In Montreal today it is 24 degrees, which is very hot for this time of year. In the River of the Wolf, which is 450km north of Montreal, it is 16 degrees and there is still a bit of snow hanging around, i.e. it is is still "off season" and everything is shut. River of the Wolf itself is apparently a bit shit (we are about to go and look at it; I shall take photographs), but there are pretty things about the place, e.g. Kamouraska which is old (for Canada) and pretty (for Canada) and some bone shows that we will try and go and look at; I am also crossing my fingers for the Accordion Museum. ("Recognized as a musical museum in 2001, it has the museum boutique that offers an impressive music collection (DVD, CDs, Cassette) for the music lovers."*)
But all this is as nothing, for in the 'cottage' we have rented, there are more than enough distractions to keep us busy.
Cutting bread
It is fairly typical of holiday cottages to have bad (i.e. blunt) knives, although most offer a wide selection, bought on special offer from the Dollarama down the road. In this cottage, however, there are only 3 knives that are not eating-knives, and they are all small, bendy and blunt. Cutting the bread this morning to make our toast(s) with took over three hours, and we needed a shower afterwards.
Sugar
There is none, but there is a small bottle of sesame oil and half a packet of butter in the fridge.
Furniture
It is all a bit the wrong size. To get to the bed you have to bend down so you don't bash your head on the ceiling, and the lamp cord is 10 inches too short for the plug, so you have to move the bedside table. In the other room, the chest-of-drawers is positioned in such a way as to make it impossible to get to the far side of the room unless you vault over the bed.
TV
It is gigantic - at least 5ft across. But there are only 12 stations on it, most of them featuring local ads ("Le fromage qui fait Kwik Kwik!!") and local bowling competitions, featuring portly gentlemen in polo shirts and moustaches being watched by their streaked-and-tanned wives. (The exception is Eric Paradis - shown in the third photograph below - astonishingly described as a "plumbing consultant", despite being only 16 years old.)
Lighting
Two choices: all overhead lights on so can read in hospital-like conditions, or one side light on so cannot see own feet.
But all this is as nothing compared to the art. Rendered by the same artist, "Nine", it adorns the walls at every turn. I must leave you now to prepare for my trip to the River of the Wolf, but I will leave you with some of the haunting images we have the pleasure of sharing our living quarters with for the next three days. If anyone can explain what is going on in the one with the man in the hat and the three kidz, there may be a prize of some kind. (As if the badges were not prizes enough!!!)
* This is taken verbatim from the museum's website, and is a pretty good example of the fuck-awful level of French-to-English translation that you come across almost every day in Quebec, particularly on websites. What's especially ridiculous is that to be a 'translator' here, you apparently have to have a formal qualification of some kind - so you will often find Francophones with a qualification translating into English, without an Anglophone having a look at the final result. So even if it's (technically) accurate, it doesn't often read that well. Hold on: there's a job that would be like not working (because it would involve writing things down): I could take translations and re-write them, including words like "whilst" and "hitherto" to fox the locals. Amazing!!!
7 comments:
The gentleman with the kids is welcoming you to the cottage in the way of the Canadian rural local. Staring intently. Were he to speak, he'd say, "You're not from around here, are you?" And then tell you about his gall bladder surgery in minute detail. With any luck, he is a unilingual Francophone so that you will be spared comprehension of the more gruesome details. Or that could jus be my knowledge of French.
If you re-wrote the translations, at what would we snigger when we visit La Belle Province? Do leave us some amusements.
Actually, the evil children are escorting granpere to the river so that they can drown his cranky, senile self...beware the river!!!!
Have a lovely holiday.
Ahh, like so many (often Francophones), they have broken the golden rule of translation. Always translate into your mother tongue.
Strange, in a country where there are so many Anglophones to help, that they don't just ask someone to proofread (and that is a definite non-working type of work you could do from the comfort of your armchair)
Dearest Anx, it seems so obvious, and yet it is not. Further dimension of weird given by the fact that there are a lot of Francophones who speak very very very very very good English - far, far better than my French - but very very very few who speak it absolutely fluently (I know 4 - so fluent that they say something once every 6 months that gives it away -my hoosband for example - and even then only just.)
My beef is with the very very very very good English speakers who THINK they don't need it and end up writing what sounds like Martian English. Particularly in presentations. Which end up sounding weird. And if you even think about slightly tweaking the English so it bounces properly, well...
Rant rant rant. Only frustrating because it really IS something I could do. Rant rant rant
Rant
Rant.
Also, Rant.
I'm very worried about those girls. Their knees are about to slide down onto their ankles. And the man with a long bendy neck - a bit of giraffe in the blood do you think?
I've never been to Canada. Are these common mutations? Are they confined to the francophone areas?
They are gentle souls, intrigued in a soft and bemused way by your presence. "Look Grandpapa, it is an Eeenglish. Look at her lovely fur. Will she speak to us if we are gentle to her, or might we scare her off?"
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