We drive northeast on 321, leaving Ottawa behind us.
Most big cities in North America look the same. Skyscrapers in the city centers. Streets crossing at 90 degree angles. Traffic lights in every crossing. National monuments. Important buildings. Museums. Office buildings. Lots of taxis. All cities have substitute nature called parks. People come to the parks, bringing coffee in disposable cups from Starbucks across the street, lying in the sunshine in the grass, enjoying what they think is nature. Looking around, they don’t see mountain ridges. They see high rise buildings wherever they look. City life. City nature.
The road is good, single lanes. We pass through forests. We pass through small villages. Lakes. Rivers. Rapids. Sometimes small farms. I get flashbacks to my roots. The landscape is so similar to where I grew up, in northern Sweden. This is real nature. Real Canada.
The landscape is changing forms. Hills. Higher hills. Small mountains. We stop by a lake. Fishing must be good here. The water is very clean. I stick my hand into the water. It is cold. Just like my childhood water in northern Sweden. We come to Mont Tremblant village. Clean, organized, well managed and maintained.
I would feel at home here. Here in the real Canada.