Day Four: The Fundy Rose and Peggy's Cove

August 11, 2016

Today we entered Canada.  It was painless which is always a relief.  I have many stories to tell of border crossings, several of them not-so-pleasant. It’s always disheartening when the border guards are narcissistic egomaniacs intent on demonstrating their importance.  The two working this morning were polite and business-like and wished us a good day when they passed us through.

We arrived in St. John, New Brunswick and boarded our ferry, the Fundy Rose which would take us to Digby, Nova Scotia.  We remained on the bus until safely boarded, along with several tractor trailer rigs, a number of motorcycles, many cars, and some walkers too.  The ferry was well equipped for comfort.  We rode the elevator to the upper levels where the air was easier to breathe than the fume-filled holds.  

TV screens with comfortable reclining chairs lined the walls in one area, tables with an easy view out large windows were plentiful.  High speed wifi was available at no charge.  Several restaurants-snack bars offered a wide variety of food and a Starbucks supplied the caffeine.

Heavy fog hindered visibility but we took our purchased meals outside and ate at tables on the decks, watching the churning wake plume out behind us.   Paul and Sam exchanged sea-sick stories while we ate and I was glad I had purchased Dramamine just in case.  Several people spotted whales. I found a lovely corner to work on my writing which I found an altogether pleasant way to pass the time.

After driving back onto solid ground in Digby we saw clear skies again.  Gentle hills, large chicken houses and rolling grain fields surrounded picturesque barns and neatly maintained farmhouses.  We drove up the coast and I saw names on road signs from books I had practically memorized in my early teens.  Anne Shirley’s Halifax lay ahead and I reminded myself she was fictional because she seemed like an old friend to me.  The ocean appeared in our windows, disappeared, then reappeared again, reminding me we were on an island hemmed in by the mighty Atlantic.

We arrived in Peggy’s Cove in the evening, just in time to enjoy the breathtaking scenery surrounding the lighthouse named after Peggy and her cove.  Tourists scrambled over the huge glacial deposit rocks, like ants they were, frantically snapping pictures like I, myself, was doing.  The sun was setting and we were fortunate that the mists enshrouding us earlier had cleared away leaving nothing but beauty behind.

The Sou’Wester Restaurant, built in 1967 and still run by descendants of the original owner, provided us with more mouth-watering seafood.  My thick and hearty chowder was completely satisfying and everyone else at the table shared similar sentiments regarding their own steaming platters. My place mat was printed with local history:  Peggy's Cove has 35 year-round residents.  In 1998 Swissair flight 111 crashed in the ocean, here.  All were lost.  The lighthouse was built in 1868 and was a large house with a light on top; the keeper and his family lived in the house.  During WWll it was used by the Royal Canadian Navy as a radio station.  The present lighthouse, built in 1916, was manned until it became fully automated the year I was born.  A long, long time ago.  For such a small, picturesque fishing village, there is a lot of history here and a lot of well-deserved pride in it from the locals. 

After dinner we wandered back out to the shoreline from whence the tourists had mostly cleared out.  Several of us voiced our pleasure at their disappearance, completely ignoring the fact that we ourselves arrived on a tour bus.  I snapped photos until my phone battery gave up the ghost, finally clambering aboard our bus in time for departure to our hotel.

We reached Halifax well after dark had fallen.  We were a mostly silent and weary group with only a rowdy few at the back breaking out in laughter now and then at some joke or other the rest of us couldn’t hear.  A few of us talked with each other about the day, one or two were reading or dozing.  Others were checking in with family on Facebook or texting. I looked around the bus and realized there was nowhere else I’d rather be at that moment. 

Everyone was ready for a good night’s sleep and happy to see the hotel come into view.  Within minutes of unloading, everyone disappeared like the ants at the lighthouse. There would be no card-playing tonight.