I Left My Heart in Halifax

Halifax.  Who knew.  You'd think that, as a Canadian, I would but...I didn't.

The Maritimers I know who've migrated across the country to dwell amongst us stubble-jumpers tried to tell me.  "Go to Annapolis!" they said.  "Try the bologna!". 

I did neither of those things. 

Ten days simply was not enough time to see, do, or eat everything there is to be seen, done or et.  Which, thankfully, leaves me no choice but to go back and continue exploring one of the most culturally rich and historically significant regions I've experienced so far in my life. 

I wouldn't exchange one single second of the time spent in Halifax for a solid minute at any other destination in the world, and here's why:

Point Pleasant Park


A place where a walk in the park takes on a whole new meaning. 

So much to see, so many surprises.  Where else can one find, in an afternoon's stroll:

...anchors & acorns
...flora & fauna
...bulwarks & buoys
...ships & shores
...cranes & crates
...remnants & relics
...gallows & gibbets
...people & pups
...lighthouses & lampposts
...moors & monuments

and much, much more.

No place that I know of.  Not yet at least.





Quarry Lake

A hidden gem.  The best directions I can give you are "drive along the 102 until you see skid marks veering off into the ditch, then pull over, park, and walk until you see water".  Or better yet, have a local take you there; precisely the pleasure we were fortunate enough to enjoy. 

An idyllic day, unspoiled even by the discovery that the canoe we'd planned to paddle around in had been stolen from its (apparently not so) secret stash spot.
 

Peggy's Cove

A must-see, they say.  And they're right.

It's more than just a lighthouse, you see, which is what I expected.  It's a place so unique that trees, dressed in their finest, line up like honour guards; where, right before your eyes, roadside inlets transform into the ocean itself, and bright houses and steepled churches sprout from barren, rock-strewn hillsides.

Then all of a sudden, there, lounging next to a sultry sea, lie rock giants, their weathered faces awash in the waves as they splash their great furry toes in salty whitecaps. It's quite the sight, I must say.

What more could you ask for, really?  Except the lighthouse.  Don't miss that.

Mahone Bay & Lunenburg

In a word...striking.

Seriously.  I don't know if I have any more words to describe these tiny towns. Picturesque. There's another word. Serene. That's another. Honestly, no need for words anyway. The pictures speak for themselves.

Gotta tell ya, though, great soy-chai lattes. (Don't forget the shot of espresso; now you got yourself a Dirty Hippy. Or really live on the wild side and get two shots; now you got yourself a Double-Dirty Hippy. That'll keep your engines fired).

Can't go without mentioning the Bluenose II, either. She's something to see. And the ShipBuilders cider. It's sunshine in a bottle. Make sure you take a close look at the label before you tip one back, too. It's a work of art in itself.

The Waterfront

Whoever first spoke the words "the difference between night and day" surely wandered these piers in their lifetime.

The night holds an eeriness laughter can't quite dispel. Ghostly ships haunt the waters, and the boardwalk, forlorn in the dark, feels somehow alert to our footsteps.

Then dawns the day, cool and crisp, while foghorns and gulls herald the morn.  One could sit the day through and watch ships come and go; doubtless there's no end in sight.  But the time comes to move on, far quicker than called, and away we go. On with the day.

Before long, the sun, from its apex, greets waves of tourists. Flooding forth from their cruise ships (diverted or otherwise), they flock in a frenzy to restaurants and shops, and the boardwalk beams bright in their wake.  Statues and murals and stonework abound.  The Maritime Museum has an allure most intriguing; men in particular are drawn to its treasures.  It's a lot to take in, but fun nonetheless. Excitement for all to be had.

The North End

Listed in Huffington Post's 10 of Canada's Hottest Neighbourhoods to Call Home... and it's easy to see why. In a word, it is colourful.  Colourful homes, colourful characters, colourful signs. Everywhere are signs. Some things were so stunning I circled back for a second look.  No jokes.

