An archipelago, by definition, is nothing more than a group of islands. Sounds pleasant enough but somehow fails to encompass the romance and adventure one might associate with islands in general. Take the Hawaiian islands for instance, visions of frothy white surf spanking endless white sand beaches, impenetrable rain forests and brooding volcanoes come to mind. Remote. Exotic. Delicious. Three adjectives that I would unhesitatingly use to describe the Magdalen Islands, Quebec’s archipelago in the centre of the Gulf of St.Lawrence. The Magdalen Islands are a place for lovers, children and those with the eyes of an artist.

A fourth adjective must be added for Maritimers wishing to visit the Magdalen Islands. Accessible. I remember as a child the sense of adventure involved with a ferry ride to PEI. The seemingly never ending wait while cars lined up like dominoes before being paraded into the bowels of the ship. Once onboard, the sense of adventure was palpable. I felt heroic as I crossed the Northumberland Strait to discover a new land. The Confederation Bridge replaced that experience with an engineered marvel. Not better or worse, just different. The sense of adventure is not lost on those departing for the Magdalens as a  five hour ferry crossing from Souris, PEI kicks off the vacation with a distinctly nautical flavour.

The first thing that I notice onboard the 400 foot long M/V Madeleine is that almost everyone is speaking French although all announcements are made in both official languages. This does not come as a shock given that virtually every car waiting to board the ferry carried Quebec license plates. Nevertheless it is a welcome treat to hear French spoken and to know that you’re already in Quebec before you even leave the dock at Souris. As we cruise past the eastern shore of PEI I’m amazed and delighted at the lack of development along the picture perfect beaches. A pleasant reminder of the delights of life in eastern Canada and a suitable precursor to what lay ahead. The ship speeds along until finally out of sight of all land.

Just past the halfway point in the ferry crossing, land comes back into view. At first glance there appears to be a number of ‘stand alone’ islands quite distant from each other. This first glimpse of the islands might best be described as a mirage as what you see is not quite what you get. As the M/V Madeleine closes in on the archipelago, small islands magically pop up between the larger islands. In fact what you are seeing are the spectacular sand dunes that connect six of the seven inhabited islands. There are over 300km of beaches in the island chain and many of them appear to be there for you and you alone. The Magdalens are only 105km from PEI as the puffin flies yet they feel delightfully remote. When you’re there you tend to forget that there’s anything important beyond the horizon. Perhaps for a week or two there isn’t. The ship pulls into the harbour at Cap aux Meules, the bow of the ship yawns open and away you go.

I can remember being in awe of the landscape during my first visit in 2002. The honeymoon may never end. Red sandstone flower pots break free from the mainland by ceaseless waves and erosion. White sand beaches practically beg you to notice. Rounded green hills lead to cliffs sheared by unimaginable forces. Cattle graze the inner pastures, blissfully unaware of the beauty beyond the fences surrounding them. Herons and hawks feed in the rich lagoons and golden marshes. Humans cast their nets, set their traps and harvest the bounty of the sea. There’s a sense of harmony in the Magdalen Islands as though every creature was on the same page of the same book at the same time.

At times the islands exude a regional familiarity. The dunes and sandstone formations are like those in PEI. There are elements of Cape Breton or Newfoundland here too in the harbours, rocks, hills and architecture. The archipelago is small enough to be intimate yet large enough to never be fully discovered. The French language only serves to increase the allure of the place. I would dare to say that the experience wouldn’t be the same if the native tongue was English. There is an intangible sexiness to the language that you hear spoken in the cafés and on the beaches.

