Vive L'Acadie!

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  Chatham, New Brunswick, Canada
Saturday, June 19, 2004

I awake at an unknown hour in the dark. It is raining. I go outside naked to pee, and the rain on my skin feels strange and pleasant. I remember how the kids used to love running out naked in rainstorms, whooping and dancing. Back in the tent, I try to pull things away from the walls, but in the morning there are still some wet items. Even worse, we left a lot of gear on the uncovered table outside, whereas we could easily have left it on a covered table right near us. Everything is soaked. We drag it over to the covered table and start our first pack in the rain. We hope things will clear, but instead it pours rain all day. Visibility is not bad, so we do see the little villages standing stark. I guess the weather gives us a better idea of what life here is really like. I have figured out why the towns look so barren: there are no gardens, nor even trees nor hardly any bushes except the odd lilac. It isn't that they CAN'T grow things, because every so often there is a place with lots of trees and plants. Too busy making a living to garden? Just aren't interested? The houses are little white boxes set on grass, facing the sea

An Acadian grist mill

.

It is the Acadian bicentennial, and flags and decorated lobster traps are everywhere. We stop at an Acadian village which has been created by taking down authentic buildings from various locations, and then putting them meticulously back together here in the form of an actual village. This is one of the very few educational stops we plan, and it is an excellent one. There is a slide show in a modern building first, giving the history of this persecuted people. It is heartbreaking to think of them working so hard with so little and then being thrown out again just as they are starting to have something. The village itself is beautifully done. There are no signs to distract and give an "exhibit" feeling, no tours. Instead, one is given a map with all the buildings identified, and one can wander at will. The village is "inhabited" by people in period dress, who go freely about their daily work. They chat and answer questions in character. They actually make things, and care about what they are doing, whether or not anyone else is there. My enjoyment is literally dampened by my soggy pants--the rain has blown right through the crotch opening in my unisex rainpants while riding. Why didn't I think to duct-tape it shut? But still we see lots despite the rain and have a delicious authentic lunch of pea soup, dark bread and molasses cake. We also acquire a "L'Acadie" decal for the bike.

On to Caraquet, where there happens to be a bike rally in a big arena. The temptation of getting out of the rain combines with our general curiosity, and we go in. Unfortunately it is not a very good one. The Show and Shine does not have interesting bikes, and there are no contests like "Furthest ride to get here", which we would probably have won

An Acadian grist mill #2

! I'm sure someone from Newfoundland showing up at the yearly Tsawassen meet would have elicited a lot of interest, but nobody here seems to care about our journey. There is a lobster meal, but it is expensive and the dining area is filled with smoke and morose patrons, so we don't indulge. We do enquire about bookstores. The info lady assures me that there are "lots" of books at both Shopper's Drug Mart and the Co-op. These turn out to be scanty collections, virtually all Harlequins, and in French to boot! Nobody can think of a place for me to buy an English book. I should have known when the Tim Horton's sign said "Toujours Frais" instead of "Always Fresh", which is the easiest way to tell the linguistic predominence in any NB region. I haven't seen ANY bookstores in Quebec or NB. In BC, even the smallest grocery will have a rack of best-sellers. Here you're lucky to find magazines. Yet every tiny village has its shop for "L'Arte de la Beaute", or several, and even tanning parlours.

We carry on around the coast, stopping for Chinese food. I check the epicerie across the street: no books, but I get a "Betty et Veronique" comic for my daughter. The staff advise that there is a mall just over the bridge where I can get a book. It sounds close, so neither of us plugs in our electric vests. Miles later, no sign of a bridge. We stop and awkwardly plug in. Sure enough, we find the bridge shortly after, then the mall. There is a meagre selection of English best-sellers! No authors I have read, but I take a chance on a Tami Hoag, which turns out to be pretty good. [However, another one by the same author which I buy back home is bad, so buyer beware! The good one was "Dark Horse".] It is 25% off, and if I trade it in at a used book store later I'll probably get at least 25% back, so it's not too much of a splurge.

For once we are in agreement to get a motel. With all gear sopping wet, there isn't any question. We ask the locals for a likely motel road, and are pointed to the beginning of the Tourist NB Miramichi route. We have now gone on all but one of the recommended routes. We come to the Fundy Line Motel first. It is $63. "Sold", says Henry. I am obviously a bad influence on him; he never would have let "a little rain" stop him from camping in a ditch before I met him, let alone spend so much on a room! We cover the Fundy Line with wet gear, which I rotate regularly, turn up the heat to maximum, watch "Patch Adams" and various stupid TV shows, order in pizza and pop at 11:00 pm and don't go to sleep until after midnight. Decadence. I love it.

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