Parlez-vous français

No... I don't.

Crossing the border from Ontario to Quebec is like going into another country, minus the customs and all the fun we had at the real Canadian border. As we drove eastward, we watched the signs go from English, to English and French, to just French. 

There aren't too many things more nerve-racking than towing a trailer, going who-knows-what speed (yay metric system) and seeing a huge flashing orange sign in a language you don't understand. Should I turn around, is there traffic, is there a cliff or waterfall coming up? Who knows! Rose claims that she took lots of French in school but she must have missed the day they were talking about road signs.

It was kinda cool to see the speedometer climb to 100 though.

Weeeeeeeeeeee!

It's amazing how much the landscape changes as you head east. It went from rolling hills to completely flat. As we got closer to the campsite, the flatness ended in beautiful mountains. We got to Havre Des Iles, the campsite, and pulled up to the main office, but nobody was there. We wandered around for a bit before finding a man playing with his kid. Of course, he didn't speak English. He told us, in very broken English, that his wife was on her way and was a bit more fluent. So, we waited.

She finally did show up and helped us check in. She handed us a map of how to get to the campsite. It was down the hill, to the left, through the creek, up the hill, around the curve and to the left. This was clearly a much different campsite than we were used to. So we started our trek to the site. Yes, we had to cross a small creek. We parked the trailer in a secluded spot on top of the hill overlooking the creek and the rest of the campground. It was gorgeous. Just the way we like it.

We only stayed in the campground for one night before heading back to the U.S. Next stop: Deer Isle, Maine!