...it's to always be prepared. Always. For anything. Sure, there's some peripheral things I learned there, like there's a piece of Europe in Canada (more of a thing my mom learned after she saw the pictures I took there... look at the super-cool Funiculaire building in QC, compared to Mozart's birth-house in Salzburg, Austria [photo circa July 1992].), and where the building style of New Orleans originated. But that all pales in comparison to just damn well making sure you have the proper things to enjoy your day, no matter what. Especially when you're in a city that you don't know well, and have no car and too much restlessness to stay in one spot for long. Some of you have read about parts of this adventure on the CordBlog, but for those who haven't, or those who want more details, you got it.

Here's the deal - It's the middle of summertime in the more easternly portions of Canada. Much as I always thought in Toronto, poor little temperate-west-coast me was always under the impression that Quebec City in the summer was a sweltering, hot, bright, cloudless marvel of a city. Part of that was right, and part of it was wrong. It's a gorgeous city. Really gorgeous. If you haven't been there, and you like being the absolute definition of a tourist, then I suggest you go immediately. It's full of history, a blend of old and new, plenty of talented artists, stellar views, and some great restaurants and shopping. The rest of my earlier statement is only partly right.

Sure it started out nice enough. Playing the part of the typical tourist myself, my companion and I decided to embark early one morning (Canada Day) from Montreal to take a bus trip to Quebec City. As we waited at the bus terminal, a light overcast rolled in. I decided at the last second to swap my shoes for something lighter and more practical, which was the greatest decision I made all day. We took the bus, had our small walking tour through the old town at the bottom of the hill, and then a bus tour out to Montmorency Waterfall and around other parts of the city, including past the Plains of Abraham, where we would later find ourselves. Through all of this, it was bright, warm and sunny. Not overly hot, just really nice. I got to feeling all romantic and whatnot, wandering around this beautifully-kept town, with its colours and windowboxes and hand-carved signs and cobblestones, and the second I saw the Chateau Frontenac up on the hill, I figured I could easily live in Quebec City. This is where a peripheral lesson came into play : you can never have too much film with you in Quebec City.

After our tour bus nearly flipped over trying to bypass blocked traffic by driving up onto the sidewalk, it dumped us off at a restaurant near the river and told us to meet back later in the day. We, instead, were staying overnight. We found out hostel, got settled, then headed back out to look through the city. My first mission was buying a light shirt, as the one I'd started the day wearing somehow began to desintegrate on me. That was my second-best decision of the day. I swapped my tshirt (which I brought just in case it got a tad nippy in the evening. The humour of this would not strike me til much, much later) for this new purchase, and we settled in at a pub near the Chateau to grab some dinner. As we sat there enjoying regional pints and pleasant food, I noticed a solid, steel grey line of clouds moving over the city. It didn't stop its advance, and as we left the bar and headed up the road, the first few raindrops began to fall. Okay, no big deal, a little summer shower never hurt anyone, but we might as well take the time to duck into a nearby souvenir shop and wait it out. Well, a few feet from the door of the shop, the sky opened up with a thundering crash, and suddenly it was like being in Duran Duran's "The Reflex" video (filmed in Toronto's Maple Leaf Gardens, no less). The piles of previously-meandering, wonder-struck tourists all became fleet-footed, dashing to and fro, and soon ourselves and a host of other people were taking refuge in the souvenir shop.

Watch "The Reflex".... Fun!
The water part is closer to the end...

Holy crap, people, I've rarely seen anything like this, even in Vancouver. Instantly, the streets were wet, and the entire city was transformed. Suddenly, a glance out the window showed half the people on the streets donning those two-dollar plastic ponchos. I became moderately distressed. All my possessions I had brought with me were in a very-cloth shoulder bag that was around my torso, and I for some reason long ago had given up the very-practical practice of making sure I had a garbage bag (or at least a grocery store bag or two) with me at all times specifically for these sorts of occurences. So, I bought some postcards, and asked the gentleman in the shop for an extra plastic bag that I could use to place my passport and camera in. And my t-shirt. Yet another good decision.

