My reason is as follows: it will be my last post of my Girl Meets Canada series. Because my road trip is over.

It’s been over for a while now. Almost two weeks, as it were. I just don’t want to admit that. Out loud. To the internets. But, internets, it’s time you knew the truth.

I’ve hung up my keys.

The van is parked.

Trip. Over.

There, I said it. That doesn’t feel so bad.

Day 121 (Tues, September 7th)

I sat at Dr. Iguana’s kitchen table, writing postcards to everyone who helped me along the way. All the family members, all of the friends, all the friends of friends, all the random strangers. Everyone who fed me, sheltered me (I was going to say “bedded me” but that just sounds dirty), entertained me, supported me. It took a long time. I got a pretty bad wrist cramp.

And then there are all the folks I ran into, shared a beer with, or helped me out whose addresses — and in some cases, names — I never got.

I sat at that table, staring at the stack of postcards, feeling so incredibly blessed. I have been insanely lucky to have had the opportunity to meet and be cared for by all of these generous, giving, loving people. This trip, these last four months, would not have been the same without their love and support and kindness. And I don’t have a clue how to thank them properly. Any ideas?

I finally left Dr. Iguana and his furry side kick, Her Orangeness, and headed to Argentia to take the 16 hour ferry back to Cape Breton. Two and a half weeks in Newfoundland isn’t nearly enough time. But I guess I’ll have to go back. Often.

My trip ended pretty much as it started — with stuff falling off (or out of) my van as I drove obliviously onward. I survived the ferry and on Day 122 (Wed, September 8th) I drove back to Halifax, leaking coolant the whole way. I didn’t realize until I pulled into my friend’s parking spot, got out of the car, and noticed a small lake forming by my rear tires.

Is anyone getting sick of reading about my van leaking fluids? Because I sure am getting sick of writing about it.

Over the passed few weeks a lot of people have asked me, now that you’re trip’s over, what have you learned? What was it all about?

My initial reply to this was nothing. North America harbours a belief in the sacredness of THE ROAD TRIP. It’s this epic, almost holy event that people look at with awe and reverence. People seem to think that if you embark on one you will be given a new spiritual path, or shown the secrets of existence, or other such nonsense.

As a road trip addict, I can tell you that all that is a lot of hooey. Driving is fun and you get to see new things and meet neat people and have lots of time to think. But it’s just a distraction, like most things in life. At that end of the day (or week or month or year) you are still the exact same person with the same problems, and driving hasn’t solved any of it.

But, this time I think I actually have — not learned something, but  I’ve figured something out. See, I was planning on moving away from Victoria. I was sort of using this trip as a scouting mission, to see where I’d like to like. I was expecting/hoping that somewhere would jump up and scream HERE! YOU NEED TO BE HERE! NOW!

And a lot of places that I visited were fantastic. As I was there I would think yeah, I could live here. I feel good here. Small places. Big places. West coast places. Prairie places. Strange, new, wonderful places. Houston, BC. Calgary, AB. North Battleford, Sk. Winnipeg, MB. Ottawa, ON. Val Morin, QC. Wolfville, NS. St. John’s, NL. To name a few.

It’s just in the last few weeks, looking back on all of these places that I explored and enjoyed, have I realized the real reason why I felt like they could be home.

It wasn’t the places. It was the people.

It seems so freaking obvious. But I’ve always assumed I liked a place, or didn’t like a place, because of the place itself.

Place. I’ve typed that word so many times in the last few sentences that it’s lost all meaning.

Any-who, I have finally figured out — after years upon YEARS of traveling — that the place doesn’t matter so much. If you’ve got the right people, anywhere is fantastic. And yes, a big part of people is other beings. But another big part of people is me. Who I am and how I feel and how I treat those others that I claim to care so much about. I’ve realized that I don’t need to keep driving and driving and DRIVING to be happy. I probably need to figure out how to stay still. And I should pay more attention to the people in my life because they are so worth the time and effort.

This is getting mushy. I didn’t mean it to be. If you’re new to my blog, welcome! And, no, I don’t normally get all touchy-feely.

So, that’s it. Quietly, in a small parking lot, my trip came to an end. I hadn’t arrived at my next stop. I had arrived home.

That’s right, internets. Halifax will be my home. For the next ten months anyway. I have decided to stay put for a while, and will be taking a yoga teacher training course. It’s part of that previously mentioned “learning to stay still” thing. So you can look forward to months of zany a-funny-thing-happened-on-the-way-to-yoga stories.

LUCKY YOU!

Photo Credits

All photos by Sarah Gignac

First night camping back in May.

Typical Van Meal

Near Moose Jaw.

Sunset in the rearview.

Sivinanda Ashram, Quebec

PEI Sunset

This article was first published on Raggedy Threads in September 2010.

