[ webLog ]

[Previous entry: "Dancing in the Rain"] [Main Index] [Next entry: "Ipsos-Reid - The Job for Me?"]

07/17/2001 Entry: "Nothing to fear in Old St. B, mes amis"

Taken from a Winnipeg Free Press article (since they never SAVE their archives, and I'll never know why...)

A friend of mine admits he has an irrational fear of St. Boniface. Driving over the Provencher Bridge and catching a glimpse of the Basilica or the French Library rattles him. He wonders if he'll be able to communicate with the locals, not because of the language barrier -- most French Manitobans speak fluent English -- but because of the cultural one. The whole district feels different to him, as if, coming over the bridge, he'd passed through some portal that mysteriously connects Water Avenue to Sherbrooke, Que....

With the tourist season upon us, and, according to Travel Manitoba, an estimated 200,000 people flooding into Old St. B. to visit the Basilica, the Museum, and Louis Riel's Grave, I am reminded of this mysterious relationship some Winnipeggers have with the French Quarter.

As I glance over at my friend from the passenger seat of his car, I notice his hand trembling slightly as he downshifts at the corner of Provencher and Taché. The French on the street signs makes him feel uneasy, rue this, rue that, boul this, prom that, how the heck are you supposed to find anything? At work, he feels flustered when he calls a 233 or 237-area phone number and the person on the other end answers "Oui, allô?" as if everyone in the province were fluent in the language of Molière.

Certain characteristics do distinguish French Manitobans from the rest of the province's population but, by and large, the equation is a simple one: The language is French, the identity is Manitoban. Franco-Manitobans are staunch federalists and, in political allegiance, only slightly left or right of centre. On the whole, we are a friendly, easy-going, if somewhat sentimental group who love conversation and volunteer a lot.

As with all Manitobans, we're coached from an early age in the time-honoured art of complaining: About the heat in the summer, the cold in the winter, the mosquitoes, and anything to do with government or elected officials. The difference, of course, is that the complaining is carried out in French, with the accent falling on the last syllable of names like DoER, MurRAY, and ChréTIEN.

There are other notable cultural differences that can be found in Manitoba's French population. The body and its functions are more freely discussed than in some other cultures and, in general, there is more gesturing and cheek-kissing going on. There is also a kind of directness, a pride in calling things as we see them.

The names of certain French-Canadian desserts provide a useful illustration of this frankness. Our ancestors went right to the point when they invented, for example, the "sugar pie." An equivalent would be the British deciding to call bread pudding "moistened yeast." For those of you who have never experienced sugar pie, imagine ordering a piece of pecan pie in a restaurant and asking the waiter to hold the pecans. A cautionary note: A tall glass of milk or other liquid is required to work through even the smallest piece of sugar pie.

Another case in point is the French-Canadian delicacy sucre à la crème, which, loosely translated, is "creamed sugar." In English, the term "vanilla fudge" is occasionally used as an equivalent.

But notice how this term conveniently allows the eater to ignore the fact that he or she is consuming two-inch squares of unrefined sugar.

It could be argued that one of the main traits we Franco-Manitobans have inherited from our French ancestors is a love of associations and committees. Traditionally, the French love to organize and categorize. Those of you who have had to contend with the spellbinding bureaucracy of the city of Paris are nodding yes. In the neighbourhood of St. Boniface alone, you will find theatre and arts groups of every sort, political bodies, educational associations, parents groups, youth groups, not to mention the St. Boniface Historical Society, the Francophone Economic Development Council and the 'Noise from Concerts at The Forks is Ruining My Life Support Group,' to name but a few.

There is a sense of urgency that comes with being a part of a minority. The arts are alive and important. Over-achieving becomes a prerequisite.

Interestingly, this sense of striving and achieving is quite prevalent in Winnipeggers as a whole. Our relative isolation from both eastern and western centres of power has resulted in a greater dedication to the arts, an extra bit of ingenuity and tenacity in business; the general feeling that when you're number two, you try harder. Indeed, the over-achiever has become one of Manitoba's greatest exports. If we stopped to draw up a list of names, I'm sure we could make the case that the city of Toronto is run, in fact, by ex-Winnipeggers.

So I told my friend he has nothing to worry about when crossing the bridge into St. Boniface. In the end, everyone's a member of some minority.

Daniel Tougas is a writer and a producer with the French CBC Radio, CKSB.

The View From Here is open to anyone who wants to tell us a story. Email your first-person submissions -- no longer than 800 words, please -- to theview@freepress.mb.ca