This one is a bit more about Halifax

I've spent the past week sleeping in Meghann's parking lot in Halifax by night and engaging in a bit of a routine by day. Every day I ride into town on Libby (the little silver addition to my Jamboree family). I go to the Second Cup coffee shop, check email, browse cheap travel options and sip soya lattes. I go to the Y. I go out and see something of Halifax. And then I find some place to have dinner and a glass or two of wine before returning to the Jamboree to sleep.

As far as coffee shops go:

I've been to Starbucks, of course, but they have a maximum of 2 hours online time per day. I tried another local coffee shop called Perks, twice actually, and both times their internet was down. I have gotten wireless signals in bars and restaurants to keep me company while I eat, and one evening I even had a few too many glasses of wine while browsing a little too long.

Hands down, Second Cup wins. Not only is it Canadian, it serves great coffees AND lets you sit there all day if you want, online. The reason I know all this isn't because I'm dying to spend all my time in Halifax online, but I had to get some work done this week, so needed a place to go where I could sit for hours and do that work. As well as browse and email and skype... and sip coffee...

I got to observe some of the coffee shop clientele while there. There's this one guy there every day, smells pugently of cigarette smoke and wears his tie around his neck, but right against the skin, not on the shirt but inside the shirt. He's otherwise well enough groomed, if you don't mind the fact that he wears the same clothes every day. He sits and listens to music on his Discman (haven't seen one of those in years!) and sips his coffee and knows every server by name.

There are two students from Dalhousie university, two young guys, who sit beside each other but both on their own laptops, comparing stuff. There is a woman who has come in a couple of times with a young Chinese girl, engaged in animated Chinese lessons over their cappucinos. There are two other young students who sit at opposite ends of the room from one another, both online, and I think engaged in an online game either against one another or on the same team against someone else, as they occasionally look up and make a comment to each other simultaneously about something that happened on both their screens. And these are just the people I've seen more than once.

Seriously, coffee shops are interesting character studies.

Another part of my routine is that I've gone to the Y almost every day to sweat and shower. It was the first place I went to when I rolled into town a week ago. The staff went above and beyond the call of duty to help me find Meghann – my parking lot hostess - online, to help me get a personal locker that I could keep all week, and, of course, let me use the facilities.

Here's my two-cents-worth for anyone planning an extended trip around North America and values feeling good: get a Y membership.

35 dollars a month and you can exercise when you are sick of driving or otherwise just needing to sweat. And shower! I can't tell you how important that part of it is. When I arrived here in Halifax, as an example, I hadn't showered in about 3 or 4 days. I had been sleeping in truckstops and parking lots in Newfoundland and Nova Scotia. I drove straight to the Halifax Y, seriously. Directly. First stop. Met the uber-gracious and friendly people behind the desk, and then, thankfully, sweated, saunaed and showered. You know that expression, “I felt like a new woman”? Uh huh.

I've decided to give my own YMCA awards for the services across the country so far.

Best security for Betty: Victoria
Swankiest new facilities: Its a tie! between: Calgary Eau Claire, and Winnipeg
Most challenging to get to: Mississauga
Most obviously full of the beefiest guys: Saskatoon
Most trusting (ie/didn't call to verify that my membership was in good standing): Corner Brook, Newfoundland
Best escape from the rain: St. John's, Newfoundland
Best class (karate!): Montreal
Hands down, friendliest and overall most helpful: Halifax

In fact, I was so damn thrilled to have found the Y in Halifax, to sweat and shower away my days on the road, that I composed a jingle. You know what tune to set it to, I'm sure I don't need to point that one out:

Young girl!
After driving around
you can go to
the nearest-kinda-big town
a-and work out!
All your driver's stiffness
and you'll feel – bet – ter – af – ter - wards

Young girl!
After your exercise
you can go down
to the sauna, no lies!
a-and shower! for the very first time
in sev - eral - days – but who's – count - ing.

Dun dun dun dun dun

Let's hear it now for the Y M C A
Yea, give a cheer for the Y M C A ' hey...

You can travel a lot
and sleep in par – king lots
and never worry that – you – are – a - slob.

Young girl!
After you feel revived
You can go out
and take part in your life
a-and feel great!
Knowing that you are
so clean - and - re-vit-a-lised!

Let's hear it now for the Y M C A
Give a cheer for the Y M C A ' hey...
... etc...


Ok, I admit, “young girl” is a bit of a stretch now that I've celebrated my 37th birthday, but it goes with the spirit of the song, don't you think? And attached are the pictures that will make the ladies at the Halifax Y famous, and without whom my week in Halifax would have been considerably less happily spent. :) Meghan with one n.