The rain slowed a bit, though the thunder continued, and we headed off towards Artist Alley to look at the local offerings. As we approached, the torrential rain began again. Well, I'd already started to give up on trying to stay under awnings, but the rain was sooooo cold. We stopped under a storefront doorway and watched as the rain ran a 3-inch-deep river down the alley past our feet, the artisans used a stick to push up the drooping awnings and remove the lakes from on top of them, and all the beautiful paintings got rain-soaked and blown over by the wind. I suggested we find a cafe or something to kill some time in, and we booked it across the alley, through a small courtyard, and into a building. A few more people were there waiting out the storm, and to our sides was a cafe that looked far too swank for our budgets and dripping states. We stood by an escalator and realized that it led to a theatre that showed IMAX films, which we pondered for a moment. Instead though, as the storm again waned, we left and walked in the direction of the Chateau again.

Each time we went outside, I got my hopes up by looking at the sky, which would pale slightly if the storm was in a weak point. "Oh look, it's clearing up!," I'd think. In places where I'd seen storms like this before (Toronto, Austria, Calgary), they'd often go hard for a while, and then clear up as though the skies had never heard of rain. But here, I always spoke too soon. I was concerned walking into the swanky Chateau, now a beautiful hotel, that we'd be stared down and ousted for being soggy and dissheveled, but it turned out that just about everyone in there was in the same state, and the place was crawling with inquisitive tourists. I found this odd, as many of the nice hotels in Vancouver will kick you out if you spend too much time in the lobby just looking at the architecture. We settled on some marble steps to dry off, in full view of a window where we could watch the storm's progress. My companion took the time to call her family back in Montreal, and got the disturbing news that there was a tornado watch in the area. Sure, that was a three-hour drive away, but just which direction was this storm supposed to come in from?? Violent weather is really neat if you don't have to be outside for anything, but a tornado was a little more than I'd bargained for.

We tried unsuccessfully to track down some people associated with a band that was performing in the Canada Day celebration, to find out if they were even going to play any more. The marble was cold on our behinds, and having dried off a bit, we got our spunk back and decided to take our own, unguided tour of the hotel. We hopped onto an elevator, pressed a random floor button, and then just walked around, going through doors and seeing what we could find. So, another lesson : hotels can be fun to explore when you have nothing better to do and/or are escaping rough weather in another city. Then we walked the circuit of the basement, and finally decided to hit the Creperie next door. Mmmmm crepes. And to our utter delight, as we sat there, the open courtyard beside us brightened to blue-skied golden-sunlight, and the staff of the restaurant began sweeping water off the chairs and preparing for guests to sit outside.

We finished our dessert and headed for the washrooms, where I used the hand dryer to dry my hair and clothes out, and freshen up a bit from the sludge and grit and mud that had made my legs filthy from so many puddles. And the second we walked back out of that bathroom, we realized that it had begun to rain again! Big, fat plooshes of water. And more fizzing lightning and thunder. We ran back to the Chateau, wandered around a bit more, and then figured it was unrainy enough to just screw-it-all-let's-go. Off we went, in the direction of the Plains of Abraham, where this big Canada Day celebration was going on.

