The next morning, what seemed to be the neverending horizons found under the sun scoped all over the Great Calanian Desert, as the brutal, throttling self told us that we were slowly on the final stretch of travels. Many were looking outside in despair or awe, as the train part their way through the desert in what was yet another battle between the mankind and the nature, the society and the individual, and many more comparables you could make to such struggles that our ancestors, whether foreign or Quebecois, struggled to break for decades if not centuries.
Still, all things dry and far were to end at some point, and it was around 15:00 that the Calanian Mountaineer reached Endborough, where we were to have an overnight stop. Since the State Museum was close to the end of its business hours by the end of the day, what usually happened instead was that the nights were used to either watch an Endborough Gold Sox Game or to take part in ferry rides along the White and Belle Haven Rivers, a sight widely popularised by a Quebecois film made in mid-80s, whose title I no longer recall. Then there would be enough time spent back in the hotel rooms, before we went to sleep and boarded, at eleven in the following day, the Endboroughian which dropped us around Village-des-Pins station at Red Deer Lake, one of the two largest lakes found in the Endover state.
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As I have mentioned before, the Quebecois Villages of old were still the same ole as they were just a few decades ago when the Vdaran royals frequented it more than how they do now. The summer shrubs and the wild berries draped the trees on the quiet country walkpath that led into the Limassol Cottage. Hotel Sylvain IV had its final summer run before it was to go under a three-year renovation. The Brigadier-General Suite at 7th floor of Hotel Rivard has seen a fairly unimpressive list of occupants, before Kim Gye-Sung, the 11th Duke of Navarre, made his own visit to the Lake District five years ago, to discuss an intimate matter of concern with a notorious band of high class socialites.
On the Gwangmoo Pier, located in middle of the Promenades and Beaches that every visitor recall due to different sets of reasons, you’d recall how agile the young children (myself included, though I was very much the opposite) were as they tried to outrace the young parents who’d carry their strollers along the walkways, and not to mention the occasional middle-agers whom were just having their own time looking at the sunrise, sunset or even a no-luck fishing opportunity.
The rich pine and oak trees of the forests, somewhat different from the breeds than the ones native to Quebec, and the birds spoke in different tongues and wore different badges of honour. The latest country hits, originating from afternoon programs that National Radio Corporation’s Endborough Station at 103.0 would play, had kept the northerners feel at home and was still a noticeable feature when I heard from those of the younger generations who spend their summers instead.
Along occasional plots to farther sides of the beaches of this district, various seaside fields and mounds gave the teenagers and youngsters enough time and distraction away from their parents, who had their own ways of enjoying the summer vacation. Among our travelling entourage that was particularly evident. I was usually playing baseball with my ‘brother’ Myeong-Shin, who never came short from displaying his athleticism that made him a highly-coveted shortstop and linebacker from as early as grade six.
Of course, we all know how his circumstances have led into odd ways- the famous sayings were that he, who grew up watching his idols of Tigers’ minor affiliate, Cornwall Tigers, just down the road from his home, thought he was going to play for Cornwall CVI one of the most prestigious public high schools in country better known for academics and minor sports athletes (my cousins, who got the Kenna blood in them, for example), and then just play for his parents’ alma mater, Queen’s College. Life, however, got into the way when Dr. Heo accepted the professorship and moved to Mississauga, where he enrolled into Songjeong Middle School. There he too continued to excel, being known for pitching 88 miles/average his grade eight year in a match eight months from now, and offers followed. After much persuasion and of course, the advantage of playing in a Midtown school just 15 minutes away from both the Skydome and the Mudeung Field, he eventually went to Erskine Collegiate in fall of 2034, an academic school known for baseball and hockey but not really on football. After that, we know the rest of his heroics, so I’ll spare y’all from that. You guys already watch QBO enough times anyway, and he’ll be playing for World Baseball Classic this January anyway.
Anyways, so Myeong-Shin, out of his love and also nudges, naturally brought me to the field, long after failing to bring Myeong-Yoon or my cousins there. Of course, it wasn’t an easy journey nor an idea. Since I was the youngest kid there, naturally I was placed to play the painful position in catcher. Of course, little did I know that would help me as I became adept at the position and continued playing at high school and then college. Funny how life turns out.
Besides that, the usual happened. Men wore swim trunks that were either too generically black or white, or excessively colourful enough to belong in a flower expo; ladies had their own choices of what they had wanted to wear, whether it be swimsuits, beach clothes or bathgowns that remind myself of this tune. At a remarkable pace did they move, and so did occasional boats that would depart either at dawn or late-afternoon to go fishing or windsurfing.
Taking advantage of those demands and the happy-goers were the vendors, who found these summer employment opportunities quite profitable for good reasons. They, in occasional stalls that we have all frequented before with limited pocket money, tried to convince- with a matter of chance- to try their ice creams, cotton candies or other sweet equivalentes. Sometimes they were successful, other times they weren’t.
The process of dancing and singing took part on the sands of the beach. Occasional musicians, who either rented a vacation spot on timeshare, were there with their families of bandmates to help the kids and adults enjoy a quiet summer abroad while under homely comfort. Occasional baigneur, while drunk or high, would wander around while listening to the guitar or flute tunes, and would occasionally try to jump into the water. This, of course, would usually be stopped by their friends and family members, but an occasional miss would lead into drownings that caused pain more often than not.
Somewhere, around same time, you would bump into an occasional cabin where piano or some rare instrument (Harp? Traditional Korean-Quebecois ones? I do not recall exactly) would be played into the night. If you were a newcomer to the Red Deer Lake District you’d get surprised by it, but after few years, you would just nod along with moving heads. Cottage cabins smelling of wood and the salt coming from the bathing suits, the occasional wanderer or frequenter would notice the elements lifting onto a different kind of curiosity. That, frankly, would lead into all sorts of questionable conducts by those senior to myself at the time, and eventually myself once grew older to be like Myeong-Shin or my Lundrigan cousins. Of course, many regrets were made and tears shed, but that's just something all to natural of a summer.
