Sketches of Quebec City (Post-Script)

It is the morning of our last day in Quebec City. We are in the car, on our way out of town.

Tristan asks, not for the first time, if we are going back to Canada today. "We are in Canada," I reassure him. He has not asked this question when we have visited Toronto or Kingston or any other city. I launch into a lengthy explanation about cities, provinces and countries, which takes most of the drive to the outskirts of town.

We cross the soaring Pierre Laporte bridge in silence, and as we gain terra firma on the other side, Tristan asks brightly, "Are we in Canada yet?"

How is this possible? I am fervent federalist, and yet I have given birth to a separatist.