And finally, dining in Halifax. Yum. And great names. I've been to the Economy Shoe Shop. The Argyle. The Wooden Monkey. The latter being my favourite, full of gorgeous vegetarian and fair trade and organic dishes.

And so I leave Halifax feeling like I've gotten to know it, kinda, in an everyday sort of sense. I didn't take too many pictures, some of the citadel until my camera batteries died on me. But enough to know that I like it.

Halifax

I'd love to say this is about Halifax, but its not, not really...

Here's something funny. I am sitting in a cafe in Halifax, listening to two young people discuss their upcoming 2-months-travelling-around-Europe, while pouring over maps and travel guide books. From what I can glean, they are travelling next summer, which is about 8 months from now, and they are meticulously planning itineraries, number of days to spend in each place, what to do and see on which day, and how to avoid spending too much of their precious money: “like, you know, we could decide that we're going to see that one museum that day and then go have a picnic after, cuz, like, you know, restaurants are so expensive”. She has claimed to cut out some of the destinations on the recommended doing-Europe-in-2-months tour published in her guidebook, because, I overheard her say “I don't think you should rush too much through Europe”. Hah. So cute. So full of hope and excitement. I can guarantee she'll wander through Europe with a gigantic maple leaf stamped to her backpack,full of purpose and intention.

And I can't help but wonder: Have I rushed too much through Canada?

I admit, shamefully, that I'm eavesdropping. I can't help it. Its hard to ignore when A) I understand not only every word but every nuance behind every word and B) its about something I'm interested in.

I can't remember ever planning a trip quite to that extent. I wonder about if I did, if I went armed with all my guidebook info, if I would have had a different life. At least, a different travel life. Probably.

Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of the Lonely Planet, especially when you are me, a young woman, out there on her own much of the time. I often have one on me for the place I happen to be in. But I generally view it as one does a phonebook; useful when you need it, but no need to read every word in it before picking up the telephone. Its my reference book for when I'm there, and only sometimes do I consult it, usually for practical details, before pointing my nose in that direction. I'm glad that I've discovered the joy of spontaneity while travelling. That, yes, sometimes you need to move quickly, other times slow down, depending.... But that, really, its so much more fun the less I plan.

I bet this young girl will have read every word of every page of several guidebooks about their upcoming once-in-a-lifetime backpacking through Europe adventure, so that while she is there she will have most of it memorized, a self-appointed savvy traveller, and shouldn't be surprised or phased by any of it. Hah. Sweet, really, eh. But she will be surprised by something, I can promise that. Something will shock her, something unexpected. Of course, she'll be witnessing first hand such beauties as the Eiffel Tower and Mona Lisa, of the Parthenon and the Colliseum all of which will (and should) blow her away in her own personal way. But something unexpected will happen to throw her off a bit, something that she wasn't prepared for in all that reading and planning that she's doing about it before going. How she reacts to that unexpected moment will decide for her what kind of a traveller she is.

Good idea to go prepared, I suppose. People often ask me the question, “did it meet up to your expectations?” when inquiring into a place I've travelled through. I always find that hard to answer definitively, as I generally go places with as few expectations as possible. Its not something I do consciously, but I find it greatly enhances my travel experiences. Some places I know about more than others – for example, in my current travel across Canada I am much more aware of what Canada is all about than I was of, say, Japan, when I first moved there. I went there quite uniformed, actually, to say the least, and I think much of my enduring love of anything Japanese comes from my total lack of experience or knowledge of it before I landed. I was tabula rasa when it came to Japan and love Japan because of what I discovered while I was there.

There are places like Egypt and Greece, the stories and histories of which I knew about; there are places like the Phillipines and Sri Lanka, about which I knew comparatively nothing before I went. “Meeting my expectations” implies that I had a pre-conceived idea about what the place looked like, felt like, smelled like, tasted like, of what things I would see and what I would do and how much money I would spend before setting foot there. I am well read. I browse the internet daily. I like to think of myself as well-informed and well-educated. Yet I travel with relatively rudimentary ideas of what to expect – if, for example, I'm going to Moscow in November, I expect it will be a bit chilly outside, whereas the month before when I went to Cyprus, I similarly didn't expect to have to wear a heavy winter coat.

I think that much of the joy that I get when I travel, and indeed may be the reason why I am addicted, is that I go without the well-researched itinerary. I go knowing some things about where I am going and what I might like to do there, and look forward to discovering all that can happen when I'm actually there.

