Somewhat cloudy today so we took it easy. After breakfast we headed to Carter Beach. It has to be one of the most beautiful beaches I’ve seen. White sand, dunes, a salt marsh.
It’s home to several nesting Piping Plovers. Maybe it’s the saga of Monty and Rose of Montrose Beach that thrilled me when one just appeared hopping along the beach.
The little bird put on a show scampering around the waves.
Major naps this afternoon and Prince Edward Island mussels for dinner, oysters for Wayne. Also, Here’s the decoder to Nova Scotia weather.
Our current lodging is across the street from Summerville Beach Provincial Park, home to many a Piping Plover. It’s especially beautiful at sunset. As the sun lowers in the west the angle of the light amps up the beauty and creates very long shadows. We took a stroll to celebrate the beautiful day and crystalline horizon.
As always, click to enlarge
Someone spent time etching in the sand.
And with typical precision, Wayne left footprints.
We took a day trip to the town of Lunenburg. Founded in 1753, the town was one of the first British attempts to settle Protestants in Nova Scotia. In 1995, UNESCO designated it as a world heritage site. While touristy, the town hasn’t lost charm. It’s filled with original brightly colored structures, many of which were the original homes for early settlers eager to profit off the port and sea.
St. John’s Church was built during the French and Indian War, using the wood salvaged from an older disassembled church building. When King’s Chapel in Boston, Massachusetts, was expanded, its new stone structure was built around its original wooden church, which continued to be used. Then, when that new stone building was completed in 1754, King’s Chapel’s old wooden frame was disassembled from inside, removed through the new building’s windows, and shipped to Lunenburg.[3] Early on 1 November 2001, St. John’s church suffered significant damage by fire. It was restored and re-dedicated June 12, 2005. (Thank you, Wikipedia) As you can see, they are still tending to it with care.
Lunenburg is still an operating port town with many buildings occupied by the marine trades.
Why are flowers are so beautiful in coastal climates?
On a cautionary note, if you happen to be in Lunenburg, avoid the Dockside restaurant at all costs. You order a whole lobster, ask that it be served “whole” and you get dismembered limbs on a plate. See you tomorrow.
First, last night before hitting the hay early we managed to catch the Reversing Falls of Saint John. The Saint John river flows into the Bay of Fundy whose tidal range is about 16 metres (52 ft). The average tidal range worldwide is about one metre (3 ft 3 in). In one 12-hour tidal cycle, about 100 billion tonnes of water flows in and out of the bay, which is twice as much as the combined total flow of all the rivers of the world over the same period. All that water heads into the Saint John river which at low tide has a waterfall cascading into the bay. At high tide so much water goes in the falls literally “reverse”. It’s the kind of thing a tourist does and then says to themselves, “So, we saw that.” Here’s a short video so you get the “drift”.
As always, click to enlarge
Before going home for an early night we headed to Steamer’s Lobster for dinner. Lobster number one for me, two servings of oysters for Wayne.
Now, on to the ferries. Traveling through the maritimes inevitability requires boarding ferries. In the last two days we have taken three, one from Campobello Island to Deer Island, one from Deer Island to L’Etete, New Brunswick, and today the ferry from Saint John to Digby, Nova Scotia. First thing you see on the Campobello ferry is, well nothing. Just a ramp going into the water. That’s Eastport, ME across the bay.
The ferry arrives, two cars disembark and we board.
The next ferry was a little larger and since there is no bridge access to the mainland it is run by the Canadian government so there was no charge. Maneuvering through the maritimes must be very tricky, lots of turns and twists, sharing of the shipping lanes (ferries do go both directions) and always close to shore.
The ferry to Digby is a different story, eight decks, two of which hold vehicles, and a strict boarding protocol which requires you check in an hour and fifteen minutes before departure which for us was 6:45 AM. Up at 4:30 AM for boarding at dawn.
The ferry backs out, turns around and heads across the Bay of Fundy.
Two hours later, like Brigadoon (I had to), Nova Scotia appears out of the fog.
