travel


Okay, so in this second installment of the Crowe’s 2010 Nova Scotia cross-province adventure, the trio travel to Peggy’s Cove. This is a quaint little village with a nice little lighthouse atop rocks that were formed by glaciers millions of years ago. Personally, I liked the random “street” signs they had—see photos below. This being the first day and my mouth was watering with the idea of getting to eat lots of lobster, I was immediately in like with these locals who named a path, Lobster Lane. There’s a story about the name of this town. If you want to you can read it here.

After an obligatory stop at the gift shop, we walked back to the car and made our way over to Lunenburg. Lunenburg is also a quaint town where the shops all close really early and if you want to buy a toothbrush, you’ll have to wait until the following afternoon because the next day was Sunday and the only thing open was the Fisheries museum. Of course we went there and learned all about the famous tall ship of Nova Scotia, the Bluenose.

Well, just a note on Lunenburg. If you know of the actress Ellen Page (star of a very cool movie called Whip It), she did some Cisco commercials set in that town that aired last winter. Reportedly, the town mayor said about the production company, “They certainly spent a fair bit of money here during the time they were in town. It was quite a big production. The money from the production company was used to upgrade playground equipment in the town.” According to an article by Roger Taylor, Business Columnist, the mayor said the town will probably put up some links to the www.cisco.com website, where the ads may be viewed, but he doesn’t know if Cisco would link to the town’s site, www.explorelunenburg.ca.

I hope that last part puts this town into perspective for you. So…after eating the fish and chips and a local beer, Keith’s—both yummy—and having a nice night sleep, we headed out for the Annapolis Valley. By the time we got there, we were hungry for lunch so naturally we ate in the German Bakery. For a province that is part French, part Indian, and is named “new Scotland,” I was admittedly thrown a bit by the German invasion into this area. But I did find it funny that my health-conscious father did not skip a beat when ordering strudel for dessert.

After lunch, we strolled through the lovely Royal Historic Gardens, and then went off to explore Fort Ann where we got to see an exhibition of the Highland Regiment. It was all nice until they showed us how they practice spearing people with their bayonets. Fun with bagpipes and gunpowder, eh? That night we stayed in a really nice B&B that’s on all the brochures—the Queen Anne Inn. We spent the evening celebrating our American Independence Day quietly in our room while watching the fireworks on TV. Because naturally, while in a foreign country there are plenty of American TV programs to watch.

That’s all for now. Next time we visit the cheese farm. Yum.

A tale of New Scotland.

I’m back from vacation and ready to share my experiences from Nova Scotia—that province in Canada near Maine that takes its name (New Scotland) from my ancestors in the old country. Having said that, I learned quite a bit of Nova Scotia’s history and discovered that it was originally settled by the Mi’kmaqs, an Indian tribe belonging to the greater Algonquin nation. And the first white folks who came around to settle the area back in the early 1600’s were the French—who called themselves Acadians. They got along with the locals and made the tidal-drenched lands very fertile. The Scots came along later and claimed the highlands, as it reminded them of their lovely home.

But I’ll get to all that later because it was very interesting learning about this little island’s history. What I’ll start off saying is that the current locals—made up of my favorite cousins, the fun Canadians—are friendly and good natured people. My parents and I enjoyed our tour of the island and came back enlightened about the Nova Scotian people and the various cultures that have made up this endearing place.

The only Canadian on this trip that I didn’t like was the customs guy. He kept asking me questions as if I was a danger to his people. Now just before leaving for vacation I heard an expert on national defense discuss the latest policies of the TSA. He rightly criticized the organization for bowing to public fear and political correctness instead of doing what works. What doesn’t work is making us all take off our shoes so we have to walk barefoot on the disgusting airport floors and spending time questioning the girl who has been called “wonder bread.”

But whatever. On another note, I just want to say that I refused to go into the “naked” machine. You know what I mean—the new security x-ray scanner that allows TSA agents to see you the way only doctors should. Not-uh. That’s my line in the sand boys. Ok. Just had to get all that crap off my chest. I probably just put myself on some government watch list. I can only hope my blog gets that many readers. Wow, I’d be like some kind of travel-screening rebel. “Hell no, we won’t go…without our shoes, water bottles, toothpaste, and lighters.”

Moving on…having passed inspection, we got into our car and headed off to our first stop, Peggy’s Cove. I’ll continue on with the vacation diary next time. Until then, remember that there are now nawnstop flights from Halifax to Bawston. That was the first sign we saw driving out of the airport. The second one was for ice cream. I’ll get to that later. Stay tuned for Peggy, Ann, and the German girl with Strudel.

Scenes along the way…

Hiking along the Cabot Trail near Ingonish

Cabot Trail

Nova Scotia coast

I love the Olympics. This year’s competitions are being held in beautiful British Colombia, Canada. A number of years ago I went skiing at Whistler with my parents and it was breathtaking. One of the many things I enjoy about the Olympics are the stories of the journeys the athletes took to get there. I always wanted to be an Olympian but alas it wasn’t in the cards. But I did take an eventful journey to get to Whistler.

Back in the late 90s I was working for a hockey team in Cleveland. The working hours were endless with few days off. By chance, the boys were on the road for a week so I packed my bags and made arrangements to meet my parents in Minnesota where we would travel on together to Vancouver. That was the plan at least.

After working three weeks without a day off, I found myself exhausted. So exhausted that on Saturday morning I woke up with that feeling—you know the one—that something wasn’t right. I knew I had slept too long. I looked up and saw a plane overhead, glanced at the clock and knew that was my plane. Up there. Without me. 

Off to the airport I ran. I managed to rearrange my schedule with the totally incompetent people of Northwest airlines so that I would wait about an hour, catch a flight to Detroit, change to a flight to Minnesota, wait there for six hours, and then catch a flight to Vancouver. A few minutes later, that flight got cancelled. So back to the starting block. There was a direct flight to Minnesota taking off in a couple of hours with a three hour layover and on to Vancouver. If you’re like me, you’re wondering why the airline guy didn’t just give me that option first.

The first flight was delayed but I finally made it to Minnesota. Then had a huge delay in Minnesota. Hours late. By now I’m on my fifth call to my parent’s answering machine (no cell phones back then). This time I wasn’t crying, but I was running late and missed connecting with them.

Just when it looked like I was going to make it, the plane landed in Vancouver at about five minutes to 10 p.m. local time or 1 a.m. Cleveland time. (I started the day at 7 a.m. so I was ready to end this nightmare.) The last leg of the trip was a two-hour bus ride up to Whistler. My parents left me a voucher—but the last bus was leaving at 10 p.m. So I ran over to the customs guys and begged them to let me go ask the bus people to wait a few minutes for me. No go. (And this was pre-9/11.) Needless to say I missed the bus so I made a reservation at a hotel in Vancouver.

The next morning I got into the shuttle (or van) to go back to the airport. I was the only passenger and as luck would have it, my driver was a conspiracy theorist. The entire, terrifying drive to the airport was filled with his theories about government take-overs. At one point he pointed to the lovely landscape and screamed something about “the man.”

It was all worth it. The bus ride up to Whistler was gorgeous and so was the resort. During the next couple of weeks I’ll be rooting those Olympians on as they hurl themselves down and around those mountains. Go USA, Go USA!

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