The ongoing story of a girl and her van on an epic journey across Canada.

Day 114 (Tuesday August 31st)

Since I left Halifax 23 days ago, I haven’t spent much time with other people. It’s mostly been short exchanges at grocery stores and gas stations, and most topics of conversation have revolved around requests for me to sign little pieces of paper, and me complying.

Let’s backtrack even further. Since I left Victoria 114 days ago, any time anyone has asked me where I’m going I’ve vaguely said St. John’s, Newfoundland. It was easier than saying I really don’t know, I’m just sort of driving aimlessly with the hopes that something will jump up and hit me over the head screaming THIS IS YOUR NEW LIFE because I really don’t know what I want to do or where I want to do it and a road trip seemed like a good way to avoid decisions for a while, you know?

So I’d say St. John’s and people would say cool!, and I’d think yeah, I know, and then go about my business.

And then, 114 days later, something happened that I had never really considered. I actually arrived in St. John’s. There I was, in St. John’s. My destination. And it was the middle of the day, and sunny, and there were lots of people around, and the roads are really steep and didn’t make much sense as to where they led and I didn’t know anyone and OHGODWHATAMIDOINGHERE???

So I left the downtown area and decided to take shelter in the part of Canada I have come to know intimately. The big box shopping streets. Every single town in Canada has this. It’s wonderful. You can drive for hundreds and hundreds and yes, even thousands of kilometres and drive into a place you’ve never been in a province you can’t even spell and it’ll feel like you’re driving home. It’s all Walmarts and Costcos and gas and fastfood and Home Depots and parking lots and car dealerships and garden centres. It’s the part of any town where I can handle all of the people because it is so totally anonymous. I understand these parts of town. I can function in them. I can find what I need and slip in and out without being noticed and without feeling guilty for not appreciating my surroundings.

I decided to ignore St. John’s and do laundry instead (and no, I didn’t launder my sunglasses or wallet this time). While my clothes spun and tumbled I sat out in my van eating Vienna sausages and cheese slices while checking my email on a very weak wi-fi connection.

Yeah, so, I had a bit of a freak out.

In my defence, I’d just spent three weeks in a cabin on the coast of Nova Scotia, then on the beaches of PEI, and finally in the wonderfully underpopulated west coast of Newfoundland and Gros Mourne park. All this civilization would have overwhelmed anyone. Right?

I was starting to do travel math (how long do I need to spend in this place before I can leave without looking like a total loser for bailing too early) when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Terry.

Terry is a friend of a friend. One of those Oh, you’ll be in that place and I know someone there so you should look them up!things. My luck with these sorts of introductions have been 50/50. I’ve met some fantastic people this way. I’ve also had some very awkward phone conversations and cups of coffee.

So Terry was texting me to say he was heading out of town the next morning for a few weeks and was really busy that night, but if I could come over right away he could squeeze me in for a beer. I almost said no. I was perfectly happy lying in my van feeling sorry for myself and waiting for it to get dark. Making small talk with a stranger sounded like hell.

Fortunately, the whiny, self pitying part of my brain — while always present — is rarely in charge. I headed back into town and this time, with a local guide, it was much better. I actually managed to sit in a bar and drink my Guinness without cracking up. Go me!

Terry had this absolutely wonderful quality that endeared me to him for life. He actually felt bad that he was leaving town while I was entering it. Seriously! Me, a total stranger who just waltzed in and was all I know Andrea and so do you. He seemed to feel the need to provide shelter and entertainment. Sucker!

So he brought me over to his friend, Dr. Iguana*. I can see how maybe Terry would feel like he should look after his friend’s friend. Dr. Iguana, however, had absolutely no reason to be nice to me. But he took me in, gave me his couch, a place to park, and became my own personal tour guide and chef.

Day 115-120 (Wed Sept 1st-Mon Sept 6th)

Dr. Iguana and I have gone to Cape Spear, the most eastern point of North America, with tons of scary cliffs and angry waves. We spent a day driving down to St. Mary’s bird sanctuary, which is basically a massive cliff face where thousands and thousands of birds hang out and mate. We walked around Branch and enjoyed their list of 21 reasons why moving there is a good idea (they hope to increase the population to 500 over the next 15 years). We went down to Ye Olde Inn in Quidi Vidi village and drank beer at the smallest, kitchiest bar I have ever seen (the decor was primarily licence plates, hockey sticks, baby shoes, and seal clubbing tools). We’ve traipsed through the museum and art gallery. Along with Alien Boy** we drove around Bell Island looking for abandoned mines and drinking beer with local hooligans.

We’ve eaten cod tongues and moose, and we’ve looked — unsuccessfully — for flipper pie.

