Illustration by Rania Abdallah
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On our eight-day cycling tour along the Rhone in Provence, our group of six decided to display small Canadian flags on our bikes. We were not motivated by jingoism, rather by the desire to not be mistaken for Americans.
They were small flags, tucked discretely into our panniers. We thought most people wouldn’t notice.
They noticed.
The first time occurred when we cycled past a school where the students were lined up outside, two by two, probably walking to some activity. When they caught sight of our flags, they broke into cheers, chanting, CA-NA-DA over and over. We were startled and a bit overwhelmed. We sat a bit higher in our saddles after that.
When we asked a young man walking along the bike path to take a group picture of us, he noticed the flags and commented, “Canada! You are the nicest country. We love your country!”
Another man, who spoke no English, helped us find a restaurant that Google had rated so highly that we were determined to have lunch there. He had seen us puzzling over our phones for directions and stopped to help. Signalling us to follow, he jumped back in his car and led us through back streets and up a few hills, finally arriving at Le Restaurant de Cruas. We thanked our new friend and he pointed to our flags. “Canada!” He said, and then broke into a broad smile, raised his arms, and did the ‘elbows up’ thing.
That small gesture blew us away. The realization that someone in the countryside of France would know about our show of bravado was astounding and kind of endearing.
On the third morning of our bike tour, while it was still cool though sunny, we were desperate for a good cup of coffee. At the end of a narrow street in the small town of Andancette, we found Cafe de la Gare. Really, it was more of a local bar, small and dark, with a big-screen TV, a few tables and an encouragingly professional looking coffee machine behind the bar. We used our cereal box French and ordered cafe au lait all round. Our new barista asked where we were from, and smiled knowingly when we said Canada.
With coffees in hand, we asked if there was anywhere sunny to sit. He hesitated, then motioned for us to follow and led us out to his private family terrace overlooking the garden, where there was a table and chairs in a pool of sunlight. He disappeared then reappeared with a bowl of fresh sweet grapes, a gift for his Canadian visitors. With our faces in the sun, we sipped coffee and chatted and the conversation somehow swung around to Leonard Cohen and which singer had recorded the best version of his Hallelujah. The consensus was K.D Lang and someone put a phone on the table and played the song. Lang’s voluptuous voice, Leonard’s words, the sunshine, the grapes – we looked at each other and realized this was a meaningful moment we would treasure.
In Valence, an elderly gentleman picked up on our accent when we were hanging out in the main square and engaged us in a long and erudite discussion of Canadian and American politics. “We admire you and applaud your courage and integrity,” he told us, adding: “But the forces aligned against you are overwhelming. We fear for you!”
In Avignon, on our last night before we all headed home, we chose a small bistro, C’est La Vie, on a narrow side street for our final meal. The owner, who was also the server, was charmed to discover we were Canadians. Canada, he told us, was a country that he loved. “I will be going to Chicoutimi to visit relatives in January.” When we suggested that January might not be the best time for a visit, he explained that he loved the Canadian winter. “So pure, so beautiful.”
All the way along our bike tour, people greeted us as Canadians with pleasure and with great approval. They waved and cheered and there was the occasional shout out of “Vive le Canada!” It was heartwarming. While we obviously learned much about France and Provence on this trip, we learned something important about our homeland.
I realized that when you leave your country, you never really leave your country. Everyone who sees you views you through the filter of your nationality. It is good to know that filter is a kindly one. Throughout our trip it was immensely gratifying to feel the almost universal admiration for Canada.
We’re planning a bike trip in Portugal next and will definitely be sporting our flags again.
Barbara Ramsay Orr lives in in Burlington, Ont.