After an uneventful flight from Chicago we landed well ahead of schedule in Bangor, ME, where we picked up our transportation for the next two weeks. After a stop to pick up some groceries, we headed to Lubec, ME, for the border crossing. It was very uneventful, smooth, and the border guard was our first taste of Canadian politeness. Time was slipping away and little did we know that only one restaurant remained open on the island and by the time we got to our little cottage even that was closed. There was Nikki’s Convenience store a stone’s throw away so we trotted off and found only frozen pizzas as an option with no way to cook them. They suggested we trot quickly to the Village Market which had some pre-made sandwiches and homemade taco soup. We got back just in time for sunset and had our repast at the picnic table just outside our door.
As always, click to enlarge photos.
Morning greeted us with clear, blue skies and plenty of sunshine. The tide was at low (more about the tides in later posts) and the detritus left behind gave the gulls a hearty shrimp breakfast. The first agenda item, and the reason for stopping off at the island was to visit the Roosevelt Campobello International Park. It was absolutely fascinating and we had the place almost all to ourselves. Two wonderful, knowledgable guides took us through and had answers for any and all questions. Two first ladies declared the park open, their respective spouses laid the cornerstone, and the Queen Mum declared the visitor center building open for business.
The park was lovely and well maintained with loads of flower beds. Only the Roosevelt cottage was open but others were available for window peeping.
Roosevelt Cottage
We then headed off to see the two lighthouses on the island. The first, Mullholland Lighthouse is on the south tip of the island and if you go down the stairs, it’s just a short side stroke away from Lubec, ME. It appears the border wall has yet to reach Lubec. . .
The second was the more famous of the two, Head Harbour Lightstation. It is only reachable during low tide, and for good reason. The tide can rise 5 feet in only an hour. We were there at close to high tide.
We topped off our first full day sitting in the sun in attempted whale watching. I did happen to catch a few dolphins doing their thing heading out to sea with the tide.
Sorry for the short post, but I was backed up due to miserable wifi. The theme tomorrow is “Ferries”.
Prepping Sole, Gâteau Breton with Apricot Filling and Salmon Baked in Rock salt
We’ve been in a WiFi black hole the past three days so no posts but I was having a great time in the kitchen. Sylvain, our incredible chef, has made this trip remarkable. I’ll do a full post on the food later but for now, here’s this.
Prepare your sole
A little long, but you can see each step of Silvain’s Salmon in a Crust of Rock Salt.
We lazed around the boat in the morning and after a lunch of oysters and seafood our cruise got underway. I opted for getting off at the first lock and biking along the canal giving me a different view than staying on the barge. The food has been incredible and I’ll do a full post at the end of the week.
The process of passing through a lock is one of repetition, pull up, sometimes wait for some traffic, the first door opens after the level in the lock falls, pull into the lock, doors close behind, the sluice doors open filling the now occupied lock from the base of the forward doors, once the water is raised the doors open and on you go. Repeated over and over and over. Here is a series of still and video of process.
Sometimes you catch a passenger through the door.
It’s always a tight fit.
Always a lock house.
The Sluice Gates OpeningSometimes it gets a little crowded
Accidents could happen when one doesn’t keep their eye on the path.
After breakfast we set off west towards Toulouse. And we joined the main artery of the Canal du Midi. In the process we crossed two rivers, the first the Cesse, then disembarked and walked alongside the canal, and then reboarded and traversed Repudre Aqueduct, the oldest navigable aqueduct in the world, built in 1676. In some of these shots the view seems from a bridge but in fact is from the aqueduct and we are cruising on the barge. Fred guided the barge through one of the tightest bridges on the canal with nary a scrape.
At each lock sits a lock house. They are a simple duplex. The plaque on each house shows the distance to the next lock in either direction. In France, lock keepers were generally women. Shortly after World War I, war widows were offered jobs as lock keepers which provided housing. Many of the women fostered war orphans so the houses were often filled with children. Now it seems cats have taken over.
Walking the foot path (originally used for horse drawn tows) is a wonderful perspective, weaving through some very local sites.
The stretch of canal that we walked today was barren of the famous Plane tree. The canal was lined with them in the1800’s but since 2006 many succumbed to a fungus and had to be felled. Restoration is on-going with a new type of Sycamore tree called the Platanor. A vaccine has been developed and test trees are identified with a tag. The Pyrenees complete the backdrop.
