Alien World

I am writing the the morning of August 5th, 2012' but I have no idea when I will actually be able to post it. Shelly and I are on tour with Savannah and the Plymouth Fife and Drum Corps. We are in Quebec City.

The walk through the mall is surreal. The shop that sells cookies and chocolate dipped brownies is directly across from a novelty electronics store. A little further down is a store selling soaps and lotions. In front of this store are chairs that look like lazy-boy recliners, but they will give you a massage for some changes. The colors, size, the smells and even the air all look right. It is part of what is so disconcerting. The words all use the same letters and they look close to some English words, but they are not readable to me. They are in French and know almost no French. They when you think to ask someone, because Frenchy, who has been our translator, is not around and the locals you talk to know almost no English. I should point out they know more English than I know French, but there is a barrier. It is like being dipped into the unknown, a mirror image world, which feels dangerous.

We don't stop anywhere because there is nothing so attractive we are willing to try to hop the language barrier to get it. I look at the coffee shop, think about how long it has been since my last cup, and keep moving. We are headed to the food court, I know how to say poutine.

For those of you that don't know poutine, you are missing what might very well be my favorite part of this trip. Ideally, they take fresh cut french fries and prepare them normally. After putting them into a basket, they cover them with very fresh cheese curds. Then, finally, onto this fried, fatty, cheesy goodness, they pour a beef gravy, which is kind of like a thick au jus. I'm convinced this is the next craze to his the US.

Anyway, the one thing I want from this place is this delicacy. So, through the vortex of strange words and unintelligible conversation, we make it down to the food court. There are two places I can easily read the names of, A&W and Smoked Meats. We tried the A&W a couple days ago, so I head to the place called Smoked Meats. The people behind the counter look friendly, although I suspect they will be frustrated by me soon. I see the items I will order, poutine with extra cheese (something fromagge) and poutine with smoked meat.

The ordering process goes smoothly once I communicate to the lady I have no idea what she is say, because I am the stupid American. I place my order adding in a couple diet drinks, you know to offset the calorie count of the poutine, and hand her my card. At this point in time I have only Canadian change, but have been assured that my bank card will work, with a small international fee. The lady looks at the card and tells me no. It won't work.

Quickly, realizing she needed to tell me more than she knew how to say, she drags a guy out from the back. The English speaker, I guess, and he tells me, as best he can. No credit cards and only local debit cards. My mind goes into overdrive. I'm now need assistance to get the cash, I wonder how common this setup is, I don't even know how to ask for an ATM. I tell the guy hold on. The riptide has just grabbed me and I need a lifeguard.

Today, Keith is my lifeguard. He came much more prepared and quickly does an exchange of our American cash for his Canadian. In just a couple minutes I am safely able to return the the English speaker of Smoked Meats with cash in hand. It feels good to claim our lunch, but I am very aware of eddies that swirl around us as we eat.