Around the Maritimes in 13 Days

I spent the next two weeks bouncing around the Maritime provinces with a string of upgrades wherever I went. The accumulation of frequent flyer and hotel and rental points, along with my improved packing skills, airport security know-how (yes.. that George Cloney character knows what he's talking about!), and familiarity with just about every major and many regional airports across the country, has made the travel aspect of my job seem second nature and dare I say, enjoyable, and I made the most of it as I hopscotched between Toronto and Nova Scotia, New Brunswick and finally back to Newfoundland, all first class and all the company dime.

My first stop was Stephenville which is a small town about 100 kilometres south of the Deer Lake on  the shores of the Gulf of St Lawrence.  The last time I was in this part of NFLD I drove through the Marble Mountains in one of the heaviest snowfalls in years, this time I drove through the dark night, adding to the number of kilometers I have driven around NFLD without ever seeing it at all. (A quick calculation tells me now that the number is over a thousand!)

I again managed to avoid running into, or even being rudely stared down by, a moose enroute to Stephenville and sleepily checked in at the hotel which, I was pleased to note,  was right next to the worksite I was headed to in the morning. When I woke up the next morning to a dark day of hard rain and cold wind I was even more pleased to find a indoor walkway to the mall where the jobsite was located. The rain didn't let up for the two whole days but because there was also a restaurant/lounge connected to the hotel I didn't even need to step outside for the first 50 hours. Everything I needed was connected  by a convenient series of rain stopping and wind blocking series of walls and roofs and weather proof doors.

On the third day in town (or in the fortress as I was starting to think of it) the wind and rain abruptly stopped just as I checking out of the hotel.  I had an hour to kill before I had to drive back to Deer Lake so I took a brief blind tour of the town and the water front. The town was not much more that a few strips malls and government and service centers so I headed to the water where I found long  beaches stretching off the distance with panoramic views of the cold  Gulf  of St Lawrence. Wind blew the spray from the waves across the beach as I walked along collecting a few stones and taking a few pictures but before long I found myself running back to the car and racing to catch a plane after losing track off time at the cold Atlantic beach.

A smooth round trip back to Toronto for a shave and a shower and not much more and I found myself bumping down in Halifax, NS and driving, in the dark of course, 100 kms north to my hotel in the town of Truro, on the northern edge of the Bay of Fundy. When I arrived at work the next morning it became obvious very quickly that through no fault of my own (for once!) I was in the wrong spot. A hectic series of emails and phone calls later, I found myself on a mad dash back across the province to Dartmouth, which is right next to Halifax and a mere ten minute drive from the airport I had landed in the night before. 

I finished the workday and drove back to Truro in the rain for my second night in Nova Scotia but checked out the next morning having already made plans to on spend the last night in Dartmouth and avoid another long commute. That afternoon I got a message from a colleague who was staying in Halifax. I have spent a lot of time on the road with F. who has been with me during some of the lowlights and most of the highlights during the last year and so, itching for company and a night out, I knew F. would be up for the same. I changed my hotel reservation for the third time and we make plans for a classic Nova Scotian dinner. Lobster.

We sat down at Murphy's, a seafood restaurant on Cable Wharf, right next to Theodore Tugboats home dock and ordered 'The Lobster Experience' which included the opportunity to fish your own lobster out of the tank and pay a days salary for the pleasure. We scooped up our lobsters and then got back to our drinks. The cooked crustaceans arrived soon after and we 'bibbed up' and got to work eating.  About 3/4's of the way through the 1 1/2 lb lobster I stopped eating and sat back, signalling the waitress for water. My heart was racing and I felt my face and ears flushing. I thought I was having an allergic reaction but I know I'm not allergic to shellfish.  I was actually a bit scared for a second but soon relaxed and broke out laughing when I saw my pal F. had an expression that probably mirrored my own. We slowed down a bit a made it through the lobsters but the waitress cleared away the plates without us having touched the side dishes. It was a great meal in a great spot and we paid the hefty bill, carefully folding the receipt away so I would be sure to expense the meal, and then headed up the steep streets into downtown Halifax.

We wandered the streets a bit, working off some of the meal we had had just ingested and generally checking out the dark city. Looking for a pub I stopped a couple of locals and asked where might be 'happening.'  The general consensus was there wasn't much happening in Halifax on a Tuesday night but a pub not far away turned out to be warm and welcoming and F. and I sat at the bar chatting with the locals, chatting up the waitresses and having a generally good time.

I dropped F. off in a town called Upper Tantallon at 9am the next morning and with two and a half hours before my boarding call I figured I had almost enough time to visit one of the most iconic and instantly recognisable sites in the maritimes. Peggy's Cove was just forty kilometers to the south and an opportunity to great to ignore, even if I only had almost enough time. I practically flew along the twisting country road, slowing down only to quickly 'ooh' and 'aah' at the heritage towns like French Village, Hacketts Cove and Indian Harbour, and sigh with regret as I passed signs leading to The Settlers' Graveyard and the Swissair 111 Memorial. I wished I had time to stop but I drove on and soon parked at the visitor center and grabbed my camera. I checked the time and grimaced after making a few calculations. I really had only a few minutes but forced myself to stop and somehow try to soak up the atmosphere of the place.  The quiet, calm Atlantic softly lapped up onto the rocky shore under a perfectly blue sky.

