Liming at the Seawall

Guyana has this lovely tradition here where people go liming at the Seawall on Sunday evenings.  Friends and families and lovers hang out over a couple of drinks at the long stretch of sea wall that the Dutch had built to keep out the Atlantic Ocean. Vendors sell beer, nuts and other snacks, and there are fun activities to keep kids entertained too, including trampolines and a guy in what looks like a really hot Mickey Mouse costume that you can get your photo taken with for a fee. I can't imagine wearing that in this weather.

 

 

It provides a lovely view of the sun setting into the ocean, but folks hang out long after sunset, especially to snuggle with their loved ones.

It's not always the safest place for foreigners, especially after dark, but it was fun for us to check out while there was still some daylight.  Also, to awkwardly pose for those stereotypical beach photos that North Americans always expect from the Caribbean.

 

 

Birds!

passing through New Brunswick

Wind turbines actually terrify me

My first impression of New Brunswick, years ago, was that it was a province to get through to get to Nova Scotia / Prince Edward Island / Quebec, and that impression has never left me. I assumed that was why the highway speed limits are set at 110km/h.

There was this one time when Rob and I were driving through New Brunswick, and we were running out of gas and there just were not any gas stations around, or towns. We thought we were going to be stranded. There was no cell phone reception there. I started doing mental calculations about how far I'd be able to walk to the last town we passed (a long time ago) to get help.  Actually, that happened more than once.  The impressions lasted in my mind. Now whenever I'm in New Brunswick, I just keep having the same urges. Keep driving. Keep a full tank of gas.

I mean, really, I know it means I should spend some more time here one day. But for now the province continues to feel like a series of places I pass through.

Moncton 
"Do we want to stop at Magnetic Hill?"
"What is Magnetic Hill?"
"It's a hill with an optical illusion that looks like you are driving uphill when you are actually going downhill. Or maybe it's the other way around."
"...No thanks."

Fredericton
Someone is playing the harmonica in the food court of Regent Mall, and it is making everything feel like a sea shanty.

 

Unnamed town

I feel like this means something

Bruce Springsteen has this song called "My Hometown" that I think really resonates with a lot of people about their hometowns.

"now Main Street's whitewashed windows and vacant stores 
seems like there ain't nobody wants to come down here no more 
they're closing down the textile mill across the railroad tracks 
foreman says these jobs are going boys and they ain't coming back to your hometown 
your hometown 
your hometown 
your hometown..."

I have decided not to name this town because actually, the folks that live there seem really nice and they are trying to make a living.  Unnamed Town is more or less a real-life Bruce Springsteen song.  They have a website, featuring an events calendar, which is completely blank.

"Can I have a tourist map of attractions?" I asked the front desk clerk.
"We don't have any," she responded.  It occurred to me that I wasn't sure if she meant that they didn't have any maps or that they didn't have any attractions.

I went to the hotel bistro instead, which actually turned out to be more of a diner. This suited me fine, because I have a thing for greasy spoon diners and I love spaghetti.  Next to the restaurant was what appeared to be a bar.  Feeling hopeful, I pressed my forehead up against the dark windows to try to look inside.  The bar was closed. The chairs were stacked on the tables. An upright piano stood in the corner, covered in a clear plastic tarp.  An old man sat by himself, watching the flat screen TV.  It was like a metaphor for something.

Unnamed Town used to be a booming town when they built the mill. It did block the entire town's waterfront view, but that was okay, because it brought in a lot of jobs. Until it closed. Then they were the town with no waterfront, and also no mill. The railway no longer stopped there, and the power plant was de-commissioned. The biggest employer in town now is the local nursing home. That's got to be a metaphor for something.

Where the mill used to be / where the waterfront used to be

Nowadays, downtown is empty. I don't mean in the sense that there aren't a lot of people outside, because to be fair, Ottawa's Sparks Street is also completely deserted after 5PM on weekdays.  This is a different kind of empty, where all the stores are abandoned and shut down, and it seems like every other house is for sale. This is what it feels like, I realized, to be in a dying town.

About twenty kilometres away there is a larger, wealthier, better off town with parks, stores, a pretty waterfront and what seems to be touristy attractions. It kind of reminds me of the Eagleton/Pawnee rivalry that happens in the TV show Parks and Recreation.

 

But you know what really touched me was the fact that someone out there was still trying. Maybe a spunky Leslie Knope, working hard to save her town. The lamp posts downtown advertised "Film Night Tuesday" or "Jazz Night Wednesday" without any detail as to where you can catch the jazz or the movies, sure, but it at least made you feel like the action was happening sometimes, if only you hadn't shown up on a Thursday.

And when I posted a photo of the town up on my Twitter account, someone from city council welcomed me and thanked me for visiting. On Twitter.  There's something to be said about a town that uses Twitter. There's still some life in it yet.

the busiest spot in town

Edmundston
I feel like everything here is bilingual in that half the things are in English and the other half is in French and nothing is actually translated.

