Canada 1989

Thursday 10 August — Halifax to North Sydney, Nova Scotia

Well, it was time to move again so I took my pack down to the station and booked a seat to North Sydney, the departure point for the ferries to Newfoundland. On returning to the town, I had breakfast in a small place called Scorpio’s, I think, before finally getting round to buying notepaper and envelopes, also some socks. They didn’t have my size in cheap underpants so I decided to manage with the five pairs that had not been stolen for a few days more.

The train left on time with passengers in two of the three cars, the third being kept for the mob of passengers who boarded at Truro, mostly off the Atlantic, I assumed. We lost a couple of minutes there due to the number of passengers getting on, then sat awhile just outside the station awaiting a freight, then waited again a bit further on for another freight, ending up half an hour late at North Sydney. Murray spent most of the journey chatting up two Italian girls who had been in the hostel the night before.

At North Sydney, the taxi drivers were very helpful, recommending accommodation and providing transport. Murray and I had agreed to share a room and were taken to the Cape Breton B&B where we got the last available room, very nice, one bed, we tossed a coin and I got the floor. The two Italian girls turned up shortly after, they had booked by phone from the station but the taxi driver took them to the wrong place first, however the fare was still $4. All four of us went down to the ferry terminal to check my ferry time. Bad weather a few days previously had put the boat fourteen hours behind schedule and it was gradually recovering an hour here and there. I’d enquired in Halifax and been told half past eight, but I’d forgotten whether it was morning or evening. It was definitely evening so we returned bedwards, stopping in the pub on the way. I drank most of the beer.

Friday 11 August — North Sydney to ...

A reasonable breakfast, not too liberal. The fine weather continues and walked down to the ferry terminal again with Murray who needed information on buses to Cheticamp. The Nova Scotia tourist office were not much help, they are more geared to meeting the needs of motorists, so Murray went back into town while I lingered to watch the ceilidh staged for the amusement of passengers awaiting the ferry.

MV Caribou approaching the Newfoundland ferry terminal at North Sydney. Atlantic Freighter in dock

When that finished, I headed back through the town towards the park and the site of the World Snipe Championships, 1979, passing Murray on his way to the laundromat. Well, I wandered around the park for a bit, photographed the arriving Carribou, watched the Atlantic Freighter changing berths, then sat down to watch a juvenile football match. Murray arrived and wrote letters while I watched the fitba. The big boys won.

After the game, we wandered back to the B&B to pick up the bags, on downtown and parted, he to seek out the bus to Cheticamp and me to the pub for beer and shrimps (and chips). Then a slow stroll down to the ferry terminal in good time to discover that the ferry would be even later than I’d been told. A few more beers, then bused to the boat, the Ambrose Shea. It seemed like a nice boat but I couldn’t find the passenger certificate. When I enquired, I was told that things disappear and would I like a bridge tour in the morning.

We finally sailed at half past ten, a fine night, I marked my spot for sleeping on the sun deck, wandered around a bit more, headed for the bar - it had closed. So, back on top, sleeping bag out, rucksack for a pillow and good night.

Saturday 12 August — ... St John’s, Newfoundland

I woke about six under a light dew, and lay till half past seven by which time the sun had dried things up and a few people had emerged from indoors. Breakfast was served in the cafeteria, I tried vegy juice which tasted like watered tomato juice and the yoghurt was a bit plastic. Back on deck for a smoke, couldn’t be bothered looking for the purser to get a bridge tour, just dozed in the sun, then the fog arrived. Sun shining from a blue sky above, couldn’t see more than a couple of hundred yards horizontally, foghorn blasts every two minutes, surreal.

At a reasonable time, I repaired to the bar. There was live entertainment, Newfie country and western singers, one of the passengers played a mean button accordion. Everyone (except me) seemed to know at least one person known to everyone else, and I was informed that Rod Stewart would be in St John’s tomorrow. Events were briefly interrupted by a passing whale, but all I saw was the waterspout.

