On finding the familiar in the foreign

Isle D'Orleans, Quebec

The waves roll gently onto the shifting black sand and rugged boulders. Giant freight ships cruise sedately past, slipping between islands and lines of coast. The silhouette of the far shoreline is punctuated by towering steeples and lights flicker off the water. The view could be BC's coast, but for the lack of the ocean's briny pungency in the air. This is the Saint Lawrence River, trade route and historic life-blood of the eastern provinces.

Isle D'Orleans is a pastoral island in the middle of this vast river, a few kilometres north of Quebec City. It's history as a farming colony is apparent in the beautiful and meticulously maintained manors and farmhouses. Dotted with vineyards, fromageries, cideries, and maple sugar plantations, it's a popular rural retreat for Quebecers.

How strange that I like it mainly because of it's familiarity. It's coastline so much like Hornby Island, off the coast of Vancouver Island, but for the lack of an ocean. It's rolling pastures and quaint villages so much like Montville in Australia's Sunshine Coast hinterlands. Have I really reached the point in my trip where I'm searching out the familiar rather than reveling in the new? I think it may just be a combination of the two. I can very much sense the end of this summer approaching and I'm actually quite eager to return to a more stationary and productive life. I'm keen to put all I've learned over the past months into practice. But not before I've had another month on the road.