I’ve always liked the French language, and in particular liked the skill of being bilingual. That skill began, in large part, in Gaspé.
I originally wanted to go to a summer program in France, actually, but my parents compromised by making the Explore program possible. So in 2010, I spent five weeks living and studying at the Cégep de la Gaspésie et des Îles. I was 15.
It was my first time travelling by myself, and for years after I’ve kept really strong and special memories of the time that I had in the Gaspésie. It was the place I nearly froze in my wet suit while canyoning, the place I fell in love with the stillness of early-morning sunrises. It was a time of friendship made of rented movies with English subtitles and late-night games of pool. We hitchhiked out to a beach. We had fireworks until the police asked us not to. Surtout j’ai beaucoup amelioré mon français parlé et écrit.
The point is that Gaspé was a special place, and up until a couple days ago, I hadn’t returned to it in seven years. I’m so young that this is the first time I really feel like I’m coming back to a place that I haven’t seen in a long time.
All along the highway towards the downtown I had memories rolling under my bike tires. The nervousness of my taxi ride from the airport. The yoga beside the bridge. The sea kayaking in the harbour. We stopped at Café des Artistes and it was as familiar as Rue de la Reine outside. I told Isa, who was managing the coffee shop, how I was feeling.
“Bon retour,” she said. “Welcome back.”
She was born and raised in Gaspé and started working at the café about the same time that I left, she worked with unflagging efficiency and she recommended the mango smoothie. But this isn’t a story about her so much as it is a story about the feeling of coming back to a place that you loved and being greeted with a smile.
“Once you’ve lived here, really lived, the Gaspésie stays with you. It’s the air, the sea, the people.” She looked at the photo of her posing goofily. “Use that one,” she added, “it’s more me.”
