Nova Scotia: Head for a Brave New World by Jini Reddy

There’s a nice, cushioned back rest, and a helmet with a visor to protect me from the wind, yet I can still smell the ocean-scented air. I’m heading along Nova Scotia’s south shore, from Mahone Bay – where Madonna’s yacht has been spotted – to Halifax, two hours away via the Lighthouse Trail. To my left are pretty villages. To my right, the Atlantic, secluded bays, islands, fishing boats. In fact, the ride is so smooth I’m in danger of nodding off. Which is the only reason why I’m clutching on to my driver, a gentle giant named Andrew Smiley, who’s eager to share the joys of the open road with me.

We stop for coffee at Peggy’s Cove, Canada’s most photographed beauty spot, and Andrew, a partner in a motorcycle touring company called Vineland tells me that Michael Ondaatje, who wrote The English Patient, and Uma Thurman’s ex, actor Ethan Hawke own islands in the area. I can see why. No one is going to hassle them in Nova Scotia. Beyond Canada and the US, the province is little known. But relative anonymity is part of its charm – expect nothing, and you get everything.

Facts First...

So the facts first: Nova Scotia is in Eastern Canada. It’s shaped like a lobster claw, fringed with 7000 km of coastline, and is the birthplace of ice hockey, folk singer Anne Murray, and, er Chad Doucette (a finalist in Canada’s version of Pop Idol.). It’s all lobster and Atlantic breezes these days, but it wasn’t always so. The Mi’ kmaq people trod gently on Nova Scotian soil, but the British and French fought bloody battles here in the 17th century. In a particularly dark chapter, the British forcibly expelled twelve thousand French-speaking Acadians.

But back to the Scots. Did you know that Alexander Graham Bell, the most famous of the early settlers lived in Cape Breton Island? Its glens, lochs and mountains are said to be every bit as picturesque as Scotland’s own. Alas, this is the one part of the province I didn’t get to see. There is only so much you can cram into a week’s road trip, and my itinerary took me to points north, west, and south of Halifax. But, in my opinion the ‘what-to-sees’ are overshadowed by the real star of Nova Scotia – its food. In a week of eating in lively restaurants and small, remote cafes, I didn’t eat a single dud meal.

Sublime Seafood

The seafood is sublime: warming fish chowders, digby scallops the size of a fist, lobster meat from crustaceans that were live and kicking only minutes earlier, fresh oysters that aren’t oversalted, mussels, and calamari that must have spent its life in ecstasy, so sweet is the flesh. (Even McDonalds has got in on the act, with a McLobster.) And let’s not forget the blueberries, served every which way, including the gloriously named Blueberry Grunt, a sort of steamed pudding. Or the pancakes served with maple syrup and crispy, lean bacon. Or the gooey Canadian grilled cheese sandwich. Or the cross between a brioche and a bagel that I ate slathered with cream cheese and smoked (Atlantic) salmon the morning after an adrenalin filled session of tidal bore rafting (www.tidalboreraftingpark.com) on the Shubenacadie River. I could go on, but you get the drift.

A word about the Nova Scotians: the undiluted kindliness of the locals, wherever I went, took me by surprise. ‘Are you enjoying the city?’ one gruff-looking fellow in Halifax came up and asked me on the street. (Apart from several generations of black Nova Scotians, and a Lebanese community in Halifax – though I didn’t see much evidence of either – there’s not a big ethnic mix in the province, unlike Montreal, where I grew up, and being Asian, I did stand out.) Yes, I said, remarking on the openness of the people I’d met. He nodded: ‘Nova Scotians have a saying, if they’re not friendly, they’re not from here…’ So, if you don’t go for the food, go for the people.