 What a serenely beautiful moment. Peggy's Cove will certainly rank among the most amazing spots I  have been.  I touched the water and ran my hands along the smooth rock, noticing the similarity to the rocky lake shores in northern Ontario. This was an incredible spot and I needed to stop and appreciate it. I spent no more than 20 minutes at the famous site and another 20 minutes driving slowly through the quiet village of fishing huts and stacks of lobster traps, artists studios and small shops selling local food and craft. I longed to get out of my car and explore each small wooden structure but simply had to leave. With only an hour to my boarding call and about a hundred kilometres to drive across the province to Halifax airport I sped away focused on one thing, not missing my flight. Despite being ffrustrated by school buses, a highly improbable duck crossing, construction and a detour just before the airport road  I somehow make it back to the city, returned the rental, checked my luggage, cleared security and made it to the gate just in time to miss the boarding call.

All was not lost however as the plane was evidently idling out on the tarmac waiting for me. The co-pilot met me on the tarmac standing beside the smallest commercial plane I've ever seen and helped me stow my carry on luggage in the small compartment behind the cockpit and then advised us of the safety features (HA!) of the plane and instructed us to tap him on the shoulder if it got too cold in the cabin. The 10 seater Beechcraft something or other twin prop airplane operated by EVA Airlines was taking me and two others to Frederikton, New Brunswick. . The flight was loud but otherwise fine and an hour after takeoff I was grabbing my bags and jumping into the rental for a ninety minute drive to Woodstock, New Brunswick another small maritime town this time on the border of the State of Maine.

 I was in town for two days and again it rained or was threatening to rain the whole time. I left town on the third day with virtually no impression of New Brunswick at all. The woman who took my nightly pizza delivery order was totally incompetent and the woman at the hotel check in counter was totally hot. That's about all I know first hand about the province and it's probably not fair to assume the rest of the province falls into one of those two categories.

Another round to trip to Toronto to wash my clothes and water the plants and I found myself back in Newfoundland, and the friendly calls of 'I's the b'ys' and 'yes me dears' and 'eres ya be lover'. I settled into the now familiar hotel in Gander and flipped through the restaurant listings in town before settling on Jungle Jims. I  was hoping to avoid another meal of deeply deep fried everything, a somewhat unreasonable expectation now that I was back in NFLD. The bar was full as was the seating area and I waited until the first table was free and sat down. I cringed at the menu, even the pictures looked greasy and settled on a cheese quesadilla and a Black Horse beer and drank it alone at a vinyl seated booth for meant for six. I've had a lot of amazing moments in the last year but eating that crummy artificial tasting cheese quesadilla alone in a crummy restaurant on another rainy night in Gander is not anywhere close to the top of that list.

I was up before dawn to drive to an even smaller town on the Atlantic coast called Wesleyville. The first hour of the drive was dark and I sped south though another 100kms of unseen highway before the sky started glowing to the east against a silhouette of unbroken pines. Eventually the GPS led me off the highway and I found myself in the town of  Gambo which happened to be the birthplace of Joey Smallwood, one of the Fathers of Confederation. Smallwood's name is attached to everything in town it seemed and I didn't have to get out of the car to feel his presence. The small town that was just beginning to stir as I drove through and I drove out the other side of town disappointed that I didn't see anywhere that I could find some breakfast or at least a coffee. I passed through a series of fishing towns and villages with my belly grumbling loudly as I drove.

I followed the two lane Road to the Coast as it curled through a smaller and sleepier towns of scattered homes and fishing huts. Wooden docks stretched into a calm ocean studded with rocky shore. This was a different kind of rural where the roads seemed to turn into driveways and then became docks without much notice.  The GPS tried to convince me to drive into the ocean at one point and repeatedly told me to turn when there was obviously no road to turn on. Already late, I switched off the GPS and stopped at the only 'public' building I could see for directions, the regional hospital. I entered into a surprisingly bustling emergency room and when I couldn't flag anyone down I walked down the corridor and found myself in an administration office of some sort. A woman looked up from her desk and I explained I just needed some directions. She seemed quite annoyed (rightly so!) but pointed me in the right direction. I continued along the coast and eventually, after a few more GPS directed u-turns found the address.

I finished the day driving back to Gander, with the sky already getting darker, without ever finding anything for breakfast and so boarded the plane with a backpack full of vending machine snacks. I would be returning to Wesleyville for four days the next week. I was bringing F. with me for company and maybe a suitcase full of freeze dried meals for sustenance. It would be the last trip of the project and I sure was glad I would have someone to share it with. I had eventually spotted a small grocery store in town but no restaurants at all so I was already working on plans for a sidetrip to Gander or maybe even St. John's to celebrate the end of the ride with a 'screeching in' ceremony, and more importantly perhaps.. a final meal.