It’s no longer fair to refer to Québec as the “poor man’s French vacation.” True, it’s still cheaper than France, but it has a lot to offer. The province of Québec is enormous, more than three times the size of France, and much of the land is wild and untamed. Some of the best spots, like the Gaspé Peninsula — a tongue of land in eastern Québec between Chaleur Bay and the estuary of the St. Lawrence River — remain relatively unknown.

The Gaspé, “land’s end” in the language of the aboriginal Micmac people, is about 150 miles (240 km) long and 90 miles (145 km) broad at its widest spot. Its backbone, an extension of the Appalachians known as the Chic-Chocs, is a land of rugged mountains; Mont Jacques-Cartier (4,160 feet / 1,268 m) is the highest elevation in southeastern Canada.

“People are just waking up to the extraordinary beauty of Gaspé mountains and sea,” noted Gordon Brinley in her 1935 budget travel guide, Away to the Gaspé. She described a celestial land of country churches and covered bridges, and the friendliest gestures at every turn.

Seventy years later, her observations still hold true.

There is much to see here. Brinley afforded herself 90 days for her offbeat Gaspésian adventure. My travel companions and I had just seven, so we planned them wisely. Here are the highlights:

Kayakers enjoy a chilly trip on the St. Lawrence.

Bic National Park

The population of la Gaspésie is primarily francophone today. Jean-François struggles with his English to convince us that his kayak expeditions are completely safe. “We are prepared for casualties,” he says in his charming Québecois accent. He thinks a moment, then adds: “Casualties is the correct word, no?”

“Um, no,” I reply. “At least I hope not.” He apologizes for the limits of his English, but then quickly reminds us that today is St-Jean-Baptiste Day, the Fête nationale du Québec. “We must all speak French today,” he jokes.

Now that would be a disaster. Between my four traveling companions and I, we can’t seem to assemble one coherent sentence in French.

We launch our kayaks into the calm, chilly St. Lawrence off the coast of Bic National Park. I’m concerned about whether my companions will be able to keep up. At least two of them haven’t exercised since the last days of disco.

Likewise, our kayaks are not the sleekest of models; they’re designed for stability more than speed. But Jean-Francois reminds us: “Kayaking is not about strength so much as rhythm. It is like a dance.” With that, my companions find their rhythm and dance circles around me. We paddle out past Massacre Island, where the water turns choppy, then toward Cape Enrage, where curious seals join our tour. I’m inclined to explore more unusual names on the map — such as Le Chocolat and Baie du Ha! Ha! — but eight miles (13 km) are about all we can manage for a morning paddle, and the rest of Bic National Park is best viewed from bikes and footpaths.

Nine miles (14.5 km) of gently sloping bike trails course through the park, along with 15 miles (24 km) of groomed hiking trails. We traipse along a coastal route, pausing frequently to absorb the harsh beauty at every turn, such as abandoned clapboard houses that testify to brutal winters, and wild irises thriving in craggy rocks.

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