a fishing place. There are large tractors going through the streets. And we ate last night at a poissonerie with an adjacent bistro, of fish caught by the owner, and well-prepared and cheap. It was delightful. We decided to stay an extra night before heading off, and doing a day of biking today if the weather held.
I woke this morning at 6:30, and was pleased to read my Globe on my iPad before breakfast. Breakfast was wonderful, as all the Gîte breakfasts have been, and we got ready to go biking. this seemed to take a longer time than usual, but finally all was ready and we headed off on the Route Verte upstream along the river (actually on Route 132). Our trip was actually in the end almost 90 km, to bring us up to about 644 km total, not quite what we had done in BC, but not bad for some old farts. We passed through the town of Saint-Denis, where Barry was again mistaken for a Frenchman, or a Belgian, so something. He was very pleased. The rest of the trip out was largely along the river to La Pocatière, then inland (and up a massive hill) on the search for a town we wanted to visit just because of its improbable name: Saint-Onésine-d'Ixowrth. This town turned out to be a disappointment—it had had a fine wooden church, which burned down in the 1960's due to a malfunctioning furnace, and the replacement was not worth mentioning.
Back along the Highway 230 to Saint-Pascal (the patron saint of cooking), then home to Kamouraska. We were all tired after our 90 km., and after each took his or her shower, we set off in search of an early and well-earned supper. We found this at the western end of town, in an auberge called the
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