Charlevoix: Waterfalls, Cheese, and Cows with Better Hair Than Mine
By day three, Mom and I were pros at packing up with our Backroads crew and pretending that hauling bags before coffee was part of the fun. We headed south, retracing our steps into a fresh section of Charlevoix’s countryside. The morning hike hugged the river, its soundtrack building up to a waterfall that was more “majestic soundtrack moment” than “pleasant garden fountain.” Even the so-called “Dolce Hike” (their words, not mine) wasn’t exactly dolce—short, yes, but steep enough to make you question every life choice that led you to label hiking as “vacation.”
Big shoutout to Stephanie, Mom’s trail buddy and coach, who got her up those inclines with more patience than I deserve. The longer hike loop was basically a woodland detour that rejoined the group riverside—right in time for Stephanie to produce maple cookies like some kind of sugar fairy. And let me tell you, snacks taste better when you’ve sweated for them.
When the trail split, the choice was between a short but vertical climb or a longer, allegedly flatter path. I’m no hero. I chose long and flat. My knees thanked me.
Lunch was at Fromagerie Le Migneron, where Axelle, our saintly support guide, put together a Backroads picnic straight out of a lifestyle magazine: local cheeses, crusty bread, fruit, and the kind of presentation that makes you forgive the morning’s calf workout. I may have sampled everything. Twice.
Then it was on to Le Germain Charlevoix Hotel, which deserves its own love letter. Built on the site of an old farm, it’s a mix of modern design and farmyard charm: animals grazing, gardens humming, beehives buzzing, and a flat mile-long stroll to the beach if you’re feeling ambitious. Rooms? Huge, tile-floored, and canine-approved—dogs welcome, which means Carmen and Freddie could theoretically apply for tiny Canadian passports.
The hotel grounds felt like Noah’s Ark curated by a designer: longhorn cattle, including one photogenic bull who knew he was the star, a baby calf snoozing like a postcard, plus alpacas, ducks, rabbits, chickens, and sheep. Basically, a farm-themed petting zoo with luxury bedding.
By day four, Backroads gave us a choice: keep hiking or ditch the trail shoes and wander Baie-Saint-Paul like professional strollers, poking our heads into art galleries instead of pine trees. The town has more art galleries than some cities (16-plus), and Mom and I happily gallery-hopped until our feet filed for workers’ comp.
And while I know Quebec is French, I’m still surprised at how French it is. English is around, but French is always first. Walk into a shop, it’s “bonjour,” and I respond with my lone “bonjour” before my vocabulary drops off a cliff. Do you keep saying bonjour to be polite? Switch to hello so they know you’re linguistically tapped out? Nothing like feeling inadequate while admiring paintings.
Dinner was at Le Mouton Noir, where the food was stellar but the carrot cake was the headliner. Mom spotted it on the menu early, and we skipped appetizers just so we had enough room. Worth it? Honestly, I’d drag Chad back here just for that cake.
Charlevoix and Baie-Saint-Paul might just be some of the prettiest corners of the world—part trail, part gallery crawl, part cheese board. And yes, full of cows with better hair than mine.