Canada’s Atlantic Provinces: New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, 2019
Looking Back: Celebrating Four Years of Van Life
Fourth in a Series
New Brunswick
11 May 2019, St. Andrews By-the-Sea
The giddy apprehension I felt in the days approaching my Canadian border crossing was ridiculous.
Thirteen states share that international border. People cross it every day. But I’m not one of those people.
It felt special to me. Like a real adventure. Admitting I had butterflies seems silly. But I did. There’s something about crossing that political boundary, taking me outside of all the borders I’d been crossing within my own country, that gave it a wildcard quality. Becoming a guest of another country felt vulnerable and precarious. Suddenly, whatever sociopolitical rights I thought I had in the U.S. didn’t apply.
Sure, Canada is the friendliest possible country I could be visiting. Still, I’d be a foreign national.
There were no other cars at the St. Stephen 3rd Bridge port of entry when I arrived. The Canadian Border agent waved me forward to his booth. His questions were as casual as the chitchat of a new acquaintance, but I was hyper-aware of his discreet inspection of my passport as he checked it against his computer screen. The power held by law enforcement is unnerving. It took only moments, then he sent me on my way. Very anticlimactic. Not that I wanted any drama. Despite the unremarkable border crossing, it was exhilarating to be taking on the Great White North solo.
Nord, sud, est, ouest. North, south, east, west. My sense of direction is abysmal. Despite the bilingual road signs I made a wrong turn almost immediately. Primarily because I misinterpreted Google maps. I keep the directions silenced; the audio is distracting. Stopping to right myself and change my cell phone settings for international service, it was only 30 minutes to my first destination. On the way, I found a free spot to spend the night which eased my apprehension a good deal. Even though there were no signs prohibiting overnight parking, I wouldn’t be completely confident until the next morning, when I’d have awakened without any disturbances. It would be years before I’d settle into new overnight spots with genuine nonchalance.
St. Andrews By-the-Sea is historic, quaint, and quiet in mid-May. It’s not dissimilar from small historic east coast port towns in the U.S. At the same time, it felt entirely different simply because I knew I was in Canada.
The weather was still quite chilly. Most of the stores were closed as it wasn’t yet the summer season. I didn’t care. I’m not a shopper. Strolling the wharf put me in view of a glorious sunset, made singular by the novelty of watching it from a place I’d never been before. Exactly how all the firsts I experienced traveling across the country would be heightened.
After sundown I was still so tightly wound that I wasn’t ready to call it a night. I checked out the restaurants and pubs along the main street. Taking a peek inside Kennedy House, “Atlantic Canada’s oldest summer hotel,” I was delighted to discover live music and food service.
The pub was in a small back room, dimly lit, and I made my way to a bistro table in the back. After a gray-haired couple left, I noted that I was the oldest person there.
Watching Kyle Johnsen play, he seemed so young to me. His fiancé watched and cheered from a table with her girlfriends. I thought he might be my son’s age. Missing my son, between sets I bought his CD to be supportive, and he signed it. But first, I had to go to the cashier to change my U.S. dollars for Canadian. The cashier didn’t know the exchange rate and guessed. It seemed close enough to me. I Googled it when I got back to my table figuring I’d be more careful moving forward.
Once again, I didn’t much care about the cashier’s estimate. I was in an enchanting Canadian port town, in an historic hotel, listening to a young singer-songwriter, and enjoying a glass of wine. Everyone else I knew was in the United States, with about 30 hours left until they were back to work on Monday morning.
There would be many dozens of times in Canada, that I was astonished to be living my life as a traveler.
Nova Scotia
18 May 2019, Lunenberg
Traveling Nova Scotia had me feeling absurdly wild and free. While my imagination is usually unrealistic, Nova Scotia was everything I wanted it to be. I was thrilled to discover quaint fishing villages, the rugged wilderness of Cape Breton Highlands National Park, and charming historic towns.
Records of Nova Scotia settlers date back nearly 400 years. Yet as the captain of my Toyota Sienna, every place new to me was, and still is, the emotional equivalent of any discovery made by history’s intrepid explorers.
The best photos I made were in the port town of Old Lunenburg, a UNESCO World Heritage site. Designated as such for the best example of planned British colonial settlement in North America.
According to novascotia.com, “Seventy percent of the original colonial buildings from the 18th and 19th centuries continue to greet visitors with their colourful facades.” It’s true, there’s so much color. Even though it drizzled a bit, nothing about the town was drab.
The sky cleared in the late afternoon and the night was heralded by a spectacular blue moon.
On my way to the evening’s campsite, I crested a hill to the glowing extraterrestrial looming low and large, dwarfing the houses as it emerged from below the horizon. Awestruck, I braked hard in the middle of a country road to stop and gape. It felt too long before I came to my senses. I pulled my car onto the shoulder. No local was ever going tolerate my blocking the road to ogle the moon.
Once parked, I scrambled to get the camera and tripod set up, doubtful yet hopeful that I’d get even one decent shot. Considering I was still so slow with the learning curve, unsure of my camera, its settings, and the lens filters, I can’t believe I got anything at all.
I camped at a beach only a few minutes from that hill. It wasn’t a designated campsite, but there were no signs prohibiting overnight parking and I had it to myself all night.
I’m afraid of the dark. But the moon shone so brightly that not only was my headlamp unnecessary, I was completely unafraid. I walked along the shore and sat on the beach until after midnight.
Next: Central Canada
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