Gareth's Culture and Travel Blog

Photos of this second leg https://goo.gl/photos/3YzNorKBcV3TyjUo6

Flying from St. John’s, Newfoundland to Halifax, Nova Scotia, gave me a real feeling of going on holiday, even though I was already on holiday. When I arrived in Halifax it was a bit of a shock to the system  – a much bigger place, more traffic, a new car – but I really took to the city and felt very much at home in no time. My downtown boutique hotel meant I could have my first car-less day while I explored the city on foot, starting at The Citadel, home for a series of fortresses for the last 250 years, the latest some 150 years old. You see instantly why its there, a strategic location overlooking the enormous Atlantic harbour, able to see any enemy within miles and miles. Now a National Historic Site, the staff, somewhat disconcertingly, dress as Highland soldiers in kilts, though grubbier than a real soldier ever would be! Halifax seems to fall down the steep hill from here into the deep-water port. I loved the Art Gallery, with a strong focus on aboriginal and folk art, the highlight of which was the relocted painted house of folk artist Maud Lewis, crippled with juveneile arthritis, who managed to make a living selling at her doorstep, but I was disappointed in the much lauded Maritime Museum (well, apart from the Titanic deck chair and other artifacts).

A side-trip along the south shore was a treat, to the fishing village of Peggy’s Cove, which has its own artist, Finnish born William deGarthe, who sculpted an extraordinary 30-meter frieze on the rocks in his back garden, Mahone Bay (with the Scarecrow Festival – on almost every lamp post and in almost every garden, including ‘scarecrow’ baseball teams, Lance Armstrong and Donald Trump! – a real bonus) and Lunenberg, pretty but too touristy for me.

I decided to take the longer, more scenic route along the east shore to my next destination, and that was a good idea. I’d flown over its densely forested landscape of inlets and lakes and it was just as beautiful on the ground, with the beaches of Taylor Head Provincial Park devoid of people and the ‘museum town’ of Sherbrooke ghostly now closed for the season. Across the Canso Causeway to Cape Breton Island and I was in lakeside Baddeck, in pole position for an adventure in the Cape Breton Highlands National Park. The Cabot Trail is a 200-mile drive into and through the park, from coast to coast and sea level to mountaintop, seascapes rocks and beaches, mountainscapes bogs and forests. The weather could have been clearer, but it was still a great trip.

The journey to Prince Edward Island started well and I was making such good progress I decided to try for an earlier ferry, but that, and the one I planned for, were cancelled, meaning a 4- hour wait or a 120-mile detour. I chose the latter, across the extraordinary 8-mile 2-lane new bridge which I was planning to leave the island on two days later. First impressions of PEI are striking – it’s all very clean, tidy and manicured. When I got to Charlottetown, I decided to go walking to make something of the day, but it started raining (and I’d uncharacteristically come unprepared) and my indoor targets were either closed for rennovation of impossible to find. Though the day ended with a lovely meal, I have to say I’ve has better days. Lots of them.

It was redeemed by a lovely day-trip to the north of the island for the coastal scenery of the PEI National Park, Green Gables (as in Anne of ……a bit lost on me as I’d never read the book) and the quirky working harbour of North Rustico, where I ate great seafood at the Blue Mussel Cafe before returning to Charlottetown for my first culture in 18 days (not counting The Beatles documentary film Eight Days a Week in Halifax), a musical called Belle Sours, originally a Quebecois novel, then a French-language musical, now an English musical adaptation, which I rather liked. It was a chamber piece that was a bit lost in a 1100-seat theatre with an audience of c.100. Quite why they programmed a three-week run with an overall capacity of some 20,000 in a town with a population of 35,000 on an island with a population of 150,000 after the tourist season has virtually ended is beyond me! Perhaps I should offer theatrical consultancy. The following morning, my innkeeper suggested its quirky Quebecoisness had kept locals away, a good point given PEI is a somewhat conservative place.

I dedided to break the journey to Miramichi in New Brunswick, the third and last of the three Maritime / four Atlantic provinces, in Hopewell Rocks, as the tides that day were particularly convenient (impressed by the research?) enabling me to see them at high tide and walk amongst them at low tide within two hours, with lunch in-between. It’s quite a phenomenon and well worth the detour. By the time I got to Miramichi I was wondering why. The original plan was to visit the Mount Carleton Provincial Park, but I’d subsequently realised it was a very long drive and overly ambitious. Miramichi is one of those towns, like Grand Falls-Windsor in Newfoundland, created for administrative convenience by merging two or more existing ones, in this case Chatham, where the Cunard brothers started their ship-building empire, and Newcastle, where I was staying, which gave the Beaverbrook dynasty to the world, the current incarnation of which are tax-dodging gutter journalists who preside over the odious Daily Mail. As you can tell, I’m a fan. So, what to do in this infamous but relatively dull location?

Well, some bedtime research and an early morning phone call turned disaster into truimph. I immersed myself in the fascinating history and culture of the Acadians, driving along the north coast to Village Historique Acadien where I was the only visitor so got a private tour of this village, created by relocating homes from all over New Brunswick to tell the Acadian story and create one of the best outdoor museums of its kind. At the beginning of the 18th century, the English (sometimes being Welsh is useful!) made them choose between an oath of allegiance or deportation, most choosing the latter and returning to Europe or going to Quebec (still French). Some famously travelled to Louisiana via the St Lawrence & the Mississippi, becoming the Cajuns we know today.The Acadian story proved just as enthralling as the Vikings and the Basque Whalers. The new Acadians are fiercly nationalistic, will only speak French and most fly the flag (a tricolour with a papal yellow star to emphasise their religion!). My new best friend Roger recommended having lunch with them at Chez Isa, where Madam (who true to form spoke no English) produced a lovely set lunch (no choices!) of vegetable & barley soup, salt cod with potatoes, an apple desert and coffee for £8. It was heaving and I was the only visitor and I loved it. The return journey was via the other coast of this north-west tip and I arrived ‘home’ deeply satisfied after a fabulous day!

En route to my next destination, I took in two more national parks, both coastal – the very underrated Kouchibouguac and the somewhat overrated Fundy. The autumn colours I first encountered en route to the far north were now everywhere, and it was only the first day of October. Journey’s had become distracting but uplifting with all the colours. I overnighted in Sussex before I headed to my final destination, Fredericton, the capital of New Brunswick, and before there to the nearby Kings Landing, the loyalist equivalent of Village Acadien Historiqe, but fully open with costumed inhabitants and demonstrations of long lost crafts and other visitors. I love this type of museum and this was one of the best. It was Sunday, so Fredericton was closed except for the unfortunately named Beaverbrook Gallery which had a fine collection of Canadian painters I’d never heard of. It was warm and sunny, so mooching around the quiet streets and along the riverside was thoroughly enjoyable.

Another 2000 mikes in the Maritimes and my planned 4000 mikes has been exceeded before I even cross the border into New England for the third leg and another holiday. This second leg was another treat. Atlantic Canada is a very underrated and welcoming destination. Think about it…….