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

The Colours of September

My memory of autumn in the west is that it is the season that whizzes by very quickly and usually leaves you feeling a bit cheated. Its a quick transition from summer to winter. The trees turn various shades of yellow, some close to orange, until an almost annually early cold snap kills it all off in time to warm up again. We then spend the rest of October looking at various shades of brown.

We know that there is a red maple leaf out there. We have heard that it blankets other parts of Canada out east. Unfortunately, the closest we generally get to seeing it is as it flutters from our flagpoles.

Mom and I left Quebec City thoroughly impressed with what we had seen during the drive from Montreal along the St. Lawrence River, and looking forward to spotting a few more of those red maples. As we drove along the southern shore of the St. Lawrence river to Rimouski, and then crossed the entrance to the Gaspe peninsula and into New Brunswick, there were moments of utter silence in the Jamboree as we both gazed at the colours along the sides of the road.

Cooler temperatures coincide with brighter colours. Leaves like fire; like cooked crabapple jelly and pumpkin pies; like crumpled satin and wrinkled velvet. A carpet of grand fall shades escorting us down the road. Patches of green, touches of yellow and orange and streaks of red filling up any available space for as far as the eye can see. Standing on real hills, merging on little mountains and down into valleys. The setting sun melting over them like butter.

Like a Bob Ross painting-in-progress.

Add to this autumn scene a bit of water, a string of quaint villages dotting the road like pearls on a necklace, stalls on the road overflowing with the seasonal corn and pumpkins, and fresh seafood stands – poisonneries – and the drive becomes even more lovely.

My mom is a lover of trees and flowers and the ways mother nature marks the seasons through them, and so much of this drive was accompanied by her exclamations attesting to the beautiful scenes passing us softly by. It is a view she's always wanted to witness, as have I, and now that we both have, I'm glad we saw the colours of September in the east together.

There were also three somewhat odd aspects during this drive worth noting.

Across the street from our campsite in Riviere-du-Loup was one of Santa's chateaux. A little Christmas in September?

The Jamboree's fridge decided to stop working unless it was plugged in. No matter how many times I restarted it or checked the propane, it just wouldn't stay on. Luckily I've had it fixed – for a pretty penny, of course – in Moncton and now can camp in Wall Mart when I can't find an open campsite and still have cold beer to sip on through the evenings.

The final odd, and for me, rather unpleasant thing was the few dead moose we saw stretched out in undignified manners on the backs of hunter's trucks. Apparently the last few days have been “moose season” for hunters, and I saw three of their prizes being carted home in both Quebec and New Brunswick. One pulled up right beside us at a gas station. All I can do is hope that they will provide an entire family with meat for the winter – a practice which I know many rural people still follow – and won't simply be a trophy over someone's mantel.

Mom flew out of Moncton yesterday back to Calgary, and now I am parked here, planning the next stage of the journey: the four Maritime provinces! Campsite closures and the threat of eventual winter both dictate my moves from now on; many campsites are closed by the end of September, and I've been told more than once to go to Newfoundland sooner rather than later. So I envision the next four weeks to include a bit of back and forth, and with all there is to see and do around here, that suits me just fine.

QCity to NB