Guest Author - Erin Caslavka
"Bonjour, Madame!"
Two boys of no more than 12 jumped to their feet in front of me, brushing the dust from their vests and knickers. Lifting their tri-cornered hats, they embellished their greeting with an elaborate bow.
Undoubtedly, it's my costume that's grabbed their attention, as plenty of peasants and shorts-clad tourists have passed before me without so much as an acknowledgment. But I am dressed in a brocade gown that is accented with a lace collar and sleeves, so my apparent social standing commanded their respect.
Welcome to the New France Festival, or Les Ftes de la Nouvelle France, (this year Aug. 3-7) inside the walls of Quebec City, the only fortified city in North America.
Exuberant is probably the term that best describes the New France Festival, with its costumed performers who sing, dance and act; barkers who sell wares appropriate to the time period; and demonstrators who show you how to do everything from make a lace collar to forge a weapon.
The charm of Vieux-Quebec, the old part of the city, lies in its cobblestone streets, buildings with storybook facades and European-style streetlamps.
Auberge Saint-Antoine, my home away from home in Quebec, had an Old World ambience and historical significance that fit in with the festival. Committed to the preservation of Quebec history, the hotel has recently undergone renovations that necessitated excavations into 300-year-old buildings.
The Saint-Antoine has three buildings, including sections of a dock from 1690. Objects found during the digging are incorporated into the interior design of the inn, and in the lobby is a most amazing discovery: a small cannon, one of only three found in Quebec Province and the only one found in the city of Quebec.
On my second morning out, I rounded the corner to Place du Marche and encountered a dapper gent in a chartreuse ensemble – his pants were embellished with brass buttons, and he was carrying a walking stick with a mother-of-pearl handle. His companion was a young man in his 20s with powdered hair and a tricorn hat accented with gold cord and feathers. Being apparently of the same "class" as I, they spoke with me, never once breaking character when asked where they were from or how they arrived in the city.
Even if you don't have a thing to wear and aren't particularly handy with a needle and thread, there's always Face-á-Faces: the official costumer for the festival. Last year, hundreds of people rented costumes that ranged from lace-trimmed blouses and brocade vests to muslin tops and simple cotton skirts and shirts.
But many visitors choose to make their own, and a costume parade and contest is held on the festival grounds to showcase their talents.
Each year, the festival has a theme that explores some aspect of life in the French colonies of North America. Performers are hired to portray people from New France's colorful past. The actors roam the city, so you never know when you might get swept up in an impromptu skit.
And then, of course, there are the giants. Like any good parade, the one that wraps its way daily through the city streets features a special attraction: 75-pound, 15-foot-tall papier mâché figures that represent characters from French fairy tales.
Parades give everyone an equal chance to get involved because there are no language barriers. No matter what part of the world people were from, they were all going crazy for the Mardi Gras beads that a group from Louisiana was tossing into the crowd.
On Saturday night in the Louisiana Quarter, performers got the crowd moving and singing. From high above the St. Lawrence River, zydeco and Cajun music floated off a stage and carried us away on warm night breezes.
Native peoples were not forgotten. Demonstrations focusing on the daily lives of American Indians, as well as music and dance performances, were so popular that there was always a line at the entrance.
With all the activity, sustenance was of the utmost importance. The Marche Public is a festival unto itself. You can sample everything from maple creams to fresh strawberries and blueberries, to a cheese-sampler plate that was so incredible I seriously considered relocating.
You might also try Aux Anciens Canadiens, a restaurant housed in the historic Maison Jacquet (the oldest home in Quebec, dating to 1675). It serves meals that redefine the word hearty, with dishes such as la tartine au sucre du pays: homemade bread slathered with maple sugar and heavy cream.
By late Sunday afternoon, I reluctantly retired my feathered fan and lace-up bodice for jeans and a sweat shirt. Wandering the city streets after the festival ended gave me time to reflect not only the merriment of the past few days, but also the historical significance of what I'd seen.
Young boys I passed that night didn't remove any hats or bow as I passed by. But a welcoming "Bonsoir, madame!" at my hotel set off dreams of one day returning to New France.
(This article was originally published in the San Diego Union-Tribune.)