If I go expecting to be a bit surprised, to taste something interesting, to see something different, to meet someone unique, then I guess I can answer that, yes, nearly every single place I've been has met my expectations.

A recent example. Two days ago, when I was driving into Halifax, I was asked by a friend out west where I planned to stay and what I planned to do here. Besides celebrating my birthday somehow, and seeking out the nearest WalMart parking lot to sleep in, I didn't really know. He put out a call on facebook and within hours, actually just as I was driving into town, I got a message from him that a friend of his in Halifax said that I could park the Jamboree in the very big parking lot behind her apartment building. And now that I am there, I've got a view of a deliciously red maple tree outside my window and I'm only a 10 minute bike ride into town. I've gained a new friend in Halifax, Meghann, who works at the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia, at which I discovered some intriguing Atlantic art, including a glimpse into the very interesting life of Maud Lewis. The weather hovers above zero, so I'll stick around a few days, which includes plans to go out and about in Halifax.

How much did I plan for this year? Not much, really. Who needs a strict itinerary when such wonderful, spontaneous, genuine stories happen if you are just brave, silly, smart, or unattached enough to put yourself out there.

Now, have I ever been disappointed? Well, that also implies that I expected something and when it didn't happen, I felt it. For which, for now, I will answer, No.

PS: The pic to go with this blog is an advert prominently displayed in all NSLC (ie/ Nova Scotia Liquor Control) stores. I thought it was pretty funny. x

Cape Breton Island

There is a reassuring sense to the ocean no matter where in the world I encounter it. Walking along the coast of Newfoundland in late October, I closed my eyes and stood facing the ocean, hearing and feeling its waves rythmically crash against the rocks, and I was instantly, simultaneously, standing along about fourteen different coastlines around the world. The gentle rumble as the tide pulls out, and then crack as a new wave breaks and races in over the land, as familiar and predictable and wonderful here as anywhere. Standing on a rock, the water crawling up and around me, almost touching my shoes, the ocean felt like it does everywhere, taking over every sense, booming and drawing away and returning again and again. When I move away from it, step up inland, its intensity fades but its powerful presence a dull throbbing beat never wavering in the background.

The ferry carried me from this brilliantly calm last day on the Newfoundland coast and back to the mainland. To say it was a breezy night on board might be an understatment, though, as the wind banging into the metal sides of the boat at regular enough intervals to wake me up just as I was dozing off again and again, continuing this charade up through the night. So upon landing in Sydney, Nova Scotia at 7am, I drove to the nearest Tim Hortons, pulled down the shades in the Jamboree, and napped until 10. Quite convenient, really, that once I woke from my morning nap, I was able to fill up on a cup of coffee and a muffin before hitting the road again.

I've been sleeping in truck stops and parking lots a lot lately. I sleep surprisingly well in them, they are free, usually include a restaurant, and sometimes there is even somewhere nearby that I can get online. Irving truckstops, Wal Mart parking lots, even Canadian Tire is tolerant of us wayward campers determined to stay beyond the official season. A great discovery on the road at a time when campsites are all advertised with “Closed for the Season” signs stamped across them. The only thing I miss are warm showers and so I thank the stars for YMCA (as does my driver's cramp).

I drove around the Cabot Trail yesterday, which circles the northern bit of Cape Breton Island, weaving along the coastline and in and out of the Highlands national park. I had to peek through the rain and fog to confirm that the fall colours were still putting on their shamefully flamboyant show, and when I got to the top of one of the highlands, the fog and rain cleared enough to give me the breathtaking views that I went there for. The ocean was a bit angrier than it had been the day before on the Newfoundland coast, the sounds of it intensified. Having tricked my imagination into thinking it was just like it is everywhere, this ocean reminded me of its many moods.

Cabot Trail, Cape Breton Island

Letting the Pictures tell the story

Time to make a U-turn and drive back into the sunset.

On Newfoundland

On Weather

Every good Canadian story, be it a sincere conversation with dear friends or a casual need to fill up a few minutes between strangers, devotes a respectful amount of time to this favourite subject. Considering my experience here on Newfoundland so far, it seems a good place to start.

I think it was Pooh who once described a day in which he and Piglet were trudging their way against a wind so slanted that it seemed determined to force them to turn around return the way they came, as “blustery”. I couldn't help but recall that picture to mind today as I watched the predicted 140 km/hr winds, accompanied by rain which collected suspiciously like snow in some places (ie/ the ground), draw in across St. John's harbour. The wind and rain was blowing and billowing so thick and fast that you couldn't see through it to the other side of the harbour; you had to load the pockets of your rain gear with rocks for fear of being blown away; all you really wanted to do was wrap a blanket up around you on the sofa, grab a very big steaming mug of tea and a book, and let the wind rattle the windows while you stay warm and dry and stationary inside. Wind so fierce and determined that you hear it raging around your head at night, screaming through the trees and banging on the windows, ready to whip the door out of your hands as soon as you open it to step out into it if you don't hold tight enough. Blustery, indeed.

