Up quite early for Jan and I, and off to breakfast and then to the Citadel for the tour that we were too late for yesterday.
Wandered the outer walls of the fortress until the first tour at 10:00am. The soldiers of the old days must have been drunk or crazy or just very dim-witted. 'Cannon to the left of them, cannon to the right of them, cannon in front of them, Volley'd and thunder'd to quote Tennyson. Given all the cannons on the walls here, there must have been nothing but hamburger left on the field afterward if anyone had ever attacked. But nobody ever did, never a shot fired in anger at the fort. The military mind must come without the imagination gene however. Same could be said of Rugby players I suppose, maybe its a guy thing combined with a herd mentality, and a sort of 'Tally-Ho, chocks away!!' kind of bravado that only the male mind can comprehend.
Speaking of fields, and of Jan and I sleeping through history class again, but from the citadel we could see the Plains of Abraham in the middle distance, where English Canada began. Our guide told us that the battle lasted only 20 minutes, and both Wolfe and Montcalm (the opposing generals) were killed, poetic justice. The english showed up where the french didn't expect them, 5000 strong. The french had to hike from 20 miles away, by which time the english were rested and ready. Also the english were professional soldiers, the french were a mix of soldiers, citizens, and indians, and exhaused from the hike. And Montcalm was 'a bad general', said our guide. Sic transit gloria mundi, and our futures turn on the smallest details.
Our guide was great, and the tour consisted of her and Jan and I. The french-speaking tour was about 25 people, I think mostly the refugees from the Francophone Conference who did not have terminal hangovers from last night, but we only bumped into them once. There were a bunch of RCMP cars and long black limosines with Ontario plates driving about the fort. The Governor General has a ceremonial residence in the fort, complete with her own cannons and a little pile of cannon-balls at the front door. The ashphalt in front of her place was thick with large men in bulky suits and short haircuts and earphones in their ears, and they eyed us suspiciously as our little tour went back and forth visiting the surrounding buildings.
At one point, we noticed about 40 or so soldiers in full cammoflage gear lined up to get weapons at a building. The line shuffled forward into the door on one side, and from the other they emerged with a gun each, a big one, that they immediately smiled and chattered away about, opening it up and pulling out bits and then putting them back in, and cocking it and pulling the trigger producing a loud 'click'. Then they would smile and chatter away again as they walked into another building. Surreal. Anyway, our guide told us that the permanent residents of the fort are the 22nd Regiment, the so-called (and now nortorious after an incident in Somalia) Van-Doo's. By the way, the only regiment in Canada where only french is spoken and orders are given only in french. That must limit their interaction with other units in the field, I think. Can't you see it, some American or Brit says 'Hey, you guys, go attack that hill over there.' The Van-Doos say 'Quoi, moi??, Hill?? Aujourd-hui??' or something like that. The guys were either on their way to, or just returning from, Afganistan. 'A nasty little war, but the only one we've got', as a Victorian Englishman once said.
Our guide was a young girl, 20, a student at a local university. A civilian, distinctly non-military. She said that the soldiers all stare at her but are afraid to talk to her. When she speaks to them, they don't know what to say and sort of wander away tongue-tied, or rave on about how great it is to be a soldier. She just shook her head and said she didn't understand them at all, or how someone could be so silly as to give up their right to determine their own future and perhaps die for the priviledge of doing so. Indeed. She struck a military pose in front of a cannon, at my request, and then went on with her smiling and chattering, a charming girl.
By noon we were done and had bought a mug to commemorate the visit. The mug has a goat on it, the official mascot of the Van-Doo regiment. Cute little fellow, a prior mascot is in the museum, picture included below. Finally, into the car for the drive east.
Crossed the St Lawrence river via ferry from a dock just under the Chateau Frontenac, arriving 15 minutes later in Levis. Then east on Highway 20 along the south side of the river, through Riviere du-Loup, St Jean Port Joli, destination Metane. Saw the tree's color change that everyone has told us about. All true, spectacular and vibrant colors of red, orange, yellow, and the deep green of the pines. A brilliant sunset in our mirrors to the west, and windmill farms dotting the coastline. Huge brutes they are, majestically and slowly turning like dignified giants on the hill sides. Shades of things to come, with sustainable power.