We reached Argentia at twenty to six, walked off through the bow doors. Not much there, the ferry terminal and an American base was all I could see. A minibus provides transport into St John’s in an hour and a half. I wandered about a bit on the off-chance of coming across suitable accommodation without success, but the town did have a nice feel to it, not much in the way of high-rise buildings (and they were mostly banks) and painted wooden terraced houses on the streets rising steeply away from the waterfront. Still, accommodation must be found so I stopped on a street corner and consulted the guidebook for ideas, there are a couple of places in Military Road but no map. I looked up at the street names where I was standing and lo, Military Road. Found the Parkview Inn and got the last room. Retired.

Sunday 13 August — St John’s

It was raining when I woke so I went back to sleep. Later, the blare of rock music woke me again, presumably they were setting up for Rod on the Rock. More rain silenced the music and I dozed a while longer. When I did get up and venture forth, a bit of drizzle, orange juice for breakfast then lunch in the Sundance Saloon, cod and chips.

After lunch, the rain was off so I set off for Quidi Vidi, passing the site of the Rod on the Rock concert at Quidi Vidi Lake where the crowd was gathering. Quidi Vidi is a small group of fishermen’s houses clustered at the end of a small inlet with a narrow entrance which is surmounted by a battery, built to defy the French, where I found three custodians, dressed in the uniform of the Royal Artillery of an appropriate period. I think they were pleased to have a visitor to break the monotony and I got the full facts, one of the lads was studying military history at Uni.

Back past the concert, now in full swing, lots of people on the slopes overlooking the park and some householders having barbies to mark the event. Pity about the weather, at least the rain was intermittent and not too heavy. My steps led me back to the street with all the pubs, I selected one without a bouncer, and lo, it was Happy Hour. It seems most pubs in St John’s have Happy Hours at least three till eight every day. First time I’ve encountered one on a Sunday. After a few beers, being somewhat merry, I decided to dine on cod tongues. Service was slow but the waitresses were nice which is more than could be said for the cod’s tongues.

Monday 14 August — St John’s

Still overcast, occasional showers. The weather forecast for the following day was better so I decided to stay another day. Ambled downtown again, had a cheap “special” in a cafe for lunch, hamburger steak with veg and chips and something predominantly sawdust which I think was the “dressing”, and a slice of bread soaked in gravy of the type with too much cornflour and not enough Bisto.

Not an exciting afternoon, went into a side-street pub for a beer, then another where the Happy Hour was in progress and I was the only customer. Then I found a pub called the “Eager Beaver” whose raison d’etre seemed to be exotic dancers. Watched the whole show twice and had a packet of crisps for tea.

Tuesday 15 August — St John’s

Milk is expensive in Newfoundland, $1.79. Had lunch in a restaurant called the Blue Door. They didn’t have any fish so I had lasagne. The young waiter came from Glasgow when he was small. Then off up Signal Hill in the wind and the sun, there was a good presentation on the history of St John’s in the Visitor Centre, the Cabot Tower on top of the hill has a small display on Marconi who received the first transatlantic radio transmission from Cornwall in the fever hospital which stood nearby. (The main Marconi museums are in Nova Scotia where the commercial radio stations were set up.)

I descended the hill by a track leading to the Battery, another collection of fishermen’s huts stuck to the rocks. An increasing proportion of the track is flights of wooden stairs. I spoke to some lads working on new stairs, they expect to spend the next three summers on it but it’s a government job creation scheme and subject to political indecision.

Back in town, a British pub selling Irish beers. No customers, nice barmaid so I stayed awhile to chat, then, just as I was about to leave, the third Lions-Australia test came on television so I had to have a few more beers while watching that. Being by that time well oiled, I tried Mary Brown’s chicken and chips for supper, but I can’t remember what it was like.

Wednesday 16 August — St John’s to Port-aux-Basques to ...

