Nouvelle France

Ahh, Vieux-Québec... not a UNESCO World Heritage site for nothing.

When I was in Grade 7, we learned all about New France. That's where I got to wrap my thoroughly anglophone tongue around delicious names like Samuel de Champlain, Jacques Cartier, Jean Talon, Joliet and Marquette; it's where I ate up the stories about General Wolfe and Generale Montcalm, battling it out on the Plains of Abraham, the very character of a nation being fought over by its founding fathers; it's where my cynical tween self felt a spark of nationalism that hasn't sputtered since.

Yesterday, I stood on those Plains, just past the Saint-Louis Gate, with the setting sun glinting off the Chateau Frontenac. For a moment, I felt that 12-year-old leap a little in my chest. Québec City is a beautiful reminder of our roots. While Canada is a country renowned for its natural beauty, it is small pockets like this that show we are more. I stood at the port where Champlain decided he would build a city; I stood on the spot where our Confederation was signed; I ate lunch in a retaurant established in 1657. When I ducked into an art store to rifle through the $5 bin, the proprietress struck up a conversation with me that had little to do with exchanging money. It felt like I was back in New France - for a just a moment - chatting with a local shopkeeper.

I hardly get to view the sites of my country as a tourist - I find humans rarely enjoy the treats they can find in their own backyards. We are so concerned with broadening our horizons that we often overlook that which is right in front of us. I have longed for so long to see birthplace of our modern nation I was almost too overwhelmed to do anything but grin like an idiot and answer in stilted French, "ça va bien, merci, et vous?"

Pardon my rusty French, but I have a few things I must say. Je t'aime Vieux-Québec. Je t'aime Canada. Je suis honoré d'être une partie d'une telle grandeur.