Also, they serve Acadian-themed donuts at the Tim Horton's.

Shediac

I actually really liked Shediac a lot. Probably because we went to Parlee Beach, the beach that everybody from New Brunswick sings praises about, and I like beaches.

It was a beautiful beach.  However, I liked it better in Quebec where I couldn't understand what everyone around me was chattering on about.

We also went to a French bakery, aptly named Boulangerie Francais.  See? Beaches and French pastries. Two of my favourite things. We couldn't go wrong in Shediac.

my parents, also two of my favourite things. Or I guess people

at the world's end in Gaspé

Tales from my family's cross-country road trip

a Supermoon over Gaspé

Our hotel

We arrived in Gaspé in time for the Festival Musique du bout du monde - the music festival at the end of the world. Gaspeg in Micmac means the land's end, or the end of the world, probably because it's at the end of the Gaspesie peninsula, and there is absolutely nothing beyond that point (except Newfoundland, but who cares).  The festival streets were decorated with al these pretty fish, which I called "fin" du monde fishies...Get it? Fin? Fish? End of the world?

For a town of some 15,000, Gaspé had come alive, and the main street was closed off, filled with crowds enjoying the live music, the delicious Quebec beer, the artisan vendors...

washboard man! talk about washboard abs!

We took in the sights, scarfing down chili nachos garnished with cilantros and hot dogs, which thankfully they advertised as "hot dogs" and not "chien chaud" like they do in Gatineau.

I enjoyed the evening excitement, drinking a Quebec microbrewery beer at the bistro bar Brise-Bise, and then headed to bed...

And tried to sleep.  The festival featured a "party de famille" which I had mistakenly translated as a party for the family but it turned out to clearly not be a family event, as it went on well past midnight. But what really kept us up was what sounded like the world' largest djembe jam session outside my hotel window. You know, what irritated me the most about the 3AM drum jam was that it was hippies keeping me awake. HIPPIES.

Gaspé surprsied me with its night life.

Djembe drum jam. HIPPIES.

Gaspé

In the morning, we visited Forillon National Park, and climbed up Mont St. Albans to its summit, with its magnificant view, where I remembered I was afraid of heights.

the beach at the start of the trail...maybe I should have stayed there?

Hiking up

And up....

view of the ocean between the trees

picnic break, eating sandwiches and vegetables from Mom's garden

gorgeous view from the mountain

View from the summit. Uncomfortably high.

After our long hike, we cooled off at Haldimand beach, where I swam in the Atlantic Ocean. I was slightly warmer than the Arctic ocean.

Mom and Dad

In the late afternoon, I went for a run through the town. I discovered the waterfront boardwalk, which was almost hidden from the road, tucked below the cliffs. I saw a young man perche don a cliff, writing poetry in his notebook. Some girls giggled while they waded into the water in their underwear. It was such a peaceful place.

We ate dinner at the whimsical Cafe des Artistes, decorated with a lot of topless mermaids. I ordered a croque monsieur, because you know, French food, followed by an espresso served with vanilla ice cream, which I find to be the perfect representation of a person pretending to be a grown up, but not really.

The djembe drum circle continued for the second night.

Rocher Percé, the Pierced Rock

Tales from my family's cross-country road trip

On the road, my dad kept going on about how we had to see this pierced rock.  I hadn't heard of the Rocher Percé, which indicates that I clearly do not have enough French Canadian friends, so I was wondering what my dad was talking about and why everyone was so excited about a rock.

It actually turned out to be a pretty big rock.

We pulled into the little town of Percé to see this famous pierced rock, a giant rock formation that rises out of the sea as though the sea gods wanted to mess with sailors and freak them out with a giant rock that looks like a sailing ship.

Although the whole village has developed a tourist industry around this rock - with a tourist wharf, dozens of restaurants, auberges and camping spots, and really, one of the loveliest towns we've visited - but the area around the legendary pierced rock itself seemed somewhat unprepared for tourists.  A flight of stairs leads you down the cliff towards the beach but stops abruptly, leaving you to scramble down the rest of the cliff's boulders on your own.

Then you make your way across the rocky beach, careful not to sprain an ankle on the rocks (with your flip flops, if you are me), because God knows they won't be able to carry a stretcher up those stairs. 

I mean, I assume these stairs went somewhere at some point, right?

these stairs: out of order. Please take the elevator instead. 

It's actually a fun adventure, but the seaweed and the dead crabs on the floor remind you that the tide is out, and will come back in and pin you up against the bluffs. Sometimes people don't realize that and walk across the sand bars at low tide to walk right up to the Rock...only to be stranded when the tide comes back in. If I lived in the village, I would start up a water taxi business, ferrying back tourists too stupid to read the tides. Or I'd build a boardwalk and charge a toll.

Obligatory pierced rock selfie

We had a lovely sandwich picnic on the other side of the cliffs overlooking the rocks, and then continued driving along the coat past many beaches and other picturesque towns. I love Quebec.