While the trees might be seedlings the wildflowers were flourishing. Yellow Iris line the canal along with the occasional field of poppies. The vineyards seem infinite.
After lunch we toured an olive processing commune. Nothing much was happening since the trees are just flowering and harvest doesn’t begin until fall. Then we were off to the city of Minerve which has just achieved designation as a Les Plus Beaux Villages de France. Minerve is a small, compact town perched on top of the gorge of the river Cesse. With only one bridge of entry is was easily defensible and survived six weeks of a siege only to have the attackers cut off their water supply from a well near the river below. There a few streets, mostly just cobblestone paths lined with homes that still burn fire for heat. Oh, and the occasional cat.
Steps 13,767 to 13, 777 were boarding the barge to enjoy the evening light before dinner.
A single moment can tell an entire story if you are willing to let it.
An airplane, a long walk, two hotels and a train ride
We started out Thursday evening with an uneventful flight from Chicago to Paris. Landing early Friday morning we hopped on a bus to Gare de Lyon, our hotel was within walking distance from the station. After three miles hauling luggage over cobblestone we had sufficiently worn our feet to nubs and our muscles ached. A light drizzle started at dinner and turned into a sort of deluge throughout the night and into Saturday morning giving Paris an overcast. Perhaps a leftover mood from the tragedy of Notre Dame.
Click on images to enlarge. A note; since last posting the site has been upgraded so forgive me while I try out new features.
The view from our window
A quick taxi to Gare de Lyon to board our train for Narbonne.
Our train pulled out on time and we were soon on a winged bullet flying through the countryside. Capturing views from the window of a high speed train is nigh impossible but I gave it a try.
The rolling hills quickly transformed to seaside views.
Nothing better than entering your room
and seeing french doors and a fireplace.
We selected Narbonne as the meeting point for our group of seven to start our barge trip through the Canal du Midi. We anticipated a simple sleep over and nothings special. What a surprise! Who knew we landed upon such a charming town.
We met a new friend while walking along the canal. If you ever met our dear Isadore the smile and personality will seem familiar.
In the city center is Narbonne Cathedral. Normally we just pop into a cathedral for a quick tour but the history of this church dates back to 331, the gargoyles staring at you from every crook and bend dared us to go inside.
We just happened to be touring the interior while a choir was rehearsing for their concert that night.
The vaulting was extremely high and seemed out of proportion but made sense when you understand that only the “choir” section of the church was built. The rest of the cathedral was left unfinished due to poor planning requiring the demolition of the city wall abutting the site.
Later in the evening we strolled out for dinner.
A bit of street theatreThe first bowl of Moules Mariniere
Farewell Ireland. It seems fitting that we visited a 5,000 year old megalithic passage grave on our last full day.
We started with a nice view from the breakfast table.
Then got on the road still plagued by downed power lines.
Negrange, orBrú na Bóinnein Gaelic, is older than the pyramids. Wayne reminisced about public school textbooks hailing Egypt as the cradle of civilization while being mum on what lies here in Ireland. Pictures were not allowed inside the tomb so you’ll have to settle for the grounds, peaceful and quiet, settled in place, set in rolling hills with cows and sheep grazing around ancient sites.
The mass dwarfs a pack of humans.
Many of the stones have intricate carvings.
The astronomical alignment is perfect. On the winter solstice, a shaft of light pierces the “roof” window, which is set above the entrance and is the same height as the horizon beyond, lighting the passage all the way to the tomb, which itself is at the same height of the window and horizon. They have a lottery for 20 tickets each of the two days before and after the solstice and every year 36,000 people buy a chance to witness the event.
The entrance.
A close up of the window.
Tomorrow, up at the crack of dawn, finish the final packing and then head home. We have had a wonderful time. Thank you for coming along for the ride.
Innocent tourists that we are, we didn’t look at the weather report this morning, but outside our hotel the wind was blowing and the rain coming in sideways. Unbeknownst to us, Storm Ali was bashing Ireland. And it was a whopper forcing the cancellation of the second day of the National Ploughing Championships (I know, how will you go on?). The front desk warned during check out, handing us a map to get out of the city and telling us power lines were down on the M1 so alternate routes had to be taken.
