Things have felt a mite end-of-days to me lately, you know? After weeks (and also years) of difficult information — both macro and microcosmic — pile-driving into my brain, the damn broke and I wept when I read about Prince Edward Island’s Teacup Rock being swept away by Hurricane Fiona, even though I’ve never been there. I was weirdly moved by the quotes in this CBC article by PEI resident, Marg Chisholm-Ramsay, and her frank mourning of events the Teacup had seen, including “gender reveals” which I revile. For some reason the disappearance or, more correctly, redistribution of Teacup Rock and its attendant losses laid bare the part of me that’s tenderest toward our species, gender reveals and all; our tininess, our stubborn devotion to impermanent things, our shock that this strange, sparkling hierarchy-fest we tried to build is by and large failing in spite of the majority of us believing ourselves to be pretty nice and doing our best on a day-to-day level. Somehow, Teacup Rock tore all that stuffing out of me when she broke away to twist through the angry ocean, becoming something new.
On the flip side, I had one of my best weeks in recent memory this month, also to do with the ocean, our tininess, etc. More on that in the “Writing” section, but a teaser: I saw 100 seals swimming and fishing together which laid bare another kind of tenderness, another kind of tears, or maybe exactly the same. The month was somewhat a study in contrasts, and also a chance to see how related the feelings of loss and awe and joy and fear might be. Also a great reminder that much of the work ahead is getting comfy with holding space for it all, allowing my bodymind to fully experience wonder and happiness alongside inevitable anger and sadness and shame. Of course that’s been the work all along I guess; it just strikes me as more obvious when that which has seemed immovable literally hurtles into the sea.
Writing:
Part of the point of starting this newsletter was to be a bit more “in the world” with my writing, to talk about it more to make it feel more real. And what felt like mere seconds after sending out the first one, I got a grant from the Canada Council for the Arts for my novel. So I guess this is a law-of-attraction blog now; you just have to put it into the universe guys, I’m out here manifesting, if you build it they will…JUST KIDDING. I had some very good luck and maybe my writing doesn’t suck and I am absolutely fucking thrilled.
As a result of this spurt of cash, I got to spend a week traveling along the St. Lawrence River from Quebec City through several towns in Charlevoix and ending up in the village of Tadoussac in the Côte-Nord region. This is where the Saguenay Fjord and the St. Lawrence intersect and where a shit ton of whales come to munch on the copious krill that thrive in that intersection every summer and fall. I’m still shy to reveal too much about my novel’s plot, but there are parts that take place along the St. Lawrence and there are parts that take place among whales. As I flailed around my first draft this past summer, I came to realize that there are in fact whales in the St. Lawrence, which I never knew before and now was dying to see. And then I did!
My favourite place I visited was Tadoussac, not just because that’s where the whales are but because it’s such a gorgeous little place (the population is only about 800 when tourist season’s done) with a very good vibe. The waterfront is dominated by the gigantor Hotel Tadoussac which has big Dirty Dancing energy. It’s been a tourist destination since the 1800’s. I rented a great apartment with a view of the river and I wrote there every morning, then went out all afternoon to stare at the mountains and fjord and river and rocks and yes, sometimes whales. I took a whale watching boat twice. The second time out, when we were entirely surrounded by a pod of grey seals, who had the sweetest little dog faces and the most magnificent bods, I felt a kind of bald, unmasked excitement and joy that felt very much like the best parts of being a child.
On my last day there, I went to the amazing Marine Mammal Interpretation Centre staffed mostly by passionate biologists, several of whom I peppered with 1000 questions, including “What do you think about the whale watching tours?” An especially lovely scientist working in the gift shop explained that their organization isn’t really for or against but, like, whales don’t love extra noise, and boats make extra noise. She then performed the emotional labour required to remind me that “If you already went, and you loved it, that’s amazing! It’s good if people feel close to whales! If it’s not just some vacation box to tick, it’s fine!” To that young woman I am forever grateful. I also bought the majority of products available in the shop.
