“April is the cruellest month,”
T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land
Our cruelest month was on the road through New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Prince Edward Island, the three eastern lands that make up Canada’s Maritime provinces. We had snowstorms, slippery highways, rain, and fierce winds, at times so bitterly cold, I hesitated leaving the car to take a photograph.
Why we chose to drive thousands of miles and spend thousands of dollars going to places where local museums, provincial parks, and common tourist attractions were closed because it was “out of season” is a fair question. I guess because Kay and I are human we deceived ourselves into believing that it wouldn’t be too bad. And it wasn’t all bad!
The small City of Charlottetown on Prince Edward Island has bookstores,
a fine hotel,
and great seafood.
The Art Gallery of Nova Scotia in Halifax has a permanent exhibit honoring Maud Lewis, the congenitally disfigured outsider artist
who sold works for a pittance that posthumously now bring thousands on the market.
Alan Syliboy (Mi’Kmag – Canadian)
The City of Fredericton in New Brunswick has not only another fine art museum celebrating Canadian artists, some of whom are from the indigenous First Nations but also
a surprising collection of beautifully maintained Victorian-era homes near
a Neo-Gothic Cathedral that was very pleasant to rest in.
While driving to these and other destinations, we were thrilled at times by the scenery.
In Nova Scotia there is Cape Breton Island where we drove the justly famous Cabot Trail to see land and seascapes that are dramatically beautiful.
Wherever we went, we were not far from lighthouses that we enjoyed seeking out and photographing.
Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, is a picturesque town on the water that gives a strong sense of history.
It is hilly with bright-colored buildings, many built in the past. It was there that we stayed in the Smuggler’s Cove Inn, and I drank Mexican hot chocolate spiked with chili for breakfast.
One thing about the Maritimes that had appealed to me in theory was the presence of Acadians and their culture. These are the descendants of French settlers who came to those parts in the 17th and 18th centuries and were hunted down and removed by the British when they conquered Eastern Canada. Some subsequently returned and resettled.
Early in April, we made a strenuous drive to what is known as the Acadian Peninsula in northwest New Brunswick. I thought I would speak French to the locals and learn a bit of their culture. In that, I was disappointed. Although we did hear French spoken in a restaurant and I ordered our meal in that language, we found no opportunities for further contact.
As if we had not had enough bad weather in the Maritimes, we chose to go to the large, nearby island of Newfoundland for more punishment. Newfoundland has no agriculture to speak of other than small kitchen gardens. Nearly everything they eat comes to the island on enormous car-and-truck ferries. The ferry crossing lasts seven hours and must be booked in advance.
Once on the island, we drove and drove for two days, following a route called the Viking Trail. It led us north to L’Anse aux Meadows, a spot where there are vestiges of a thousand-year-old Norse settlement and
a statue of Leif Eriksson.
By the date we arrived, the sea ice was breaking up into floes that were formidable.
It was near there that we stayed at the wonderful Tuckamore Lodge for two days as the only guests and enjoyed its wonderful hospitality.
Driving back south through a district called Gros Morne we had the pleasure of more extraordinary scenery.
On the overnight crossing back to the mainland, Kay brandished her walking cane and charmed a receptionist with the improbable name of Enigma into removing us from a four-person cabin that we would have had to share with strangers and putting us into an accessible one where we had privacy.
It was a happy day in late April when we said adieu to New Brunswick and the Maritimes, heading for Quebec City and some wonderful nights at that city’s Chateau Frontenac.