FREQUENT alternate routes. Seems every road we drove down ended up blocked.
Even the occasional power line down.
With the help of google maps we criss-crossed our way from Belfast to Kingscourt.
Debris everywhere.
Even the trucks were going down single lane country roads in search of a thru passage.
A vacated church in the middle of nowhere.
We finally made it to our lodging for the night.
And now we’re all tucked in our little cottage nursing colds.
Shout out to google maps. Although I would suggest an alternative to “continue straight”, which we heard over and over and over. Might I suggest “continue gayly forward”?
We tinkered with our route this morning and had some extra time which we used to travel the coastal route paying the dividend of more stunning beauty. As promised, no more pics of landscape.
We entered Belfast and were immediately aware of its unique identity. It’s a more urban feel with abundant graffiti, a little grit on the streets and a plethora of Thai restaurants (I think we are about to see Thai food hailed as the first global cuisine, it is ubiquitous). Belfast has a little over 300,000 citizens, so a smallish city. It’s been occupied since the Bronze Age and Queen Vickie gave it city status in 1888. We’ll be tourist spies tomorrow on a “Troubles” walking tour but Belfast is now known as one of the safest cities in the UK. We are staying just blocks from Queen’s University and the neighborhood is young, diverse, full of street life and vintage shops.
This statue sized drinking fountain is affectionately inscribed with the phrase, “Whoever drinketh here will surely thirst again.” Nice to know.
But now for the win of the day. Wayne has been in search of a replacement for his threadbare 35-year-old tweed jacket. He didn’t want something new or different – more of a reproduction. We searched in Dublin, made a special stop in Donegal to ferret something out (see current label below) all to no avail.
We did locate the closest Donegal tweed fabric in Dublin at Kevin and Howlin where they said they couldn’t make the jacket but did cut a swatch of the fabric and filed it with his name on it in hopes that a tailor in Chicago could do the construction. Belfast was our last hope. So we set out with a list of tweed stores proffered by google.
The first was a bespoke shop, North Clothing, Gentlemen’s Outfitters. The proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Inside, the proprietor, Michael Donnelly, a tailor in his own right was about to get a sale. He got on the phone, talked to the store in Dublin, measured Wayne up, and we’re dropping off the old jacket for him to copy before we leave on Wednesday. So he’ll end up with Donegal tweed from Dublin made into a new jacket in Belfast. Couldn’t get more Irish than than that.
Michael letting Wayne know he is a tailor, not a miracle worker.
On the phone with Dublin getting the fabric sent.
Time to measure.
I’ll leave you with a quote from Mr. Donnelly, “The grief I give you is extra.”
We booked a formal tour of Trinity College Library and the Book of Kells this morning. We were the first group let in when the library opened so had optimum viewing of the vellum created circa 800 AD. Of course, no pictures allowed of the scripture books but we were free to take as many snaps as we wanted without a flash in the Long Room. Imagine walking up a set of stairs, you turn, the smell of old books starts to permeate the air, your eyes see this, and you hear a fellow tourist state, “Well this looks like somethin’ out of a Harry Potter movie.”
After a walking tour of Dublin Castle, we sat down for lunch at Chez Max, a cozy little bistro.
Then back to see the State Apartments at the castle and a closer inspection of the grounds.
Tomorrow we pick up a car and start our drive around the coast. Driver and navigator are meditating for peace before we attempt to conquer the wrong side of the road.
I found my pot of gold on St. Anne Street at Sheridan Cheesemongers. Having a partner who likes to putter in the hotel room gives me the chance to explore local foodstuffs. This place is heaven.
Walk in the front door and you are in an ambrosial room of cheese.
My eyes dilated at the selection of meats and cheeses.
I went right for the raw milk.
Came home with a small round of the Drumlin and a wedge of Derg Raw Milk cheddar.
I’ll make another stop Monday before we depart Dublin and not to worry, they have locations in Meath, Galway, and Wexford.