And what is this East Coast Lifestyle, you may ask?  Well, let's see.  It's pulling your toque down over finger-styled hair before you leave in the morning and borrowing extra pots from the local cafe when company's in town.  It's rickety, three-story balconies and duct-taping your truck when the bondo won't hold.  It's hoofing your way to work or to school and sweeping the sidewalk when your pocket change is a few coins shy of a sandwich.  It's being hugged by strangers and whiling away afternoons listening to the tales and tunes of old men and street musicians who've traveled the world and always return.

It's neighbourliness.  It's kindness.  It's community.  It's looking out for each other when times are tough and sharing the bounty when fortune smiles.  In another word, it is wonderful.

The Citadel

A moment of silence, if you will.  All I knew going in was that The Citadel is an old military installation, or something of the sort.  A grievous understatement to be sure.

First, a fair hike around the perimeter wondering all the while if there was an entrance and if it would ever be found; then, stopped dead in my tracks when at last there it was.  This was no small exhibit, no collection of ancient artifacts encased under glass.  This was a Fortress.  A living, breathing, fossil of the past that shaped our future.  And before me stood a tunnel through time.

Enter the grounds.  Orderly.  Expansive.  Iron workhorses spread methodically about.  Nothing but the echoing hollers of officers to interrupt the whistling of wind in my ears.  I did not witness the drill demonstrations or the pipe & drum performances, nor was I deafened by rifle or canon fire.  Not this time, no.

Ahead the barracks.  Formidable.  Imposing.  I did not go in.  Wasn't sure I would be allowed at the start, wasn't willing (or able) once I realized I could in the end.  Not that I wasn't welcome, only that, after all else, it was too much to march on.

Another tunnel.  This one across space.  Now in France. Now in trenches; now in muck, mire, and waste.  A blow to the chest, my wind knocked out.   Lieutenant Guy Drummond, alive and vibrant at 26, dead forever and lost at 27.  He along with countless more women and men cut down in their prime; youth stolen, lives ruined.  Losses beyond measure.  Truly, all too terrible to tell.

Duck out of the trenches, step back on the grounds.  I thought to go on but...enough.  Let me out.  Up the stairs, round the ramparts, no exit in sight.  More brick and more bars.  More steel, stone, and sky.  Down the stairs, round the back, the same passage though time.  Escape to civilization.  And behind me a true soldier's hell.

West Pennant Beach

Another evening drive in our robocar rental, this time racing down winding roads, heading out to the seaside to watch the storm blow in. On purpose. Should have worn something a tad more water repellent than my yoga pants but boy, was it worth it.

Especially meeting our little buddy over there, with his shy friend in tow. He sure was curious about us. Probably wondering what the heck we were doing out on the water's edge in gale force winds, elbowing his pal, saying "Hey Man, check out those dummies".

Believe it or not though, he did wave good-bye.  If you look closely you can kind of see him floating on his back with his flipper in the air.  How cool is that.



Thanksgiving by Candlelight

And so, in true North Atlantic fashion, we spend our last night in Halifax surrounded by kind folk, stormy weather, and a fine, festive feast.

Oh, and, of course, there's a right proper power outage.

Nothing quite like opening a door to be met by flickering flames, glowing sticks, welcoming smiles, and the smell of home cooking when you're soaked to the bone.  Turns out, in our absence, our gallant hosts had braved the elements to fetch a camp stove so they could finish cooking dinner for us out on the deck.  And they festooned every room with white wax and wicks.
Can you imagine.

We had a time, yes we did.  Just hanging out in the old apartment, puttering around, testing our sea legs on the buckled hardwood, napping, breaking bread, folk music streaming through the speakers, heroes on stormy seas and battlefields streaming through the screen, turning the pages of books and our lives.  That was the gold. Those were the real treasures.

This is it.  This is where my heart is.  I have a feeling it will stay here for some time to come.  

Thank you for sharing my journey with me.  Until we meet again.  

PS - This post is dedicated to My Faraway Boy and My Faraway Girls.  Thank You, once again, for My Happiness.  I love you like the sun loves the moon and the stars.