I think I paid the hotel bill last night. Off early down to the railway station, which is now used by the buses. Two buses to Port-aux-Basques, I don’t know how they allocated passengers between them but they were never far apart to Corner Brook. It was a long journey, nice bus, reasonable scenery, we kept crossing unused railway line. Lunch stop at Gander Airport, saw nothing of the town. Is there a town? Moose by the roadside near the airport. Every time the bus stopped for passengers, the driver got out and lit his cigarette, sometimes taking only two draws before nipping it and getting back aboard. A new driver at Grand Falls, he only smoked at ten minute stops. Tea stop at Corner Brook at the depot on the edge of town, where they rearranged the passengers so that one bus had only ferry passengers and we went off non-stop and direct, arriving in Port-aux-Basques an hour ahead of schedule.

It was raining by this time and foggy. No problem getting a ticket for the John Hamilton Grey sailing at half past eleven for North Sydney. Bused to the boat again, only two hundred yards but considered necessary for safety though we still ended up walking up the vehicle ramp and across the car deck. Excessively warm in the lounges and the sheltered bits on deck are lined with lifebelt lockers with sloping tops so I ended up stretched out in the passage just inside the open door.

Thursday 17 August — ... to Sydney, Nova Scotia

Not a comfortable night but I survived. They announced our imminent arrival about an hour before we reached North Sydney so I got up and ambled around a bit to get rid of the stiffness. We docked more or less on time at five past six (Atlantic Time, half an hour after Newfoundland Time). I walked from the boat to the terminal, flustering a steward who wanted me to wait for the bus for safety reasons but I told him I would dog-leg away from the traffic lanes and he obviously didn’t want to resort to force to stop me.

Breakfast in the ferry terminal before enquiring about transport to Sydney. On being informed that there was a local bus service, I headed for the nearest bus stop and waited. Nothing much happened for a while so I wandered along the street a bit and found someone at another bus stop who was able to assure me that the bus would be along in a couple of minutes, and so it was.

I got off the bus when we seemed to be near the middle of town, and ambled around a bit, sussing out the possibilities. Three hotels of the right sort of appearance in the downtown area. There were a couple of beat policemen, the first I think I’ve seen in Canada, on the main street and when I talked to one later, he explained that the shopkeepers are the main taxpayers in the town and if they want beat policemen, that’s what they get. A cup of tea in the Golden Nuggets deli cost 60 cents and when I decided to have another, seconds were free. Cheapest tea in Canada. An excellent selection of sandwiches but I’d already had my breakfast.

Then I went and enquired for accommodation at the Cliefden House Hotel, it’ll do, it was quite nice. It seemed to have a semi-permanent population of old ladies. The day’s major occupation was to look for a hire car for the weekend. Nothing. Only Budget would hold out even the small chance of getting an early return. Still, doing the rounds meant I saw a bit of the town.

In the evening, I had a few beers and dined in what was supposed to be a trendy restaurant but the menu was really just good pub grub. Still, the beer was OK.

Friday 18 August — Sydney

MV Caribou leaving North Sydney

Checked out another car hire firm, no joy. Picked up the bus timetable for services to Halifax, a possible alternative to the train as I have to pay the fare anyway. Budget have no returns, methinks I’ll give up and go to Halifax.

Breakfast in the Nuggets, a cheese and things (carrot, lettuce, tomato, raisins and alfalfa (watercress)) sandwich. Very nice. Two cups of tea too. Walked over past the tar pits and the steel pits looking for Whitney Pier. Photographed the Carribou leaving North Sydney for Port aux Basques. Dropped in to a couple of beverage rooms on that side of town, serious drinking establishments, good atmosphere.

Found a good restaurant for dinner, good halibut steak and lots of wine.

Saturday 19 August — Sydney to the Canso Causeway

Well, I had finally decided to go by train and spend a night in the vicinity of the Canso Causeway, so that meant an early start down to the station, buy a ticket and wait for the train. Fair number of passengers waiting, loaded into two cars leaving one to be filled at North Sydney by ferry passengers. Also left one car behind, perhaps for the Sunday evening train which I’m told doesn’t run. Anyway, mobs boarded at North Sydney, fairly filling the train.