The Great Outdoors: God's Gift to Canadians

Then there’s God’s gift to Canadians, the Great Outdoors. Predictably, Nova Scotia’s not short of towering cliffs, forests, beaches, wilderness parks to fling yourself at or off. Kejimkujik and Cape Chignecto are the two big provincial parks – in the latter, I spent ninety minutes traipsing through maple forests and back along the beach and didn’t see a soul. Birds, butterflies and the odd mosquitoes – but no humans. (The province’s bears, moose, and deer tend to keep out of sight)

Whale watching on the Bay of Fundy sounds like a cliché, but the waters here teem with aquatic life, and if you’ve not seen the mammals, a cruise is a must. I took one from remote Brier Island, on the western tip of the province. (Population 350, very Twin Peaks.) The cheerful crew bombarded us with cetacean lore, while we scanned the waters. I couldn’t get the Jaws soundtrack out of my head, but the Atlantic Right Whales (as opposed to Spielberg’s sharks) who came over to inspect us were gentle, giant beauties, and sadly an endangered species. We also saw porpoises, and passed a colony of smelly, but adorable seal pups on a rocky islet (www.brierislandwhalewatch.com)

It’s not mammals, but a more ethereal presence that defines Lunenberg, on the south shore. Settled by hard-working European immigrants in the 17th century – some of whom are still around, if the ghost stories I hear are anything to go by – the town is so pretty it’s been designated a UNESCO heritage site. The walking tour led by kilted guide Eric is a must: first stop is the Lunenberg Academy. It’s a striking building, but I’d die of fright if I went to school here: when the nippers want to spend a penny in the basement loo, they pair up. Why? Because they used to hang people down there, and let’s just say those destined for the gallows haven’t quite moved on. Gulp.

St. John’s, the local Anglican Church was burnt to the ground in 2001, on Halloween, surprise, surprise. It’s been rebuilt though, and worth a look. On a cheerier note, Lunenberg is popular with film crews who use it as a stand-in for New England: Tom Selleck (reborn as a made-for- TV drama judge) is currently here filming, and he’s often spotted at the Magnolia Grill on Montague Street.

Spending the Night in a Caboose

There are no ghosts in Tatamagouche on the north shore – not unless you count the ghost of a train station. Here, I spent a night in a caboose. Not very hip, granted. (although there were three Porsches parked in the lot, on the night I stayed). But Jimmy Lefresne, the camp, ‘stationmaster’ who, over the years, has transformed disused railway cars into this magical inn, complete with memorabilia stuffed ‘Waiting Room’ is worth tracking down. My day-glo orange private car featured a king sized bed. Honeymooners love it – even without the rocking motion. (www.trainstation.ca.)

If trains aren’t your thing, head over to the Lighthouse on Cape d’Or, close to Cape Chignecto (www.capedor.ca). The sunsets over the bay are spectactular, and the renovated keeper’s lodge is the perfect eyrie in which to write the Great Novel. (There’s a spectre here too mind, a harmless old lady who shuffles up and down the corridor in the wee hours.) I had the lunch from heaven in the restaurant here: big bowl of chilli, and a ‘Big Chunk O’Fudge’ brownie with ice-cream. If you’ve restless kids in tow, take them to nearby Parrsboro, where they’ll spend hours happily hunting for dinosaur fossils on the beach or semi- precious stones.

Southern Solitude

There’s not a whole heap going on in Annapolis Royal, the oldest town in Canada, further south, but it has a waterfront location, and like Lunenberg, it’s full of photogenic houses – the ones here are elegant, Victorian mansions that offer bed & breakfast. I stayed at the grand but funkily laid-back Queen Anne Inn, and was offered an ‘appetiser’ of blueberry crisp before the full English. The B&B, like everything worth seeing in the small town is in George Street. Ignore the fort (yawn), instead sashay from café to café, visit the market, or pop into the Historic Gardens here – they’re a riot of colour, and crucially next door to a German bakery. (www.historicgardens.com.)

There’s more to see of course but no visit to Nova Scotia is complete without a mooch around its capital, Halifax, an easygoing university town. When you arrive head to the waterfront. I jogged the length of the promenade, admired the ships in the harbour, and then later returned for a more a leisurely stroll. After toying with souvenirs (stuffed lobster, anyone?) in the market, I stopped for a chowder in the upscale food court. In town, I stayed at both the Halifax Marriott Harbourfront and Delta Barrington. The latter is right next door to the Bluenose café – here I read the papers, eavesdropped on the locals, ate scrumptious pancakes, and held out my cup for endless coffee refills poured by a cheerful waitress. A simple pleasure, yet one to savour – like much of Nova Scotia itself, really.