As I mentioned, we'd driven near the Plains earlier (not too close, as many roads were closed off for the celebration), and could see that the area was packed with families enjoying the various festivities. Somehow, I managed to get the hang of Quebec City, and knew instinctively how to get to the Plains from where we were. Montreal I still was disoriented in even after being there for over a week, but this place I figured out pretty quick. We walked over, and that is when it started to get windy... no longer very rainy, but oh man was it windy. And cold. I wanted to stick it out as long as I could though, as I knew it would only get colder as the night drew on, and I wanted to make sure I preserved my layers for when I really couldn't take it any longer. We found a road that led into the Plains, and walked up it towards an abandoned white tent that was flapping in the breeze. I mean, we'd heard of a tornado watch. Surely not, right? ...right? We stopped there for a moment to get our bearings, being quite disturbed by the fact that there was not a single, solitary soul in the area. To our right was a parking lot that had a collection of tour buses in it, in front of some historical building. Most of them were charter coaches from tour companies, but one of them was a full-on million-dollar superbus. Good sign, we thought, even though there were no people around it and the parking lot was surrounded by locked gates. The attendant in the parking booth didn't have a clue about any concert, and the building was closed up. We had just passed a large, open field that had in it the wreckage of a stage that looked as though whoever had been assembling it had just given up in the middle. Maybe the show really had been cancelled. But why was there no one around? We later discovered it was from a summer festival that had gone on earlier, but it confused the heck out of us for a while.

It had indeed stopped raining, and whether or not the show was going on, I was up for exploring the Plains more, and just feeling the alarming history of our nation right underneath my very feet. We walked, and located small groups of wandering people decked out in flags and vibrancy. The right track? Then, there were cars and volunteers. People in reflective vests always mean there's an event on, so we kept walking with renewed hope. But everything that was going on seemed to consist of trucks and people unplugging and dismantling things. Had we missed it?? Surely not... One helpful attendant pointed us further along, and we kept walking until we came to the Museum, completely on the opposite side of the Plains from where we'd started. At the crest of a hill bordering the parking lot, a clump of people had set up lawn chairs and were staring down at the field below. We peered over the edge, and there it was... a huge stage, sitting in the middle of a big, gently-sloping grassy clearing above the river. It was a stunning sight, especially with the darkening skies which one could no longer tell were friendly or not. Everything was grey and red. Happy/melancholy Canada Day. The slick hill in front of us was incredibly steep, and not wanting to land on my ass and slide down said hill (fun though that would be, and had I known what was in store, I might have taken the plunge), we took the lengthier route down some stairs and around a grove of trees to get to the field.

Here, the comforting hum of electric generators powered the sad and lonely beer-selling booth, and the popcorn stands. The stage was full of people and instruments, and both groups of things were covered in plastic. The people standing on stage appeared to be discussing something seriously, likely something to do with the safety of having ungrounded humans playing electric things on a soaking-wet stage. Maybe sixty people, some with umbrellas and some with ponchos, stood scattered around in front of the stage. I took the opportunity to hit a portapotty behind me before it got too dark, and therefore dangerous, to use them. As I walked back out, I was pelted from above by... yep, rain. Dear god, it started again. A blast of lightning not far off prompted us to run from the massive trees we were standing near, and beeline it for a big gazebo that was just on the other side of those trees. Many others had the same idea, and soon, about thirty or forty people were huddling in the gazebo, trying to stay out of the rain that drifted under the roof from the increasing winds. I reached my breaking point and swapped my halter top for my tshirt. We watched a kid with a frighteningly-long braided rat tail do step-dancing in front of us, which was pretty neat at first, but being our only source of stimulation at that point, quickly became annoying.

Sitting there, I finally got in touch with those who were playing the show, and learned that it was indeed in limbo. The band, who had been through something similar the year before, wasn't too keen on playing for safety's sake. I was instructed to call back in half an hour or so, and if worse came to worst and they cancelled the gig, we'd all just go grab a pint. I went to put something back into my bag, and the zipper came flying off the end. Well crap, now my bag was open. I took my damaged shirt that I never got a chance to actually wear, and pinned it across the top of my bag to try to protect it. Just over half an hour later, as I was thinking to go for my phone to recall the band, we heard the distinctive sounds of a line check drifting across the field, through the trees, and to our ears. The rain was more of a mist right then, so we went over. For the life of me, I can't remember the first band's name, but they played. It was a French-language band, not terrible, but in that slightly-corny way that a pop band that's trying too hard to be a rock band has. They had a token female who sang some lines and I think bashed a tambourine around a few times, but mostly she posed and did 'sexy' dances and jumped way too much for a braless girl. And kind of silly too, because she really didn't have much in the way of boobs.

