Bingo Night In Quebec

Bingo Night in Quebec

Beh trios, Beh trios long pause, Eeee quinze, Eeee, quinze, long pause Jjjj vingt-trois, Jjjj vingt-trois, ad infinitum……………………

You would think that this calling of the Bingo numbers would be like counting sheep when it came to falling asleep. Not quite, but it did have a similar impact on my eyelids while at the same time curling the corners of my mouth. The game of Bingo is big sport here in rural Quebec on Saturday night. The guys took all day in setting up the hall, complete with outdoor area for smokers that was close to windows so they could hear the numbers being called. Most of the players came from the countryside vs. the campground.

The old fella calling the numbers had his grandson on his lap. And the latter seemed hypnotized by the whirling balls in the bingo machine. The grandfather, commanded respect, with even the quickest of looks at a noisy section of the bingo hall; instant silence. Then on he would go with the calling of numbers. And of course the only word spoken in English all night was “Bingo!”

We began our day on the Isle d’Orelans which lies in the middle of the St. Lawrence River just northeast of the city of Quebec. It is only about 20 miles long but full of berry fields and artists boutiques (French for expensive shop). Very relaxing as most of the crowds were in Montreal still enjoying the New France Festival. The island reminded me of Vashon Island off West Seattle, close to major city but light years away in pace.

I am a bit slow this morning getting on the road toward the NE. I am backed into a tight spot next to the bingo hall and the picnic tables and the small train for the kids are blocking my egress. And the only one up beside Suzy and I is the neighbor’s rooster. He sounds very French with his Coc eh doodle du. So we wait for the rising of the all night bingo boys to disassemble the bingo grounds.