When the ferry finally landed me in Newfoundland a week ago, I was warned by the truckers not to park too close to the coast for that first night; the wind was apparently “coming up hard” in the morning and it could cause a bit of havoc for the Jamboree and I. On the road across Newfoundland, the wind was insistently provoking my abilities to keep the Jamboree on a straight course for hours on end, as if it was having a good laugh at my jerky two-hands-on-the-wheel dance in its honour. It took three days to drive to St. John's where normally two would have been enough.

Image of a girl leaning slightly inwards, eyes almost closed, both her scarf and her hair blowing at a 45 degree angle away from her.

And then one marvelously sunny and calm day to make up for it all, tucked up in between the rainy and windy, so that the newly christened Libby (little silver bike that I bought on PEI) and I could get out and about town to photograph the sights.

On the Sights

The Newfoundland I drove through and witnessed from points along this final stretch of the Trans Canada Highway: mountainous, rocky, colourful (trees), grand, natural, watery, rural, is d' b'y' y'know' lads.

St. John's: gorgeous, colourful (houses), quaint, spirited, chilly, picturesque, historic, lively, funky. All of this, and easy to get around, too.

I cycled to the top of Signal Hill. There stands Cabot tower, including a little museum documenting the story of Marconi receiving the first wireless signal ever from England. I commemorated my being there by sending a few text “signals” of my own from the spot.

Quidi Vidi, the oldest and absolutely quaintest fishing village in North America. Battery Road, with old houses built into unyeilding granite overlooking the harbour. The harbour, with giant oil ships, coast guard, fishing boats. Downtown St. John's: steep hills lined with brightly coloured houses; Duckworth and Water streets; the famous George street, with its longest concentration of pubs and bars in one stretch. A community named Pleasantville, where my friends live and where I've been more than generously hosted throughout my stay in St. John's, and which lives up to its name.

Seriously, I could live in St. John's, it has such a good feel to it. Like Ireland meets Canada. Two of my favourite places. Even when the sun isn't shining, its marvelous.

On Thanksgiving

I spent it here with friends whom I hadn't seen in five years, and with whom I shared previous Thanksgivings in Norway. There was the expected Turkey, and the for-me-unexpected-but-heartily-indulged-in potatoes and carrots harvested from their garden outside. And the two beautiful little girls that have come into their lives since I last saw them.

Amanda and Dave have welcomed me into their house for nearly a week: with the girls, we have shared mornings over coffee in pajamas; afternoons walking and playing and pulling carrots out of the garden; suppers of leftovers with Amanda's parents and conversations in the evening after the girls had gone to bed.

Because I don't have any of my own, wherever I go I end up borrowing my friends' kids. So, within a day the girls were my little shadows around the house. Now, there aren't many moves that I make that go unnoticed, nor opportunities for hugs or a round of hide-and-seek passed up. Now that a few days have gone by, I fear for both them and me upon my departure, as tears on both sides are sure to well up.

On Reaching the East Coast of Canada

Yes, I've now driven to the most easterly city in North America. I've looked out over the Atlantic ocean. I'm four and half hours away from BC and four and a half hours away from Europe. I've driven half of the way back from where I was this time last year in Amsterdam, and from where I started driving in Victoria in July.

I'm only 3.5/13th of the way through this year.

Why go so fast? Why not stretch it out? What will I do now that I've reached my goal, now that I've driven coast-to-coast?

Let's play muliple choice.

A: driving coast to coast was, while admittedly monumental, only one of my plans for this year.

B: as the weather worsens, so does my desire to drive and camp in it.

C: I am dying to know how America feels now that Obama is in charge.

D: I haven't yet found my “I'm-not-working-this-year” groove and so can't quite get myself to slow down yet.

In reference to the first part of this blog, the weather is a big deciding factor for me. If it were up to me, I'd stick around. But living in the Jamboree through a Canadian winter might be an experience I don't need to have. I've lived through enough Canadian winters in well-insulated and heated houses, and that's bearable. In a van, considerably less so. And as generous and hospitable as all the friends who have hosted me across the country have been, I'm sure none of them want me as a permanent fixture in their homes through the sleet and freezing temperatures and blizzards, no matter how many suppers I offer to prepare and how many times I shovel the snow.

