Bonjour, Mountains — Quebec, Canada

I ask Ladka if it is okay for me to stay through the weekend.

“Of course,” she says. “You are our friend now.”

I want to give one day to explore Ottawa and one day to regroup.

In my Google Maps folder are two places I saved two years ago, when I first thought I might pass through Ottawa: Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica and the National Gallery of Canada. They sit across from each other, not far from Parliament Hill.

I take Jan’s advice and use public transportation to reach downtown.

There is spiritual energy each time I enter a place of faith and prayer. The past lives within the meticulous artwork that so many people came together to create, and a place for others to experience beauty, peace, and connection.

Each spiritual space captures my attention differently. At Notre-Dame Basilica, I am fascinated by the beautiful green marble columns holding the building together. I have never seen marble so intricate. Different shades of green blend softly and sharply, creating a masterpiece. Knowing that all of it was created by nature, adds another layer to my awe.

I sit for a while, seeking an intimate moment with God through prayer.

I know I will find my way…

Just across the street is the National Gallery of Canada. I love the museum. I have a deep admiration for the creative soul within all of us. To see a landscape or a moment through someone else’s eyes feels like discovering an entire story within a single brushstroke.

Regrouping takes time, but luckily not the entire day, leaving me time with Ladka and Lukas while Jan is out of town.

Some goodbyes are simply hard to say.

I enter Quebec, and my “hello” becomes “bonjour.”

I head toward Parc National du Mont-Tremblant, and am grateful for the grey skies. The heat is more bearable without the beating sun, but the air is so humid that there is only one thing to do: embrace the suck, as Brené Brown frames it so well.

Very quickly, I realize there is another challenge I had almost forgotten. I did not experience it as deeply two years ago because I spent more time in larger cities.

I do not speak French.

Quebec’s commitment to preserving its language and heritage is beautiful. However, as a traveler who does not speak the language, it adds another challenge.

French and Italian have always sounded like music to me. Both are beautiful languages. But traveling through a place where I cannot understand the language feels like driving with one eye closed.

I arrive at the park in the early evening, set up camp, take a quick shower, and cook dinner. Then I walk the short distance to the beach.

Aah, it feels so good to be among the mountains again.

I set up my chair and watch the evening come to an end. The landscape becomes a silhouette of folding mountains reflected in the still lake. There is a simple, peaceful energy in the nothingness, and I feel whole.

It is a pure contentment I find only in nature.

Somehow, my two little fans make the hot night tolerable.

Early the next morning, the humidity is already thick. I have a few hikes in mind to help me explore the park.

Lac des Femmes takes me deep into the forest. The lush vegetation feels enchanted, and I cherish the echoes of birdsong rippling through the leaves.

My next hike, La Corniche, climbs to a viewpoint. I am glad I make the trek up the mountain to witness this beauty.

Give me mountains. Give me lakes. That is where I find my deepest soul.

My final hike is Devil Falls, Sentier de la Chute-du-Diable. Here, the rushing river and an enchanted forest come together. The soft moss and fanning ferns help me breathe through the heavy air.

It is a short walk to the waterfall, less than a mile. The wide cascade flows over shiny black rocks, creating a cool mist that feels welcome on my face.

It is hard to think when my brain is overheated. Without too much analysis, I ask my heart what it wishes to do.

Move on…

My next destination is Parc National des Grands-Jardins. I am not trying to reach it today, keeping my promise to drive no more than four hours a day.

I set Google Maps to avoid highways so I can bypass Montreal and Quebec City, which I explored two years ago. The road carries me through small towns, green fields, and, unsurprisingly, a few dirt roads.

By evening, I reach Shawinigan. I open iOverlander and find a little corner for the night.

The air remains thick, but I am grateful that it is clean and free of smoke. It becomes a long night with very little sleep. My little fans work extra hard but barely help.

A small detour gives me the perfect place to take a break and revisit one of the grandest basilicas I have seen so far: Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupré.

Here, I am fascinated by the murals on the lower level and the magnificent main ceiling. The details are awe-inspiring. Once again, I am filled with admiration for the time, effort, and creative spirit of the artists who contributed to this masterpiece.

I arrive at Parc National des Grands-Jardins around midday and stop at the visitor center to get oriented and check campsite availability.

No luck.

The ranger suggests a small campground only fifteen minutes away.

Perfect.

I hike one of the park’s best-known trails, Mont du Lac des Cygnes. The trail climbs steadily, but the many switchbacks soften the incline until the final half mile.

I can see where the stairs begin, but not where they end.

Slow and steady wins the race.

The higher I climb, the stronger the wind becomes. By the time I reach the summit, I feel like a small leaf on a tall tree, bracing myself not to be torn away. Yet the view grounds me.

I feel as though I am standing on top of the world! A sea of mountains spreads toward the endless horizon. It is a gift!

The hike is six miles long and takes me three hours. By the time I finish, it is nearly six in the evening.

Time to find that little campground. At the higher elevation, the temperature drops significantly, and I finally sleep deeply.

I continue east to explore the Saguenay Fjord region.

While putting my travel map together, one photograph caught my attention.

So here I am.