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Québécois
The Montreal Real Estate Board shared a floor at 1080 Beaver Hall Hill with the passport office. The short distance from the elevator to the board offices each morning meant navigating an orderly queue of anxious folks in transit. Neither here nor there.
One didn’t choose to line up outside this office for hours to transact a simple renewal, but rather to make a personal appeal. To seek an exception. To make their case. Not all, mind you. But enough. Those few steps presented a constant reminder that many folks desperately wanted what I took for granted—if, that is, I considered my citizenship at all.
In those ancient days, multiple listings— the homes available for resale across the city—were published in a printed book five days a week. A wee photo, a price, a few words urging the reader to pounce on this lovely fixer-upper in TMR (Town of Mount Royal), Ahuntsic or Park Ex. Pointe-Saint- Charles. L’Île-Bizard. Longueil. Three hundred copies. Composed. Printed. Collated. Bound. Packaged. Distributed. Every day. Five days a week.
About 30 folks put the listings book together. A mix of blue-collar (printers and collators) and production and admin folk. Varied backgrounds. Ethnically, linguistically and economically. Anglais and unilingual French speakers. But I recall more in common than that which separated us.
I learned that the most foul words slung around a workroom involved the objects of Catholic rituals. A more frequent epithet, “moufette toi” mashed together into a single syllable, mooftway, was intended to cut deep, but was drained of its power when you learned it translated to ‘you sir, are a skunk!’.
Life beyond the board tended to be as ordered as their days pushing out real estate listings. Christmas at the in-laws. Saint- Sauveur, maybe or Sainte-Adèle. March break in Florida, perhaps. Summer holidays were always taken over the last two weeks in July. The board shut down for this period. It seemed the city did too.
Nearly all my colleagues headed to Wildwood, New Jersey. The Wildwoods became the generic name for the region, a cluster of barrier reef islands at the southern oceanside of the state. It featured long sandy beaches. Boardwalks. And a seaside outlook that stretched to the horizon. I expect it still does.
My coworkers went back year after year. Often to the same place. The same town. With their families. And extended families. They had found their piece of heaven. And they weren’t inclined to be adventurous with those precious two weeks. They shared stories of a place they had in common. Eager to share a small discovery. Of a unique memory.
August was consumed by stories of the Wildwoods. Of the beach. Of summertime receding.
My board mates felt welcome in the Wildwoods. A smattering of French signs. French language menus. Resort operators and their staff made an attempt to learn a bit of the language.
So they went back. Year after year. And their children did the same.
According to some tourism reports, before COVID, roughly 10 per cent of Wildwoods visitors each year were from Canada— nearly all from Quebec. But a pandemic, Donald Trump and tariffs blew up decadesold tourism patterns. Donald Trump changed the way Canadians, including Québécois, think about the US.
The region reports that Canadian visitors were down by 35 to 40 per cent. Individual businesses say the absence of Québécois is much greater.
Other data sources suggest Canadian attitudes of travel to the US in the era of Trump ranging from passive disinterest to bitter refusal.
I’ve been thinking of my former colleagues on the board lately. In normal times, they would have made plans already for their summer vacation next year on the Atlantic shoreline. They took considerable comfort knowing these plans were buttoned down and settled.
Prince Edward County benefited from many Quebec families who changed their plans this summer. The County’s profile, its attractions (beaches, big water) and attributes (great food and drink) have been drawing a growing contingent of Québécois each summer.
But 2025 was different. We welcomed folks who had never heard of the County before. And never would have done except for Donald Trump. We welcomed folks whose vacation traditions and memories had been formed by the New Jersey shoreline.
It is an opportunity. One that more or less landed at our feet. It didn’t happen because of any marketing or promotion—or a result of a clever social media strategy—but rather because the tangerine toddler decided to blow up the American economy— and had no interest in the fallout.
I expect County entrepreneurs and businesses are already working out how to build upon this opportunity next year. They are already preparing a warm welcome for our Québécois neighbours. We will learn the language. We will display bilingual signs. Menus. We will thank them for choosing Prince Edward County. We may consider cultural events that foster bonds between our communities.
There is more to be done. And I expect we will get better at it. Collectively and individually.
Still, I have a nagging worry we may take their patronage for granted.
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