So, I'm happy to say that the journey isn't quite over yet. Not by a long shot. (Is the journey ever really over?) As the weather becomes more and more typically what we have come to expect from this pre-winter time of year in Canada, I will, indeed head south for a while. I have a few more adventures and ideas to keep me busy down there while winter rages and settles in up here in our Utterly Fantastic Land of So Many Mind Bogglingly Beautiful Colours in the North, and turns it into our beloved Great White North. Some of which will see me returning to well before the sun melts it all away again. All of which I'll continue to blog, whether you want to read it or not.

But for now, anyway, I'm still here in Canada. I've reached St. John's and loved it, despite (or maybe even because of?) the weather, and don't intend to duck my tail south of the border just yet. Even if I wanted to go tomorrow, I couldn't, its just a wee bit more than a day's drive away and anyway, I have a few more Atlantic Canadian adventures up my sleeves to get through before I pull out the passport again. Come rain or wind... or even snow!

Newfoundland part 1

Learn something new...

Some things I didn't know before spending 11 hours on a ferry to Newfoundland with a bunch of Newfies and truckers (many of whom are also Newfies).

1. Moose, a Newfoundland import, have apparently prospered here. The Newfies claim that there are more per capita than in other parts of the country. You can tell at dusk and dawn, when for some reason they are drawn to the highways (but then, that's what moose do across the country, so that's not new). And one fellow passenger today claimed that he spent half of every year in Newfoundland and is convinced that he sees at least one moose for every day.

2. A lot of people come here to hunt moose. Four of my travelling companions on the ferry claimed to have a hunting license and were looking forward to being able to use it soon. Another had a theory that the reason our ferry was delayed – a bomb threat on the ferry departing the Newfoundland port, not ours, but all ferries were docked and searched until confirmed bomb-free anyway – was because some important visiting dignitary was reputedly in Newfoundland this week, moose-hunting.

3. How to spot a moose up ahead on the highway when driving at night: look for two to four white sticks that resemble toothpicks either on the road up ahead or just off to the side in the ditch. These are the moose's legs. The moose itself blends into the darkness, and its eyes don't shine in the reflection of your headlights like a deer's. If you see these toothpick-like legs up ahead, slow down.

4. Many trucks have moose racks on the fronts of the cabs to sweep the moose that do get in the way out of the way without totalling the truck (which is the effect a collision with a moose would have on nearly any other vehicle on the road, I am assuming including the Jamboree and I. While this part I also already knew, I don't plan to test it out.) What often happens is the moose (this also works for deer) is either spectacularly tossed off to the side of the road, or it gets tumbled underneath the truck. The truck's wheels ensure enough space for a bit of a bumpy passing but, again, comparatively little damage. The poor mangled animal then pops out behind the truck.

5. This is one reason among several why its not a very smart idea to tailgate too close behind a truck as it wails down the road. Despite the gas one might save by being dragged along in the draft, and the cudos another will get from driving so courageously, if an animal goes under a truck and pops out behind and you are right there... well, I imagine a mess will likely ensue.

I had no choice but to drive for a wee bit at night last night after getting off the 5-hour delayed ferry in Newfoundland. With all this fresh advice clamouring around in my head, you can bet I was on watch. Didn't see any moose, though.

Tales of the genuinely nice and hospitable

Mother Nature keeps up her scandalous show out here. The past couple of days I've continued to drive and cycle around and yelp out "holy shit!" randomly at the trees whenever they spurt out a reminder of the time of year at me. In pattering rain, driving rain, soppy rain, and threatening-to-rain with brief patches of sun shining through, still the reds endure, reds so red that it hurts to look at it for too long.

I made my way to a little town along the east wing of PEI called Souris, in the threatening-to-rain skies, hoping to beat the rain by getting in a wee cycle up and around the tip of the East lighthouse. I parked the Jamboree in the empty parking lot of the tourist info centre and was immediately greeted by the guy who lives next door, Joe, who has just returned to his PEI from Whitehorse and is busy converting his house to open a pub. When he heard my plan to cycle, he offered to give me his mobile phone number in case it started to rain while I was out there, he'd come pick me up. He then invited me to the party he was hosting that night and reassured me that I could park there overnight, no problem.

I took Betty out; her wheels and my legs were both itching to ride, so we were off and feeling good. It was one of those roads on which you always think that just over the next hill or just around the next bend would be the goal: in the case of this ride, the lighthouse. I'd gotten used to PEI being so small and driving distances so short, and I'd estimated – with the help of Joe and another friendly lady at the tourist centre – that the ride would be about 50km. No problem.

