Field Note: Between Québec and Newfoundland
Sometimes the most meaningful conversations happen because someone changes seats.
On my flight from Québec City to Montréal, a young boy needed to sit with his parents because of a severe allergy. We traded places without much thought, and suddenly I found myself sitting beside his father for the short flight.
His name was Ainsley.
He and his family had spent a few days exploring Québec—walking the streets of Québec City, watching whales along the river—and were making their way back to Winnipeg. He works for Air Canada, maintaining aircraft in one of the hangars. His wife is a pharmacist.
We began talking about Canada—about travel, work, and eventually politics. I told him that I spend a lot of time reading and writing, trying to understand what’s happening in the world rather than simply reacting to headlines. We found ourselves sharing many of the same concerns and hopes. We spoke about the leadership challenges facing Prime Minister Carney, the legacy of leaders like Barack Obama, and our concern over what has been happening in the United States—from the erosion of women’s rights to the images emerging from ICE detention centres.
What struck me wasn’t that we agreed on every detail. We didn’t need to. What mattered was recognizing a shared set of values: respect for democracy, compassion, curiosity, and a belief that thoughtful conversation is still possible. There was no need to convince one another. We simply explored ideas together.
Somewhere along the way, we discovered that we’re both introverts. We laughed about how people often mistake a willingness to engage with strangers for being extroverts. For both of us, conversation is enjoyable—but so is quiet. We talked about needing solitude to recharge and about finding a balance between curiosity and stillness.
I told him about Land & Lives—this growing project that is really an invitation to pay closer attention to people and the places they call home. He understood it immediately.
By the time we landed, we’d exchanged Facebook contacts. He mentioned that he might be able to share one of Air Canada’s employee travel discounts sometime in the future. Whether that happens or not almost doesn’t matter. The gift had already been given.
I’ve often thought that travel isn’t only about arriving somewhere new. It’s about creating brief intersections with lives that would otherwise remain completely unknown to us. For an hour, two strangers share a small piece of their stories. Then they continue in different directions, carrying just a little more understanding of the world than they had before.
In a time when so much public conversation seems to reward outrage, it felt quietly hopeful to sit beside someone who was simply willing to think, to listen, and to wonder.
Perhaps that’s one of the quiet miracles of travel.
Not every meaningful relationship lasts for years.
Sometimes it lasts for the length of a flight between Québec City and Montréal.
