The long and winding road
For anyone still searching, the long and winding road actually leads from Halifax to Yarmouth. The travel times indicated on the provincial road map have nothing to do with quantitive analysis and everything to do with tricking tourists into going just a little bit further.
My fault, really. I’m easily distracted by things like sailing ships, old Jeeps and signs indicating that I’ve reached the utmost extreme of anything. No shortage today.
No tourist is allowed to visit the area outside of Halifax without a pilgrimage to Peggy’s Cove. Although I had prepared myself with the photos and firsthand accounts of other travellers, there’s something scary about a site that swallows people. We checked, with the guy that sells postcards “with you in them”. Two swimmers already this year. What we wanted to know is if there ever was a time when tiny people weren’t covering the rocks like some odd species of ants. What we got was a story of shock and awe, with gore for seasoning.
Along about Mahone Bay, the need for food overcame the need for speed. Advised by the GPS, we found (it didn’t know it was lost) the Cheesecake Gallery and Bistro. Just turn left on Main Street, and look across the way from the post office. The lack of any breeze found us sitting in a lower level of the restaurant, enjoying turnip soup, salads and peanut butter hamburgers along with the best cheesecake yet. The art was decent, too.
Almost missed out on Lunenburg altogether, but I’m never too proud to turn around and retrace my steps. Good thing, too. Yes, the UNESCO World Site loves tourists, but this is reciprocal. In port, the Concordia and the Bluenose II reminded my that mechanical devices for human transport have always been complicated and fascinating.
As the afternoon turned into evening, we spent time on the controlled access route. Is two-lane blacktop technically an autoroute? Anyhow, I wasn’t going to miss the turnoff to Cape Sable Island. Oddly enough, after another day of record breaking temperatures, we found the tip to be shrouded in fog, so the lighthouse was invisble. Heard the foghorn, though.
And now we’re in Yarmouth town for the night. No matter what Great Big Sea suggests, I didn’t end up down by the strand (yet).