Until it started to rain, that is. I kept looking over my shoulder to judge the advance of the sky, and once I was already past the lighthouse and around the bend on my return loop, the threat of rain turned several layered and intermingled really deep shades of grey and then, ultimately, it finally all melded into one solid curtain of unmistakable rain. And so, in the last half hour or so, Betty and I got nicely soaked. You can imagine how glad we were to see the warm and dry Jamboree when we pulled back into town. I wish I knew how many kms the ride was but, unfortunately, the battery in my bike computer also chose this day and this ride to quit. I'm guessing 50kms was a bit of an optimistic pre-ride estimation, and think it was little more than 60kms. If only PEI published those distances on one of their otherwise very well detailed maps...

Anyway, check out the route: google Souris, PEI, loop the highway up to the lighthouse, around the other side and then across the little highway 305 back to town. And please, let me know how far we peddled!

Even if I had wanted to leave upon my return from the ride, I couldn't, because the cars carrying the party-goers had pulled up and parked all around the Jamboree, including right behind it, blocking me from going anywhere. Besides, it wasn't like I had anywhere to be, nor had any intention of finding another place to go: upon my return, drowned-rat-like, I stuck my cold feet in a hot bath I'd prepared on the stove in the Jamboree and bundled up in bed with some dry clothes, a beer and my book for a while until I felt ready to move again.

After dinner, around 8pm, Joe came over and knocked on the door to re-extend his invitation to the party. So I went over to Joe's party and was greeted with such a charming and interesting set of characters, ready to share their beer, their food, swap stories, and play music, that I stayed into the wee hours. We had a few guitars between us, and we jammed and sang and talked and laughed until I went back to the Jamboree, finally, to crash for the night, giggling away to myself.

I slept like a baby in that parking lot, and before I drove off the next morning, Joe had given me a case of the local Schooner beer and an African rain stick to take with me for the road.

I passed through a town named Montague. I wonder how many Romeo and Juliet jokes it and its residents must suffer annually. When I was taking the picture of the Welcome to Montague sign just on the outskirts of town, someone who I assumed to be a local called out to me, “you wouldn't happen to be a fan of Shakespeare, eh, my dear”. Uh... who? Me?! Hah!

People in the campsites let me play with their dogs and give me as many thumbs up and cheers as they have at their disposal whenever they find out I'm doing this on my own; some campers I've spotted in more than one site along the way, and several have shared that they have a similar itinerary as me: stay here as long as possible until the weather really turns, then head south. No wonder we are known as snowbirds. Should I be worried that I'm jumping the gun a bit, not yet retired nor anywhere near close to it, or should I just accept my community of 55+ travellers on the road for who and what they are? Um... easy answer.

How is it that people are always so nice?

Here's another story. Last night I got off the ferry from PEI to Caribou-Pictou, Nova Scotia, and it was about 8pm when I found the campspot nearest to the ferry and where the Jamboree and I would sleep that night. 8pm at this time of year is dark but I managed to find a campspot, back in, and as I was attempting to feel my way to the cords so that I could plug in, a car pulled up to shine its headlights along the side of the Jamboree so that I could see what I was doing. I called the owner of the campsite as nobody seemed to be around that late, told him where I'd parked, and he gave me the password to the wireless access and told me to have a nice rest. The next morning, I tried to find him or anyone who worked there to pay for my stay, but couldn't. When I pulled out I called him again to see if I could arrange to meet him to pay him before driving off, and his first words when I identified myself were, “don't worry about it, no charge.”

Seriously. I might never leave Atlantic Canada. Life is not very swanky but its absurdly comfortable and easy and charming and friendly. And what's more, the road signs here are written in two languages: not the expected English and French, mind you, but English and Gaelic!!

These are only a couple of examples of the kind of hospitality that I've been extended that have made life worth living. And I'm not limiting this statement to within the Canadian borders nor within the past three months. It happens out there. All. The. Time.

Let's hear it for all the gazillions of genuinely nice people out there because they definitely, thankfully, outweigh the assholes. Even when there's nothing in it for them.

And THIS little dingy will be sailing the Jamboree and me off tomorrow to one of the Canadian adventures I've been looking forward to for so so long: Newfoundland!

From PEI to NS

Charlottetown, PEI

I wonder if kids who go to school in Charlottetown are better versed in the history of Canadian Confederation than kids in other parts of the country. I've spent the past three days in this charming city and have been reminded in detail about their role in the birth of what we know of as Canada on just about every street.

