The Trip to Saint-Jacques-de-Leeds

On Friday, Vero and I headed out to Saint-Jacques-de-Leeds which is an hour south of Quebec City. I like Quebec. Other than the traffic jams at 5:30 on a Friday in Montreal, I like Quebec. I think it’s way more beautiful than Ontario. The valleys are key. We traversed through a slew of valleys and the sun was setting and all was good in the world when we hit up the village.

Hung out with Grandma Payeur on Friday night which was great as I got to see some photos of Veronique as a kid (always a plus!) and was introduced to Croque-Monsieurs, pieces of toast with cheese and bacon on them. Mmm boy! They reminded me Dad’s ‘Cheese Dreams’ which were full slices of bread, toasted with cheese, bacon and Worcheister sauce. Yum!

Saturday arrived and we slept in and walked around the village to pick up some groceries for the camping night and we stumbled upon a heritage site where they spoke about the creation of the village and whatnot. This is where I started my forray into Quebec history – Saint-Jacques-des-Leeds was originally Leeds Village (and is also still known as such at the Post Office.). The English Anglicans settled there, built a church, had a good time. I wondered where the heck the French came from all of a sudden to change the name of the village?

Saturday evening brought forth some camping and swimming. Good times were had with Vero’s cousins and friends and I must admit that I held my own amongst the French speaking folk (and a few beers doesn’t hurt either!). It started raining as soon as we got there so we hung up a few tarps and we had a good campfire going on, but around midnight when I wanted to go to bed, the pain of camping in the rain ensued as we had to lift the tent over to the car to fill up the air mattress, then we returned the tent back to its spot, meanwhile making sure that every spot on the walls were touched in some fashion so water seeped through easily. There were puddles of water inside already and after a few hours of passing out I awoke to find that my sleeping bag was soaked on the sides and bottom.

Vero’s cousin’s boyfriend came by and asked if we wanted to go home…this was 4 o’clock in the morning, the eurobeats were still pumping from the car stereos (this wasn’t a provincial park so there’s no curfew) and all of us were wet. But we realized we are troopers and we can’t have some rain scare us away!

Well, not until at least 8 AM when Vero and I realized we had 2 hours of sleep and were just lying there with water dripping on our heads and we were soaked. We packed up and headed home and slept until the early afternoon.

Sunday brought forth some poutine next door and we went to see the farm in behind Grandma Payeur’s place where Vero proceeded to touch an electric fence! Her arm was numb and all, and we were wondering why there were no signs posted. I must admit I thought it was a little funny. We went over to the church to pay some respects to Grandpa Payeur and then I had a nap on the grass overlooking the valley and all was good in the sunny world. We went home, had some hot chicken sandwiches and hung out with Vero’s extended family for awhile.

All in all, an amazing trip to an amazing village. I love the small town feel. There’s just so much to do around the area if you are into the wilderness. Otherwise you would probably be bored.

Mom filled me on the whole ‘changing names of the village’ thing. Turns out (here’s a history lesson that I’m sure everyone but myself knew). Supposedly Quebec wasn’t really that French until the 1960s. That’s why my parents could come from Gaspe and not have to speak French – because the businesses were run by the English which started from the Battle on the Plains of Abraham when the English kicked butt. But then a quiet revolution occurred and the French took back the land in the 1960s and now what you see in Quebec is an anti-English province, with their own churches and schools (and the renaming of all the villages!). Who would have thought?

I recommend that anyone who is making a trip through any province get off the highway for awhile and take some backroads. That’s where the magic of the land lies – in the heart of a valley.