The magnetic pull of the beaches draws people to the islands from beyond the orbit of mainland Quebec and the Maritimes. It would be impossible not to be attracted to the sculpted beauty of the dunes, rising and falling as far as the eye can see. In the parking lots and on the generous roads I’ve seen license plates from Maine, Massachusetts, Rhode Island and California. These road weary souls must feel like they’ve discovered Cape Cod or Cape Hatteras before the madness of rampant tourism. Thoughtfully placed boardwalks allow access to many of the beaches thus preserving the fragile ecology of the ever shifting dunes. A staggering 60% of the Magdalen coastline is comprised of sandspits. The water, blue and lush, is inviting and fresh. The ocean can be surprisingly warm in the late summer and entices swimmers, kayakers, windsurfers, kiteboarders and water worshippers in all forms. Kids, young and old, build both monstrous and minute sand castles on the beaches, the depths of their imaginations being the only limitation. A stray piece of driftwood strategically placed atop a sandy turret serves as a makeshift flag pole from which a seaweed standard can be flown thus proclaiming dominion over this sandy empire. Sand pipers and plovers comb the water’s edge for lunch while staying a cautious few paces ahead of ambling, sun-seekers. Footprints vanish with every passing wave.

The architecture in the islands is pleasant although not outstanding in any particular way unless you take into consideration the daring use of colour. Many residents paint their houses in shades that are vibrant, often bordering on electric. Any of the many colourful wooden abodes placed on a suburban street in any other mainland town might draw raised eyebrows and looks of bewilderment. The neighbours might talk. The Magdalen landscape often looks like a woven tapestry onto which a child has spilled jelly beans of all imaginable hues.. The houses make you smile when you least expect it as they are both irreverent and charming. They exude warmth in what must be a bleak and windswept landscape at times.  One can’t help but wonder if the technicolour houses serve as a metaphor for the warm spirit inside spilling out to greet family and friends. Only happy people would paint their homes with such an inspired brush.  I’ve always found the inhabitants, called Madelinot, to be very friendly and helpful. I try to use my schoolboy French language skills, skills being a generous term, to the best of my ability. In the cafés and bars I try to order in French. I don’t fool anyone but I’m always given encouragement and occasionally spoken to in English. I’d like to think that the Madelinot appreciate my efforts, feeble as they may be. I sense that they do.

The two main industries in the islands are fishing and tourism. The existence of both seems self-evident when you look at what the natural landscape has to offer. Fishing translates to sustenance, both financially and on the dinner plate, and has historical roots spanning centuries. The ocean brought people here, the ocean keeps people here. Tourism appears to be thriving but at a comfortable pace. It never feels so busy that you risk losing yourself and become part of the herd. The archipelago seems neither overdeveloped nor underdeveloped. The harmony of the islands remains intact either through careful planning or lucky happenstance. I can remember standing outside the busy Café de la Grave on the island of Havre-Aubert during one warm summer’s night. The glowing lights were warmly inviting and the laughter spilled out onto the dark street with the opening of the door. Someone was playing a piano. I felt that the people on the inside were lucky to be living for that very moment. I was lucky to share a piece of that moment with strangers.

My childhood memories of visiting PEI by ferry only involve getting there and playing there, never leaving. As an adult I’m more aware of how I feel when I leave a place that I love. I know that I must leave the Magdalen Islands and reluctantly I do so. The ferry skirts Entry Island shortly after departure. Entry Island, rounded, rolling and rugged, is home to less than 150 inhabitants, all English speaking, of predominantly Scottish/Irish ancestry. This island is the only inhabited island not connected to the others and is accessible solely by passenger boat in summer and small plane in winter. After four visits to the archipelago, Entry Island has eluded me. The ferry is now a scant thirty minutes out of Cap-aux-Meules harbour and my thoughts of leaving the islands quickly change to thoughts of returning. I’m intrigued by the unlikely existence of a remote, English-speaking, beachless island in the midst of this sandy French archipelago. Child-like curiosity has me fixating on Entry Island. Have you ever looked up, wide-eyed, at the moon and imagined what it must have been like to be the first person to walk there? I want to climb Entry Island’s bulbous hills, peek cautiously over the perilous edge of her cliffs. I want to look for footprints.