After that, the drizzle continued, the sky darkened more, the lightning shot fingers of white across the sky, and Daniel Desnoyers started a very very very loud DJ set. What a weird show. The crowd turned into a rave, with people dancing like maniacs all over. It went on seemingly for eternity, and was eventually ended in admittedly kind of a rude manner, by the crew beginning to check instruments for the headlining set. I guess Desnoyers just went on too long. Who knows, maybe someone had tried to tell him to cut it short already and he didn't, but from where I was standing, it just looked like people came out and started checking the drums loudly right over top of his set. Desnoyers looked back in irritation, kept going for a bit, but soon stopped with a curt, "thanks and good night."

Eventually, Sam Roberts and his Band came out to as much fanfare as the weather-weary and small crowd could muster. One could see one's breath. The rains began again. My companion had a semi-weather-proof jacket, and gave me her earlier-purchased plastic poncho, which we'd been sitting on in the gazebo. It was now wet on both sides, and I just wrapped it around my shoulders and tried to close it tightly around my neck to make a bit of a body umbrella that would hopefully keep my damaged bag sort of dry as well. The rain did its best to kill everyone's spirit. Really really hard. The thought of us standing in a bare field beside a huge metal stage in a crazy thunderstorm was beginning to dawn on us all. But we stayed. We thought maybe the band would do a curtailed set, like put in an appearance so as not to disappoint those who had waited for them, but just play like three or five songs and then retreat to a less electricity-conducting place in the world. But they didn't, those damn troopers. They fucking played and played and played. They did a full set, and every time a new song would begin, the force of the rain would up itself by ten percent. Maybe four songs in, I had decided that standing stock-still in front of such a boisterous band, trying to keep the ever-increasing water from leaking in down my neck was just plain stupid. I threw caution to the still-present wind, wrapped the poncho around my bag to keep the electronics safe, and gave in to the elements and indeed, to the rock.

At this point, I had on almost as much clothing as I had in the world just then, which consisted of a tshirt, a thin hoodie, and short jeans. And flat sandals. My new halter top I'd had the foresight to tuck into the plastic bag from the souvenir store. I stood and clapped and cheered, and threw my head up to the sky with a crazed laugh, marvelling at the idiocy of being outside in such conditions, and to see a band that, certainly, I adore, but have seen many times and would definitely see again many more. But dammit all, I was in Quebec City, I came there to celebrate Canada, and as the white lightning sizzled across the sky and mingled with the rainbow of lights from the stage, the thunder swallowed up by the sheer cavalcade of rock, I realized there was no better or more defiant way to do just that. Looking straight up into the falling rain as the lights whizzed back and forth, making the drops appear and disappear magically was amazing. The crowd sprung with umbrellas, some people wandered away, as the rain just kept getting harder. Rain drops collected endlessly on my nose and continued down my face, my hair was slicked back with wild abandon, all my clothing was stuck to my body. I could no longer feel my extremities, and my body was wracked with those weird uncontrollable shivers one can get when one goes into emergency mode. All my muscles ached from the effort involved in so much shivering, my jaws chattered so that I thought my teeth would rattle straight out of my head, and eventually, I even stopped shivering, which I think is supposed to be a sign of your body actually giving up and starting to shut down. But still we stayed. It was quite impressive, the duelling light shows, the way the band never gave up, the way the audience sang and watched and plastered looks of pure delight across their faces. Or maybe it was delirium. Either way, it looked like fun was being had. James Hall, the band's bassist, repeatedly walked across the stage to speak animatedly with some of the other guys, as he evidently was standing in a puddle and was starting to fear for his life. I don't blame him, but they all soldiered on anyhow.