The story goes that back in 1864 Charlottetown hosted a conference which was meant to develop the idea of Maritime unity among PEI, New Brunswick and Nova Scotia. Then George Etienne Cartier from Lower Canada (Quebec) and John A Macdonald from Upper Canada (Ontario) also showed up to join the party and managed to change the debate to one of Canadian unity. After a week of luncheons, meetings, dinners and balls at which apparently a lot of champagne and fresh seafood was consumed, the idea of Confederation was agreed upon. Three years and two more conferences later, one in Quebec City and the final one in London, England, which got the Queen's approval, and Canada officially became the Dominion of Canada. July 1, 1867.

Charlottetown gives itself the moniker of the “Birthplace of Canada” because of this first event; somehow fitting that the idea of Canada was born out of a week of non-stop parties. Gives a bit of insight into the national character, eh.

There is a Confederation Museum and souvenir shop in Founders Hall, an old train building on the picturesque waterfront ,which is kinda cheesy but lays out the details of the story; it then goes on to describe how the Northwest Territories, which included the north and also extended as far west as BC from Ontario, were bought from the Hudson's Bay Co; how Reil led the rebellion in Red River, now better known as Winnipeg, defending those who, many of whom were Metis, were rather unwillingly sold in the deal, and as a result created Manitoba; how BC bargained for the railway; how Alberta and Saskatchewan were formed and lured European settlers to farm the lands; how the Klondike gold rush of Yukon attracted people from all over; about Newfoundland's rather reluctant entrance after World War II; and finally Nunavut's recent formation. Quite a fascinating story, actually. Don't know why I wasn't utterly captivated when I was learning it at about age 14 in school.

There's the Confederation Bridge that I drove over from New Brunswick; the Confederation trail, the bike trail that spans the island and on which yesterday I found myself on a path that diverged in the woods (I am beginning to wonder if Mr. Frost ever visited PEI...); a Confederation Mall and plenty of Confederation themed souvenirs and nicknacks. Every night until the end of October in the centre of old Charlottetown there's a sound and light show beamed onto the facade of the Provincial House, the spot where many of the meetings from the first conference took place and the only photograph to document the event was staged, also detailing the story peppered with reasons why PEI is so great. In town, there's a bench on the sidewalk with a statue of John A. that one can sit beside and pose as if engaged in a conversation or a cuddle with our esteemed first Prime Minister. Hmmm, I'm not sure, but I'd hazard a guess that PEI is fairly proud of their role as the hosts to the conference that breathed life into the idea of Confederation. Despite their not joining themselves because they didn't think it would suit them until many years later, interestingly enough, when it became apparent that Canada was just getting to be too much of a giant to resist.

Autumn is a little later arriving here, I've noticed. The air feels calm enough and many cafes still have thriving outdoor patios; its a bit cool, but the trees are only just beginning to turn their colours. There's still a lot of green out there at the moment. The drive into Charlottetown had me stopping at pretty lighthouses, The Great Canadian Soap Company selling their homemade, organic, goat's milk soaps and creams, complete with an opportunity to feed the goats, and totally irresistible pumpkin-and-potato stalls along the side of the road. I'm now cooking potatoes every night in the Jamboree for supper, and I have two perfectly orange little pumpkins decorating the interior.

Thankfully, its not only Confederation for the Tourists here; Charlottetown is also a humming little city with normal things going on. A good choice of restaurants to dine on oysters, lobster, haddock and mussels and sip wine. Live music in pubs and on stages erected on the street. The requisite Starbucks on the corner, and wide choice of pubs from which to gulp Atlantic beers. Which I did last night; no matter where in the world I've been, my tried-and-true method of meeting people and engaging in conversations when I feel the want for company when travelling alone is to head to the nearest Irish pub, grab a seat at the bar, and pass the evening in the company of those who are there. I sit and read a book, chat with my neighbours, and now that I'm carrying on this tradition here in Canada, and now that hockey season has started, I can keep up for the first time in twelve years with who's playing who, who's been traded and for how much, and who's winning and losing!

Road to Charlottown

To each trail, its own bike

For the last day of September, I found myself spending most of the day admiring Prince Edward Island by bike. Two bikes, actually.

I drove over the Confederation bridge yesterday from New Brunswick to PEI, a 12.9 km long bridge – apparently the longest bridge in the world over ice-covered waters: Luckily for me, there wasn't an ice cube in sight during my crossing. When I arrived on PEI, I was greeted by a huge welcome centre suggesting loudly and clearly that PEI has a booming tourism industry of which they seem to be very proud.

