Eastbound and Back, Day 17: France in North America, Part I

2

May 15, 2024, St. Pierre, SPM- The little girl was proudly pushing her training-wheeled bicycle up the sidewalk of the waterfront park, confidently returning my greeting of “Bonjour”. Continuing my walk, my eyes cast about, for who the adult accompanying her might be, as even in this small town, on a Eurocentric island in the North Atlantic, there is a concern for safety. Not to worry- Maman called to her petite ange, who told her that she would not go onto the street. For good measure, Maman went up to her daughter and brought bicycle and child back into the park. Life on Ile St. Pierre thus proceeds as it does elsewhere in La Belle France, the major part of which lies a minimum of 3822 km/ 2375 mi. (Brest, Bretagne) to the east.

Bruce, the sole attendant these days, at Abbie’s Garden, named for his late first wife, wished aloud that he’d had a better sleep. Still, he put together a fine breakfast and wished me well, on my visit to St. Pierre and the rest of my journey. Then, he said he was going back to bed. I wish him well, and a speedy recovery from what seemed to ail him this morning.

The drive over to Fortune, and the ferry office, was no big deal, but I did have to ask where the ticket office was, as all signs point to the actual terminal. A kind Canadian customs officer steered me in the right direction, tickets were purchased, Sportage was safely parked in a secure lot up the road, I caught a shuttle back to the terminal, and an hour later, twenty-five of us were en route to the sole remnant of French North America, north of the Caribbean Sea.

My interest in St. Pierre & Miquelon is not so much in its being French, as in its existence as a mini-state of sorts-a North American Andorra, or Nauru. Much of the approach to SPM is standard: Bags are inspected, at the Canadian Border Station, in Fortune and again upon arrival in St. Pierre; passports are stamped, with the imprimatur of St. Pierre & Miquelon; a short, but winding, walkway leads out of the terminal.

My shuttle driver, Julie, was waiting, with a sign that had my name imprinted. There was a hearty “Bienvenu!”, and I thanked her, in my halting, tentative French (It’s been ten years since my visit to La Patrie and a brief passage through Quebec, in 2022, scarcely required much usage of La Langue Maternelle at all). Excuses aside, we agreed to toggle between our two languages, and indeed that seems to be the sentiment of everyone I encountered this afternoon.

Auberge Quatre Temps

After settling in, at Auberge Quatre Temps, I got my bearings from the complimentary map, then set out to check the downtown and waterfront areas. Centre Ville has the modest Cathedral de Sacre Coeur, a Prefectural Office and a City Hall (Hotel de Ville). There are several boulangeries and a few Patisseries (One never goes into a bread shop, looking for pastry-or vice versa-save for the one baker here, who offers both). St. Pierre has a public library (Bibliotheque) and a large athletic field, where a few intrepid fathers were coaching their sons and daughters, on the finer points of soccer.

Cathedrale de Sacre Coeur

At the waterfront, once mother and daughter left, I encountered a small group of adults and children, having a celebratory gathering of some kind. The adults were putting on Disney character costumes, which fazed the kids not at all. Two boys were chasing one another around the base of the closed lighthouse, and two girls were helping their elders with the costumes. As I left, and prepared to photograph the four cannons that stand in repose, a bit to the north of the lighthouse, a young woman dashed out of a car, marked “St. Pierre et Miquelon”, tripod in hand, set up the device, focused on a vessel in the bay, took her photos and dashed back to the car, speeding off-towards whatever office awaiting her return.

Lighthouse at Havre St. Pierre

I saw quite a few people driving somewhat hurriedly, stopping quickly, dashing out of their cars, doing a brisk errand and then hopping back in the cars and zipping off to whatever was next. Pedestrians, on the other hand, were relaxed and happy, as they made their evening rounds. When I found myself a bit north of Quatre Temps, a lady was glad to offer direction-in both French and English. This will be a fine two-day retourne a France.

Whose Toilet?

10

January 14, 2018, Prescott-

My day will likely be a joyous one, with my spirits telling me to get the laundry done, attend a memorial service, then either go and help my dear friend, or go hike in Granite Dells, if she is not in the mood for company.

Now, back to the title question.  I was discomfited, annoyed, put out at the tale coming out of the White House, as to our President’s purported comments, regarding immigrants and their countries of origin.  Either he said these things, thus committing a serious breach of comity OR his actual words were translated to fit the opinion of the observer towards the President, thus committing a serious act of calumny towards him.

Either way, I have to say this, about countries in general:  Each has its places of sublime beauty, and each has its places of squalour.  This is as true of the USA as it is of Haiti.  It is as true of France, Germany, the UAE, as it is of Liberia, Guyana or Bangladesh.  I have seen exquisite, serene villages in Guyana and decrepit, unsettling places in France.  No one who has been across our great nation would deny that there is astonishing beauty in Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon and the Great Smoky Mountains, whilst admitting that there is much work to be done, in addressing the matters of homelessness in cities large and small, in raising up the standards of living in First Nations reservations and in run-down sections of both urban and rural areas, across the continent.

No one likes to have their good name, or that of their country, sullied.  Some will argue, “Well, if the shoe fits, wear it!”  If that shoe has a hole in it, I would gather that the person has every right to decline its adornment.  Far better, in my view, that, having shone the light on the filth and the problems, the President, and each of us who has looked down their noses at a person, community or country, should put down that flashlight and ask, “How might we help?”  One immediate thing we can each do is, stop referring to the shortcomings of a people, as their be all and end all.  Acknowledge the beauty of a place, or of a society, instead of yammering about how horrible SOME aspects of it happen to be.  Messes happen, even in the finest of communities (just ask anyone in Montecito, CA). Beauty and strength, likewise, may be found anywhere.  How about building on that beauty and strength?