By the end of the set, the songs were louder than they've ever been, and the rain harder than it had been all day. The last notes rang out over the field, the thunder and splattering drops were again audible, and Sam Roberts jumped off the stage and booked it, not backstage to the warm and waiting tour bus, but rather, into the crowd where he shook hands and hugged the enthusiastic fans that had stuck it out and were now clambering along the barricade to have a moment with the man. Valiant? Sure, that works. As his road manager began to lead him back to somewhere with a roof, he saw me and came over for a moment, seemed a bit alarmed at my being there, and invited us back to the warm bus, which was a very much appreciated gesture. Only he was then ushered off so quickly that by the time we made it to the 'backstage' gate, he'd already disappeared into the noisy storm. So now we faced two security guards, who of course had no reason to believe two waterlogged girls that the evening's star had just asked them to head to the bus. I probably wouldn't believe me either. Another lesson : make sure your connections know where you are at all times, especially when they have the only shelter in the immediate area. I attempted to call the band, and no matter who the phone was passed to, for some reason no one could hear me, even though I could hear them. We were told to "just come on back." "We can't, there's security." "What? The bus is behind the stage, there's a parking lot, come on back. We have beer." "Dude! There's security! We don't have passes! We can't go back there!" "What?" Shouting from the other end of the phone, I twice had someone say there'd be someone up to find us. No one ever showed up. The guards told us to get them to wave from the bus, but they of course couldn't hear me on the phone. I was about to just go "forget it, I just want the hostel and dry linens" and hightail it out of there, but suddenly, the security guys softened and asked a couple of times if I was suuuuure they'd know me. Yes, of course. So he led us towards the bus.

I thought the worst was behind us. We were almost home free. Almost safe and warm on a dry bus, beer in hand, conversations spirited. But we were about to enter the most treacherous, though brief, part of the entire day. Underneath a pair of trees, where the grassy area narrowed to a small path that connected the stage area with the parking lot below, it was a good four inches of mud. High-traffic area, this is where every single person had to pass on their way from the crew space to the show space, and it had been turned up into a thick, slippery stew of muck. It was so dark there, I couldn't see this, and didn't know it until my toes felt the cold pressure of pudding-like mud squeeze between them, and my companion just about took a spill on the slickness. Her arms wheeled and she caught herself, and I decided to swoosh my feet through the muck instead of stepping, hoping I'd maintain a bit more traction. I made it down safely, and as I tried to wipe my goopy feet off on the wet-but-clean grass at the bottom of the short hill, the tour bus door right in front of me flung swiftly open, and the band's keyboardist/guitarist Eric Fares poked his head out and exclaimed with a surprised look, "Oh, you're right here!" Yes yes, I am now, I told him, and I continued to scrape my feet pointlessly on the grass. The guard looked at him and said, "These two are okay?" Fares confirmed that indeed we were, and he told us to quickly get on the bus and make ourselves at home. He and the guard exchanged some words in French that I didn't bother to try and catch because the promise of somewhere clean and dry, tempting me from the pleasant air that drifted out of the open bus door, was too much for me to handle putting off any longer.

Atop of the first landing on the bus stairs was an enormous pile of soiled shoes. It was like that game I'm sure we all played in elementary school or at camp where everyone throws their shoes into a big pile and the first team to get all their shoes back on their own feet and have everyone sitting in a neat line wins. Our pairs of shoes joined the heap, and I was horrified to find that the black dye from my sandals left vicious-looking stripes of dirty grey-black across my feet. Ew! We squeezed past the small group of people sitting in the front lounge area, and stopped in the 'kitchen,' where someone passed us very-welcome lukewarm bottles of Heineken. As my companion stated, even warm beer was a treat at that point in the day... anything warm would have done. I took over the washroom for a moment where I peeled off my white jacket, noticed it had picked up red dye from my shirt, peeled off the shirt, and put on the amazingly-dry halter. That was very very nice, but I also noticed at this point that the water that sloughed off the plastic poncho over my shoulder bag had poured onto my jeans in just the right spot to make it look like I'd had a bit of an accident. Dammit. I tried to clean off my feet, but the stubborn dye stayed put. I wrung a good litre of water out of the hoodie, emerged from the tiny room, and began to consume the beer. Band members came by, pleasantries exchanged, and while mild conversation was had, it seemed as though no one was much in the mood to talk extensively. It was a far different 'afterparty' than I was accustomed to with this group. Energy was being used to try to get my body back into working order. Slowly, I began to feel my hands and feet and nose again. I learned that they had come quite close to not playing, but that first band had gone for the gusto, and they'd pretty well set the bar for the rest of the day.