The interesting thing about being here now is that its the end of the season. Many touristy places are closed until May; there is such a scant number of campers left that I have my pick of sites when/if I find an open campground; and the roads are fairly quiet. What this translates to for me is lots of space to park and camp where I can without worry of someone shovelling me towards an official campsite, free entrance to several spots that during the peak season would have charged me, and lots of wide open roads and trails to jump on my bike and explore.

PEI has transformed an old railway line running from one end of the island to the other into a bike path. . Over 400 kms of trail traversing the island! How can I resist? Well, for starters, I've got the wrong bike for these trails. Its because I love Betty the Road Bike that I won't submit her skinny tires to chisel and gravel and pebbles. The tourist info guy suggested that I rent a bike (of course) but I wasn't about to fork out precious dollars for something that I'd only use very briefly. Might as well put those dollars towards something that I can use again and again in similar situations. This line of thinking took me directly to my first stop on PEI: Canadian Tire.

I've threatened to buy a cheap but handy go-anywhere bike since Kamloops, so I finally bought myself the newest inhabitant for the journey in the Jamboree: a little silver mountain/hybrid bike with fat tires that I can ride on gravelly trails, or alternatively, into town for a beer. I love Canadian Tire.

As I exited the store with this rather significant purchase, the downpour that google weather predicted hit. I managed to find the little silver bike a temporary spot in the Jamboree (her permanent spot is sharing the extra bed above the driver's cab with Betty, although she's a little heavier to lift) so that I could manoever our way through the rain with the wipers going full tilt to a campsite that was actually open and not far away; Cavendish. My neighbour is our dear Anne of the Red Braids.

When I awoke to sun and warm temperatures – I dare say reminiscent of summer, even – I took the playful silver bike out for an initial test ride. Our first stop was next door to visit Avonlea, Anne's little village, quiet and mostly closed so gratis to wander around. Without the hoards of tourists elbowing their way through the buildings and gift stores, in a hurry to take as many pictures and buy those souvenirs before their busses leave in 4 and a half minutes, it was quite a pleasant visit, despite the inherently cheesy touristy aspect of it. We gotta love Anne, and when in Green Gables, its a shame not to pop in and say hello.

I then took the as-of-yet unnamed silver on a 20 km trail through the PEI National Park. Another thing I've discovered in the quiet wake of tourist season: people seem relieved that the hoards are gone, and that they finally have enough time to slow down and notice that you are there; I think everyone I passed by today waved, called out a hello, stopped for a chat, or gave me tips on what to look for further on down the road. So incredibly nice.

The trail took me through forest and dunes along the coast of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. I only came up on one other person the entire way along this trail, called the Homestead trail, but I did sneak up on a few examples of the local wildlife. So far, I've spotted fuzzy red and black caterpillars shuffling their way across the paths; slitherly little snakes that would swerve to get out of my way and then pose for me standing perfectly still in the foliage along the side of the path; and curious foxes, in no way fearful of humans. I saw six foxes in total today, sauntering nonchalantly, sometimes playfully, along the side of the road. When I stopped to photograph one of the six, he was downright flirtatious with me, showing off his jumping skills to catch a little bug in the grass, then luxuriously rolling around in the grass, and finally trotting along beside me not a foot away for a while before carrying on with his afternoon.

They must be fed regularly by tourists.

I stumbled upon a littering of apples along one of my paths. Many suffered bruises from the fall, others suffered from all sorts of bugs and worms keen to gorge on their fruity goodness. But I managed to go apple picking anyway, if you call picking off the ground "apple-picking", and found a good stash of apples to take back to the Jamboree. They are a bit on the sour side, and small (because they are natural!), so I plan to make apple crumble with them. MMmmmmm. And, I think it makes a difference that I found the apples before the snake, don't you? And so, dear Mr. Frost, that about does it for apple-picking for me (for now, anyway), too.

Its supposed to rain tomorrow so once I finished this gravelly path, I seized the sunny day, swapped the silver for Betty (she's great on gravel but for paved roads, I like my road bike), and did the ride I was saving for tomorrow of speed and smooth sailing on the cement. I cycled 26 kms to the nearby town of Rustico, with a quaint harbour equipped with an original Atlantic lighthouse, and stunning ocean views - especially in the setting sun - before returning, famished, to the Jamboree.

The rest of my day was filled up with trying to work out how to tune my guitar, reading, and writing this blog post to you. That, and noticing how utterly pretty and charming PEI is. I think I'll stick around a few days.

link to the pictures marking the end of my 3rd month on the road!

Welcome to PEI