The entire time I was in Tadoussac, I had what I referred to in my head as “whale greed.” Like, even though I saw the glossy backs of several, saw and heard the formidable blow of their breath, watched their dorsal fins emerge and sink as they gracefully dove for more food, I wanted more more more from the whales! Show us your tails! Do a little breach! Put on a show! Thinking about and resisting and accepting my whale greed felt generative for my novel, in terms of both theme and tone. Same with learning that the word “fleuve” in French is a river that flows directly into the ocean, while a “riviere” is one that flows into further rivers. Fleuve is also colloquial for a torrent of words. Bet you’re feeling itchy to pre-order this book now, right??
God, I don’t know what to say. It’s been a very lucky time and maybe I’m old enough to know that’s all it is, not much else. And if I don’t feel and enjoy a lucky time and instead squander it at the hands of wishing for an even better future — when the book is done, when I am a famous, known genius — I am severely fucking up my life. Haha. I may have learned this the hard way.
Reading:
Due to the hurly-burly of planning, going on, and recovering from a trip, I didn’t read as much as I’d wanted to this month. I’m thigh-deep in a couple novels but am mostly just reading David Lebovitz’s cookbook, My Paris Kitchen, in the evenings to relax. I find his lengthy, rather aimless storytelling about his seemingly happy life with his partner in Paris in combination with solid French-ish recipes impossibly soothing. Caveat: there’s a mild current of very 90’s-style fat-phobia running throughout that bugs me. Too much talk of le boot camp to “offset” roasted chicken. The way the concepts of guilt and sin and atonement so insidiously snake through food writing even today makes me want to rip out my nails (who knows what unfortunate concept I’m channeling there?)
Eating:
An absolute stand-out for me in Quebec City was Nina Pizza Napolitaine. I was in town a total of two days and went there twice. The vegan cheese was plentiful, the crust expertly leopard-spotted; it’s not common to get a vegan white pizza, but they had one, complete with a ridiculous garlic flower pesto. And the farmer’s market salad was one of the best salads I’ve ever had — so salty, so acidic, so many radishes.
For the beginning of my journey north, I took the Charlevoix Train (recommend!) to the end of the line, which is a lovely town called La Malbaie. There, I stayed at a lovely auberge called Les Pinsons des Rives where there was vegan yoghurt and granola and an oatmilk latte on offer for my breakfast. Their bistro was sadly closed the day I was there, but I hope to go back to try their vegan tapas!
In Tadoussac, I mostly cooked and the oven there was much better than my own, complete with a convection setting. Thanks to that, though I failed to take a picture, I made an extremely banging version of this go-to BBQ Tofu recipe — so crispy! I understand that air fryers are smol convection ovens, so if you have one of those this tofu is probably great in there too.
I’m still not the hugest fan of being unmasked indoors with a whole ton of people for a significant amount of time for various reasons, so I was appreciative to the Microbrasserie Tadoussac and Café l'Abri Côtier for having open patios and amazing grab-and-go vegan options. The tofu “feta” and red bean spread sandwich and creamy vegan potato salad were my faves at the latter, and the brewery’s sumac and dulse-infused gose, called Krill, was the most inventive of the several beers I sampled.
These places hinted at a current of younger people doing cool shit in Tadoussac. Are they locals looking to stay in town and keep things vibrant and fresh? Are they transplants from Montreal doing whatever might be happening in, say, upstate New York? I wasn’t there long enough to find out, but maybe one day I’ll dig deeper. And move there. And open a B & B. And drink craft beer among the whales every day of my life until my rock gets washed away.
Lastly:
If you signed up for recipes, there should be more of those this month! In October I expect to spend much more time in my kitchen than on the fleuve.
Le boot camp -- haha!
Congratulations, Julia, on receiving a writing grant! Of course luck is part of these things, but there's also a lot of work and devotion and practice. This is an accomplishment to celebrate!