10th June 2018

We had a much better night’s sleep; the TV snorer from the previous evening had gone, and with only two other guests in evidence, the night was completely silent.

We set off just after 9 am for the Polar Bear Habitat, a five-minute drive away. Astonishingly, the motel owner had no idea where it was, and I had to Google it. We relied on our Satnav.

After paying the entrance fee (Sue was disappointed that there was no age concession), we headed outside to explore the three enclosures. Only one other couple was visiting; we saw them leaving the first enclosure as we arrived, but they didn’t seem inclined to chat, so we left them to their own devices.

The centre is home to three polar bears, all magnificent specimens, huge and, though they may look cuddly, definitely not to be approached. Each bear has its own enclosure with access to water: two have concrete swimming pools, while the third enjoys a large natural lake. One of the bears kindly obliged us by going for a swim, seemingly relishing the photo opportunity. You can watch them underwater through glass panels set into the side of the pool. We took some fantastic photos.

Next, we observed the bears outside in their enclosures. Disappointingly, we noticed they were exhibiting signs of captivity, pacing back and forth and rhythmically swinging their heads from side to side on the same spot. They appeared well cared for, and their enclosures seemed ideal, but I suppose nothing can truly replace freedom. One of the bears was a rescue, while the other two had come from other centres. Later, we watched a video of them enjoying the snow in winter, where they were clearly relaxed and at home. I imagine captivity in the summer heat isn’t very pleasant if you’re a furry bear.

The site also included a Heritage Village. Although it wasn’t yet open for the season, we wandered down Main Street. Some of the buildings were accessible, but we assumed that during peak season, the shops and houses would be occupied by re-enactors bringing the past to life. Even so, we found it fascinating.

We had lunch at a Harvey’s in town before setting off on Highway 11 towards our next stop, Hearst (pop. 5,500).

Our journey to Hearst was a quiet delight, with pretty little villages, often situated beside a river with the necessary bridge. Most of the place names were French, and, as we discovered upon arrival, so was the language spoken by its inhabitants. Frustratingly, about an hour from Hearst, we encountered roadworks that delayed our journey considerably. They were resurfacing the road, and just ahead of us, there had been a rather nasty accident. It appeared that a juggernaut had shunted a car, which had sustained significant damage. When we eventually passed the scene, an ambulance had yet to arrive to tend to the injured.

After checking in at the motel, we took a stroll around the town and confirmed that this was a stronghold of French culture. We were surprised to find that, apart from food shops, all businesses were closed, and, intriguingly, they didn’t open on Saturdays or Sundays. How do they manage to stay in business?

Passing the cinema, we saw that it was showing The Avengers, so, eager to indulge in some seventies nostalgia, we bought tickets to see Steed and Mrs Peel later that evening.

Returning to the hotel, after consulting a map, we decided to visit a lake just outside town, next to a small airport. It was only a 10-minute drive, but well worth it. The lake had a beautiful beach, where a few locals were making the most of the sunshine. Given the gorgeously hot weather, we were surprised that more people weren’t cooling off in the water. We certainly did, enjoying a refreshing paddle in the crystal-clear shallows.

We returned to the motel via a circuitous route, changed, and then found a nearby restaurant for dinner. It was while we were eating that a worrying thought occurred to us, given that everything else in town seemed to be in French, was there a chance the film might be as well? This concern grew when we took our seats in the auditorium and realised that even the trailer for the local hospital was entirely in French. Would the film be subtitled, or would we be left to decipher the plot purely through action?

In the event, we needn’t have worried, the film was in English. However, there was one rather significant issue. Neither Steed nor Emma Peel made an appearance. Instead, they had been replaced by Thor, Loki, and a dozen other superheroes from the Marvel universe. Ooooops, wrong Avengers!

The action was fast and furious, the storyline vague, and the believability non-existent. We sat through it, mainly because we didn’t know the French for “Can we have our money back, s’il vous plaît?”, and endured it to the bitter end, though I’m not entirely sure it had an ending!

As we walked back to our room, we tried to make sense of what had actually happened in the film and, more perplexingly, why such credible actors would get involved in such nonsense. We couldn’t come up with an answer.

I blame the French.