I alighted at Port Hawkesbury, which used to be the ferry terminal before the causeway was built, now much quieter. Saw one small hotel in town - closed. Walked towards the causeway, five kilometres. Just before reaching Port Hastings, encountered the first motels, a bit pricey, keep walking. Picket line at Keddy’s Inn told me about a B&B but I couldn’t find it so went to the tourist office and got the phone number - full - but a small motel run by the same family on the other side of “town” had a room. Only five units with a caravan for the office but very nice inside and all the usual facilities.

A quick wash, left my pack and walked down to inspect the causeway, hoping to see the canal in use and, lo, there appeared a schooner, the Bluenose II even. Took some photographs of her passing through the lock (to allow for tidal differences on each side of the causeway), also a southbound freight, then walked across the causeway to a filling station restaurant for a small snack, then a pint of milk and a walk around the harbour. There is a government sponsored program of small harbour improvement schemes throughout Canada to encourage small fishing operations. This harbour had a shellfish processing plant.

Back across the causeway, sat by the canal for a bit waiting the passing of the northbound passenger train. Found a reasonable possie to photograph it crossing the causeway and canal. Then, there being no pubs nearby and I wasn’t hungry enough to enter a licensed dining room, I returned to the motel to shower and watch TV for the night.

Sunday 20 August — The Canso Causeway to Halifax

The train was due at ten forty-seven at Port Hawkesbury so I reckoned I’d better start walking at nine to allow for possible distractions en route, so I’d better get up by eight. And I did, and while in the shower, the smoke alarm in the bedroom went off, despite the window being open. I had to remove the battery to silence the thing.

On the road by nine, a pleasant stroll, sunny but still cool, arriving at Port Hawkesbury just after ten. Checked the pack and wandered round the pier to pass the time. The old ferry ramp here has gone to make way for a yacht club and minuscule marina. The train arrived on time, quite quiet, pleasant run to Halifax where I walked very slowly and circuitously to the hostel and booked in for two nights.

Back out and downtown to dine on lobster, $12.95, and apple pie (“it’s fresh, made yesterday”) in the Bluenose Restaurant. A few beers plus tax put the price up a bit. I enjoyed the lobster and was surprisingly successful in extracting the meat, although I suspect I could have been a bit more dainty. The annual Busker’s Festival was in progress so I watched a few acts in the street on the way back to the hostel. Thunder, lightning and torrential rain in the night, the roof leaked so I got up and placed a bucket under the worst drip but someone kicked it over and the carpet got wet anyway.

Monday 21 August — Halifax

Time to seek out a car again, this time with success at Renta-Wreck. Broke my fast at a Chinese restaurant, reasonable value. Wandered to the Halifax Shopping Centre and checked out Eaton’s and The Bay for tobacco but couldn’t find a smoke shop at all in either. No other tobacconists around. I refuse to pay $9 for Condor so I wasn’t doing much smoking, just the occasional cigarette. Into a pub for a cheeseburger and chips and a pint of beer. To early to start serious drinking.

I bought a map of Halifax and obtained a map of Nova Scotia from the Tourist Office in the Historic Properties. Enquired for a Highway Code at the N.S. Government bookshop, they suggested I try the Ministry of transport, which I had unwittingly walked past earlier that morning. I set off by a devious route but was waylaid by the beauty of the Public Gardens, the last Victorian garden in North America, surviving due to a succession of grandfather-father-son as Superintendent of Parks and now recognised for its own merit. After sitting an hour or so, it was too late to catch a civil servant at work so I headed for the nearest pub.

The Victory Lounge turned out to be a reasonable place but after a couple, I moved on in search of a bite to eat and elected to return to the pub with the poor service. Much better this time as the shift had already changed, the cod and chips was good and I had a couple of pints to go with it. Then into the hard-drinking pub, only customer, watched Mr&Mrs Jones busking in the street and back to the hostel.