Just as I was getting back to a state of comfort, the drops no longer freely flowing off my hair, guitarist Dave Nugent flew down the center aisle of the bus, demanding that everyone had to leave quick quick quick. The bus was heading on an overnight drive to Prince Edward Island, and they had to get on the road. Well crap. That was short-lived reprieve. Not wanting to get that one dry article of clothing wet back out in the rain again, I changed back into my drenched hoodie. The washroom was occupied, so I discreetly tried to put the thing on in the corner, but I think I was caught by a fairly-flustered member of the band, who then proceeded to grab my shoulder bag off the counter and hand it to me (even though I hadn't asked for it and had to just put it back on the counter to pack some things into it) and babble incoherently for a moment. That was pretty funny. Goodbyes were hastily said, and we filed off the bus just before it drove off into the mysterious night. We began the long trek back across the Plains, up the hill, and around the museum in the ongoing deluge. We'd called a cab, but one didn't show for so long, we just began to hoof it. A block or so later, we came across an area populated with bars and restaurants, and with a full line of waiting cabs. We popped into one, got whisked off to the hostel, and spent hours in the laundry room in the basement, trying to wash and dry our muddy things in the inadequate machines located there. I never knew so many people would be doing their laundry at that weird hour in a hostel.

Weary, chilled, and now with a load of mostly-dry clothing, we tumbled into bed and spent a short night in more comfort than we'd known in some time. Of course, we woke the next morning to beaming-bright and happy sunshine, which should have pleased me, but instead made me curse the world. Until I got outside, that is. We had breakfast at an omelette place. I was asked (in French of course) if we wanted smoking or non-smoking. Now, my French is strange. I can understand a lot of basic French, and certainly more 'formal' (well, Parisienne) French, and can actually speak it a fair bit. My pronounciation is also quite good, but my problem is that I'm very bad at coming up with phrases really fast. So I tend to answer people with one or two words, or find some other way to indicate my meaning. So, not even thinking, and still tired to boot, I simply said, "Non." As in, no-smoking. Pas de fumer, if you will. And here's where I learned that, contrary to everything I'd been told about the fiercely-proud francophone Quebec-City-dwellers, people there would rather speak English than deal with your inadequate French skills. The hostess asked me, "Do you speak English?" I think I might have even said, "oui" to that, and she repeated her original question to me in English. So I had to repeat, non-smoking. I guess they just deal with so many tourists... anyhow, we sat by a window ringed with flower baskets and watched horses drawing carriages clop down the street every few minutes.

And the rest of the day was spent walking aimlessly around, exploring the Plains in the daylight and without rain, looking in shops, not being able to look in the amazing old church because there was some service going on, watching plays about meat, and wandering out to a row of New Orleans-y houses. In the early evening, we hopped back on a tour bus and went back to Montreal. I was happy to have seen Quebec City indeed, but I have been re-taught to always have an extra item or two of clothing, something warm no matter how sunny the day is, and some plastic bags to wrap anything water-sensitive in. While you're at it, make sure you have a comb, some eyeliner (gender/style depending), a toothbrush, and maybe a razor or something with you when you travel, even if it's for the day. Wear closed shoes, or at least bring a pair along. Never scoff at buying a poncho "'cause the weather will probably let up." To ensure your traveling survival, always be prepared. Thank you, Quebec City.

Elsewhere

By Andy Scheffler
Photos : Kate Irvine and Andy Scheffler
Published : August 9, 2004.