Mont-Saint-Pierre to Matane, QC
Traditional territory of the Mi’kmaq
152 km
Overcast all day, windy here and there, 15 ºC
Some days inspire, perspire and conspire to concoct their own epics and sonnets and ballads and sheres and kavitas and more. Today felt like one of them. It was so windy that few birds flew, they mostly sat on rocks and bobbed in the waves of the water.
I woke up feeling really grumpy. I’m not entirely sure why. I don’t think grumpy is the right word. Maybe processing or ruminating or feeling pensive. The previous night I fell asleep deeply after a late-night conversation with a traveling Punjabi family that pit-stopped where we were camped. I woke up at 5 AM as I lately have been which is still a little later than I’d like but our days are long and I need my beauty sleep. (It doesn’t come naturally all of this looking good. A lot of it does, thanks Mom and Dad, but not all of it.)
One of my favourite people whom I have not met is a French artist by the name of J.R. and this shop with a padlock on the main door reminded me of him. Something about the scale and scope and sheer imagination of his works is, for lack of a better word (and there are many), tremendous.
I am processing the death of my friend Touloupe whom I met, unfortunately in most ways and fortunately in others, just once on an island owned by a German billionaire. Through a friend of mine in the year I was exploring ‘Home’, I’d been invited to a small, tiny, intimate gathering of folks to this island to explore the question, ‘Where is home?’ We were invited by our co-hosts Michael Jones and Michelle Holliday. This is where I met Touloupe. The almost-but-not-quite week spent on the island remains of the most expansive experiences of my life. I’m still trying (not too hard) to understand the magic it contained. There are many points of his life that stick with me. He had a beautiful life and a philosophy that mirrored it. I learnt from him that cleaning was the act of revealing beauty. In a way, we’re trying to do that with this project. Except it isn’t quite cleaning, and maybe not necessarily beautiful. We are trying to reveal something. Rest in peace amigo. His heart stopped beating a few days ago, and he was in Earthly human years, very young. And while I’m not unfamiliar with such human losses, each friend of mine who has passed away reminds me of all the others.
Later today, a car stopped in front of me as I climbed a hill. It stopped on the right side of the highway. I’ve stopped being as enthused by such stops made by cars. I expect it to be a stranger who is curious about what we are doing, perhaps bearing snacks (send chocolate and ice cream and lemonade), but more often than not they are fiddling on their cellphone/mini-computers or responsibly taking a call.
In this particular instance, the passenger door opened and someone walked out. I suspected they were switching drivers when a familiar voice yelled, “Asad, is that you?”
“Sure is!” I responded. Not yet having made out who it was.
It was my dear friend Lucia and her husband John! One of my favourite people and, by association + marriage, another one of my favourites. They were zipping around after Lucia had finished her Explore program. John came out to join her, taking a break from a fabulous Canadian company, TunnelBear, which I’m proud to be a customer of.
I was and still am so astounded by the sheer serendipity of this encounter (we’ve had a few already but still!) that I will post another photo of these two. It helps that they are such beautiful people.
It was a long day in regards to time and distance, we didn’t make the ferry we were hoping to in our original plan. Time to adjust, when one door closes, another one opens. Something like that, n’est pas?