Tuesday 22 August — Halifax to Cornwallis

Anticipation. Due to pick up the car at noon so some time to kill. Went downtown, breakfast in Scorpio’s, cheese and ham omelette again. I’d forgotten how bad the tea was. Down to the railway station to get my tickets for next week, then on through the Public Gardens again and back towards the car-hire place. Visited the Ministry of Transport and obtained the Driver’s Handbook. Another couple of Brits were there for the same purpose. A quick read as I walked the last couple of hundred yards to pick up the car.

I had asked for the smallest they’d got and it turned out to be a fair-sized family saloon, a Chrysler Plymouth Reliant automatic. This should be fun. Did not too badly on the way out of town, having carefully studied the route beforehand. Even managed to change highways at Bedford but my attempts to find Windsor Junction were a failure. However, I was still going in the right general direction and continued to Windsor to buy provisions on the theory that if I carry food, I save on meals (but it doesn’t work out that way).

Drove out to Evangeline Beach to watch the tide come in. You’d have to go out a long way to get enough water to swim in. A stop at Grand Pre national park, a memorial to the Acadians who were evicted by the Brits in the 1750’s on the grounds that they might assist the French even though they had promised to remain neutral. The Brits kept the livestock to feed the army at the siege of Louisville and paid no compensation.

Halls Harbour, Nova Scotia, at high tide

It was my intention to follow the Evangeline Trail down to Yarmouth so I stopped in Wolfville and bought a leaflet. A wrong choice of lane at the traffic lights sent me into the wilderness so I saw places many others don’t. Followed my nose and found myself on the outskirts of Kentville where another wrong turning sent me off to Halls Harbour, very scenic, then I followed route 222 parallel to the Trail but more scenic with much less traffic. When that ended, I rejoined the Trail and stopped in Bridgetown for a snack, seafood chowder and a lobster croissant in the Raven Restaurant.

I returned to the coastal road to see more fishing villages and look for a place to park overnight. Nothing suitable so I looked for a motel in Annapolis Royal, didn’t see anything it being dark and me having to concentrate on which side of the road I was on. Left town and found a bed just south of Cornwallis and very nice it was too.

Wednesday 23 August — Cornwallis to Shelburne

On the road at half past nine, short drive into Digby where I discovered I still had the handbrake on. Walked around, took a photo or two, drove out to the ferry terminal, no ferries to be seen so headed off south again. Stopped for lunch in Meteghan, no fish left so I ate good pork chops. This stretch of coast is a succession of townships with small harbours (being improved) and fine wooden churches. Further north they were Baptist churches, down here they were Catholic because of French origins (some Acadians returned to here).

Stopped for a walk around in Yarmouth, watched the ferry Bluenose (registered in Nassau) arrive from Portland or was it Bar Harbour, picked up a brochure for the Lighthouse Trail back up the east coast to Halifax. I drove on round the bottom of Nova Scotia and up to Shelburne. The first motel I tried, just as it was starting to rain, was too expensive, $48 + tax, so I drove out to Jct 25 on Route 3 where I knew there was a motel, it had been advertised by the roadside further south. Room for $34 + tax, same as last night, biscuits and cheese for tea.

The driving was a bit easier today, not like yesterday when I found myself on the wrong side of the road three times.

Thursday 24 August — Shelburne to Black Point

It was not quite raining in the morning, I left the motel about ten and returned to Shelburne for a look around in daylight, hardly worth it. Next stop was Liverpool, a pleasant place, seafood platter for lunch, all deep fried in batter, the shrimps, scallops and clams a bit lost. Looked around the town then drove on to Bridgewater. I got an impression of a certain sameness about these towns. I bought a pair of gutties in Zillers, cheap and nasty but I think expensive shoes are cheaper in the UK.

