Why a Canadian river cruise should be top of your bucket-list

As Viking Polaris makes its way along the St Lawrence River on an unseasonably cold mid-April morning, litle do I know that a spooky coincidence is about to occur.

Nearly 500 years ago, a swashbuckling French navigator called Jacques Cartier – who’s no relation to me – also arrived here on an expedition ship.

Despite not having Viking Polaris’s next-generation stabilisers or a Nordic spa to while away the hours, Cartier successfully led 60 men across the Atlantic, where he colonised the glorious expanse of eastern Canada we now call Quebec.

One of Viking’s expedition leaders says, “It’s easy to see why Cartier fell in love with this place,” just as a flight of white- feathered herons glide along the river, their feet setting off ripples on its mirror-calm surface.

"Mustard fields bordered by enormous windswept trees are blanketed by a Siberian weather front that has dragged temperatures down to well below freezing. It’s a melancholy yet utterly breathtaking scene, and I’m spellbound.

Like my French namesake, I too am on makes its way along a mission.

When the Expedition Cruise Network – a membership organisation that connects expedition cruise operators – released its 2023/23 Insights Report, it revealed a growing appetite among travellers for adventure-led cruises that go beyond the polar regions.

So when I was invited to sail the St Lawrence River on Viking's newly launched Canadian Discovery itinerary, it was the perfect opportunity to see if this corner of North America has what it takes to compete with the allure of the poles.

Locked in

I wake early the next morning and hurry to my window, eager to see what bucolic view awaits me.

I imagine undulating pine forests complemented by a menagerie of razorbills, guillemots and gulls sailing through the air.

As my blind disappears, a concrete wall with slime-green splotches emerges, 15cm from my windowsill. Then we start to sink. I’d read about the St Lawrence Seaway when we boarded in Toronto, where I learned it had taken 22,000 workers five years to build.

Stretching 304km along the border of the United States and Canada, the seaway – or to give it its colloquial name, Highway H20 – is made up of a series of locks, each designed to carry ships between the Great Lakes and the Atlantic.

I lower my window and place my hand against the seaway wall, letting it gently graze my fingers as the lock empties.

With barely a Mars bar’s width either side of us, we stop descending and accelerate toward open water.

Locals gathered on the riverbank beep their truck horns excitedly while children dressed like baby lumberjacks scamper alongside us, trying to keep pace. Never before has a ship as large as this sailed along the seaway and its appearance is causing quite a stir.

Captain Xavier Mongin’s voice transmits through the ship’s PA system, confirming that we’ve made it through our third lock unscathed. “Only four more to go,” he adds.

A feast for the senses

The next day we arrive in the city of Trois-Rivieres, where a culinary tour awaits. One by one my group squeezes through the narrow doorway of Epi – the first of three restaurants on the itinerary – where a sweet, herbaceous scent wafts from the kitchen.

Two heavily tattooed men lead us to our tables and begin filling our glasses with sparkling red wine from the nearby hills of Mont Yamaska, east of Montreal.

Soon, another waiter emerges from the kitchen, carrying a plate of shredded rabbit which has been pressed with fresh herbs into a neat rectangle.

Garnishing it is a fiddlehead, an edible fern shaped like a coiled chameleon’s tail that’s grown in the next province, New Brunswick.

Our waiter explains, “They’re incredibly rare due to their short harvesting season, so you’re in for a treat.” My tastebuds erupt into somersaults as I bite into the rich, umami-fied rabbit, while the crunch of the earthy fiddlehead provides a satisfying bittersweet landing.

"With a population of just 60,000 people, Trois-Rivieres has more restaurants per capita than anywhere else in Canada, and as much as I’d like to try them all, Viking’s activity specialists do a wonderful job of selecting three for us to sample.

Next, we try Japanese fusion at Sushizo, where I watch remarkably young chefs roll, slice and squeeze sushi into imaginative shapes.

Our final stop is Mezcal Taqueria – and after just one bite of my corn and chorizo empanada I decide this is some of the best Mexican food I’ve ever eaten.

As on most expedition cruises there are long sailing days between ports, so I use the time to get acquainted with Viking Polaris’s nooks and crannies.

What amazes me is just how many opportunities there are to learn about the world I’m sailing through.

I enjoy daily lectures on everything from algae to astronomy, I join fellow guests in helping the onboard scientists to launch a weather balloon, and with my own binoculars I spot pods of beluga whales from my well-appointed Deluxe Nordic Balcony room.

This ship really is a library, museum, science lab and luxury hotel all rolled into one.

Enriching escapades

We arrive in Quebec City as storm clouds are brewing, making Fairmont Le Chateau Frontenac look more like Dracula’s Castle than a luxury hotel as it watches over us from its towering bluff.

After a potter around the old town’s souvenir shops to find some sensibly priced maple syrup (I settle for apple syrup instead), we board a coach to visit a preserved Amerindian village.

The museum is closed for renovation, so our young guide takes us on a private tour of a reconstructed longhouse instead, which is hidden behind an imposing 15m-high palisade.

He says his ancestors were part of the Wendat tribe and I detect pride in his voice when he tells us that their innovative farming techniques once helped them forge a trading empire with the French.

As we journey north, I discover that the Wendats aren’t the only ones famed for their ingenuity around here. For example, in 1870 a great fire burned swathes of land around the Saguenay River, souring the forests with acidic, peaty soil.

This, however, provided the perfect conditions to grow plump blueberries, and before long tens of thousands of bushes flourished in the scorched ground.

A trip to Domaine Le Cageot vineyard outside Saguenay city is a chance to sample blueberry-infused products, including liqueurs, vinaigrettes and wine.

I expect the red to be syrupy but am pleasantly surprised by its crisp, zesty notes, so I purchase a bottle from the gift shop.

Then there are the residents of Prince Edward Island, many of whom are still rebuilding homes and rejuvenating farmland after Hurricane Fiona crashed ashore in 2022.

On a walking tour through Charlottetown, I’m struck by the splintered tree trunks and patched up rooftops, but also how beautiful the city has remained, with its brightly coloured colonial houses and Gothic churches.

Up to this point, my journey through Canada has been jam-packed with wonderful culinary discoveries and intriguing insights into the country’s indigenous First Nations people, but I am yet to have the adrenaline- pumping experience that every great expedition promises. I’m excited, then, to board Viking Polaris’s special operations boat in our penultimate call – Halifax, Nova Scotia.

As we whizz around the harbour, stopping momentarily to spot birdlife and have a nosey at grand waterfront mansions, it dawns on me that great expeditions are about more than full-throttle Zodiac tours and citizen science excursions.

They’re about having those horizon- broadening experiences in whatever form they come – and over the past two weeks I can say without doubt that I’ve had my fair share of those.