You know those Tim Horton’s commercials where the lone backpacker hears “Hi Canada” and it’s because of his Tim Horton’s mug? Well, that’s sorta how we met Dane. Boarding our train to the Juno Beach Centre, we hear a yell coming from behind, Susan’s iron on flag on the pack did the trick.
He spoke french and entertained the other compartment passengers with stories of Canada’s north and didn’t understand how there could only be 2, only 2 bears in the entire country!
We make sleds out of fish so we have transportation AND food during the winter, Igloos and dogsleds are modes of transport, etc. My french was good enough to understand but not good enough to refute his claims! It was all good until the point where he whips out an old packet of pate and tries to eat it.
The horrified look on one woman’s face as he pulls it out of his jacket pocket, the stench and slippery, goopy consistancy convinced me that I would have to part with my last precious granola bar if we were going to ensure his health and help in securing lodgings without that language barrier struggle.
Note to everyone: pate does NOT store well in a coat pocket!
Bertha