To Hull and Back.

London, Ontario - I won't even start with the over- weight, middle- aged woman milling about the produce section of the grocery store in a t-shirt advertising a local 'gentlemen's establishment' last night. And no, she wouldn't have been confused with someone who had just aged somewhat less than gracefully. Cringe. No, tempting as that might be, I instead just returned from a weekend in the Gatineaus. And they were real purty. So was the company.

SCS and I left on Friday following a morning of classes and she and I edited some work until we reached Kingston, weaving in-and-out of both traffic and subordinate clauses. Then, of course, we needed to find a (free) Internet connection to send the report to the requisite people. People who do not necessarily read their email.

Our first stop, a somewhat sleazy-looking motel, only briefly gave us a connection (after all, we weren't surfing for porn), so it was on to Queen's University. An hour and a very helpful employee at the university who happened to be headed to Tanzania (from which SCS has just returned) later, and we were free to dine at the Sleepless Goat. Yes, the Sleepless Goat (who knew?). I didn't dare ask about the origin of the name. After this, it would be two days where the only Internet connection we would have would be like that found in the photo above. No email. No blogging. No stress (well, we'll get to that later).

On to the Gatineau hills and Les Trois Érables Bed and Breakfast in gorgeous Wakefield, QC. What a gorgeous spot. And a 110-year-old Victorian home. The decor was nice despite a couple of eyebrow-raising knick knacks interspersed. Service and the breakfast were tremendous. And a couple of great nights of sleep were had by all.

The view from the room defied beauty, conventional or otherwise. Overlooking the lake and the hills, trees shed their verdant skin for tones more suited to fall. Ablaze. A steam train also brings in tourists to take postcard pictures. And a covered bridge spans the water. No word if the waters are troubled.

Fall. How I love the fall. And in this case, even the tripping. Really, Wakefield is a quaint little spot. And I mean that in a good way. So relaxed.

Québec, home to Ontario's underage drinkers and apparently, also home to the 'stubby' as a wine bottle as opposed to the traditional beer (Bob and Doug, anyone?) And a screw-top, too. God love the screw-top swill, er, wine. Not quite a Tetra Pak, but still. I likely should have known when it came in a non-descript paper bag, crumpled like my brain after drinking it. Alcohol in the depanneur -- got to love it. I guess.

The wedding was on Saturday at one of the local churches and one of the highlights (besides, of course, the nuptials -- duh) was one of the members of the wedding party getting up and singing Josh Grobin's You Raise Me Up. Better than Josh Grobin. Tears, flowing all around. And then, the awkward pause and silence at the end because, being in a church, nobody knew how to react. Then the eruption. Would have thought we were in a Baptist baptist church for a moment, except that this was, well, Wakefield. Hallelujahs all around. It was beautiful. The bride and groom, too, said their vows in the other's native language, which was a nice touch. The reception was at Wakefield's old mill, which also provided a spectacular backdrop. A recurring theme, yes. A waterfall. More fashionable leaves.

And SCS was glad to finally have some chocolate.