Then on to Lunenburg, home of the Atlantic Fisheries Museum and home port of the Bluenose II. Parked first at the visitor centre up on the hill, then down by the Fisheries Museum but didn’t go in as it was not long till closing. Decided to dine in the restaurant attached to the museum. Fresh lobster was almost $20 so ordered lobster Newburgh, in a white sauce topped with grilled cheese. As soon as I started it, I lost my appetite. Either this was too rich or there was something wrong with the seafood platter at lunchtime. Anyway, I had to give it up and was a little unwell as well. I was unwell again on the way back to the car, and continued to feel a bit unhappy as I resumed the road.

After a bit, the unhappiness became a bit more of an unwell-ness, and I pulled over onto the shoulder. Not a good place to stop so after a few minutes, I drove forward again heading for a turn-off which I reached but did not stop quickly enough once I got round the corner. Cleaned up the mess as best I could and continued with the windows wide open.

It was a few miles to the next motel, the Grandview Motel at Black Point, where I got a room for the night, a room with kitchen facilities for the first time in Canada. Did a bit better job on the car and turned in for the night.

Friday 25 August — Black Point to Halifax

Feeling fine this morning, a beautiful morning. In the daylight, the view from my window is very nice, a narrow strip of lawn then a small lagoon cut off from the sea by a shingle bank. Sun sparkling on the water.

The smell in the car is not too bad but I gave it another rub over and expended some energy on trying to wash off some resin that someone had used to re-attach a bit of bodywork trim. Then I donned my new shoes, dumped the old ones in a bin and headed up the road for Peggy’s Cove, a small fishing village which has become the target of many day trips from Halifax. For some reason, there are no trees for about two miles around, it looked a bit like Lochmaddy with the bare rock sticking out. The old lighthouse is a summer-only Post Office.

On to Halifax, somehow I wasn’t on the road I’d expected but I recognised the Halifax Shopping Centre and was able to find my way back to the car-hire depot with ten minutes to spare and only two stops to consult the map. The total cost for the car was a few cents less than $200. Was it worth it?

Walked round to the bus station not far away and left my pack in a locker. Chinese for lunch in the maritime Mall food court, not much regard for no smoking signs there. Found another shop selling Condor, slightly cheaper at $8.99, but didn’t buy any. I think I’ll last out till Monday morning in Montreal. Back at the bus station for grilled cheese sandwich and tea, more like a fried cheese sandwich but quite nice, before picking up my pack and heading to the hostel to book in for another two nights. Apparently, it had been quite busy all week and filled up again that night. I did my laundry before heading downtown for food but settled for a litre of milk and watched a few buskers.

Saturday 26 August — Dartmouth

Nice day again. I walked over the Angus Macdonald Bridge to Dartmouth. Took some photos of the outer harbour from the bridge and crossed to the other side to take photos of the inner harbour when a load voice from nowhere said “please do not take photos from that side of the bridge, please get back to the other side of the bridge”. An interfering policeman in a car with loudspeaker. He claimed it was too dangerous but I still consider a twelve inch wide kerb and not much traffic perfectly safe.

I followed the line of the whatever-it-was-canal up to Balook Lake where there was a canoeing regatta in progress. I think 1000 metres is a bit long for eight year old girls. Walked round the lake to discover the MicMacMall, just a lot of shops, with a circus in the car park that weekend. Who or what is the Shrine’s? Chatted awhile with a girl at Sullivan’s Pond who was feeding the ducks and being hassled by a couple of greedy geese.

Back to Halifax by the ferry, funny little boat. Beer and Chilli in the Lower Deck, poor service, found the Midtown Tavern for a few more beers and a snack, weiners and chips turned out to be hot dog sausages but tastier than what you get in the UK. Wandered around watching the tail end of the Busker’s Festival, even bought a cassette of gravichord music from Grawi himself and his wife. It was raining off and on so I left the fire-dancers to their finale and went back to the hostel for an hour or two’s conversation before bed.