And my temporary insanity seems to have disappeared. I have not felt the need to run away and hide in a massive parking lot, and I haven’t even been tempted to buy a can of Vienna sausages. I’m cured!

* Not his real name. He requested this alias specifically. Swear!

** Another self selected alias.

Photo Credits

All photos by Sarah Gignac

Cape Spear

St. John’s Street

St. John’s Harbour

Reasons to move to Branch, NL.

St Mary’s Bird Sanctuary (you’re looking at 50,000 Northern Gannets).

Dr. Iguana & Alien Boy

This article was first published on Raggedy Threads in September 2010.

The ongoing story of a girl and her van on an epic journey across Canada.

Day 97 (Sat, August 14th)

I drove North from Charlottetown to Cavendish, an absolutely horrid part of PEI that is just swarming with Anne of Green Gables attractions and Anne-crazy tourists. I kept driving.

Fortunately the west and east bits of PEI aren’t nearly as popular. I spent four days driving slowly along the charming country roads, enjoying the farms and cottages and small harbours lined smartly with fishing boats. Long red beaches with water so warm it feels like pee (to quote my cousin’s boyfriend and host of my Ottawa accommodations, in describing his idea of the perfect swimming temperature) were everywhere. I camped, swam, read, and walked. A lot.

Day 100 (Tues, August 17th)

Let’s take a moment to reflect on this, shall we? I’ve spent 100 days on the road. 100 days of sleeping in my van or in the warm beds of friends and family, and in some cases, strangers. 100 days of summer road tripy goodness. I believe there is only really one thing to say.

WOOT!

Day 102 (Thurs, August 19th)

Pay attention and see if you can count how many stupid/annoying things happened today.

I took the 6:30 am ferry off of PEI. It takes about 75 minutes. On board I had some coffee and ate breakfast, then went to the upper deck and lay down on a bench in the sun. When the ferry made the announcement to return to vehicles I was surprised to see that we were already in dock. I walked directly down to my van to find that not only was the ferry in the process of unloading, but they were unloading my lane, and all the cars behind me were making a wide semi-circle around my abandoned looking vehicle. I waltzed up, got in, and was the last car to drive off.

Now, I didn’t think I’d fallen asleep on my bench, but I either slept through their initial docking announcement, or they sent it out through ESP. Either way….Oops!

I drive off the ferry with the intention of heading to Cape Breton, and immediately end up driving back towards New Brunswick, although it takes me about 20km to notice it.

I stop in Antigonish to do some laundry.  The laundromat doesn’t have a change machine, so I go to several businesses in search of quarters. Back at the washing machine I load in my clothes, and as I turn to leave I can’t find my sunglasses. Are they…yep! Oscillating away with my dirty shirts and underwear.

Over to a coffee shop to check my email. The internet stops working seconds after I sign on. I go to pay for my coffee and hey! Where’s my wallet?

Balls.

Back to the van. Not there. I figure it’s being laundered, just like my sunglasses would have been if I hadn’t rescued them.

Back to the laundromat, and panic finally sets in when the wallet is not in the washer. I backtrack to all the businesses I tried to bum quarters off of. No luck. But I swear I had it when I left my van. I took everything out of my one bag and put it all in my other bag, and my wallet was there — unless it didn’t make the transfer and is still in that first bag.

Yep, there it is, patiently waiting for me.

I call ICBC to ask about renewing my car insurance, which expires in a few weeks. Before I left on my trip they told me I could easily do this over the phone.

Well, the woman I spoke with had a different opinion. She thought I was very irresponsible for having the gall, THE GALL, to be out of province when my insurance expired. AGAIN! (Yes, when I extended my trip in Ecuador last summer I was in the same position and had to do it over the phone. GASP!) I had to listen through a lecture on responsibility and then pretty much had to beg for her to answer a few simple questions.

In the afternoon I arrived in Sydney, Nova Scotia. I put on my running shoes to go for a walk (I’d been wearing sandals for a few days straight) and immediately started limping. What the? A foot inspection found three separate blisters that had formed into one mega blister pretty much covering the entire surface area of my baby toe. I immediately called both my sisters and my mom to whinge.

PS: Thank you mom, Angie and Melissa for humouring me. Especially Melissa, because she made sympathetic noises while at work. If I’d had to listen to me whine about getting blisters from walking on sandy beaches too much, while sitting at my office desk, I’d have hung up on me.

Photo Credits

All photos by Sarah Gignac

PEI Village

Camping at Sunset

PEI Beach

View from PEI Ferry

This article was first published on Raggedy Threads in August 2010.

The ongoing story of a girl and her van on an epic journey across Canada.

Day 111 (Saturday, Aug 28th)

I put way too much faith in maps. Not so much in their ability to tell me where things are in relation to other things (I have faith in their ability to do that for sure, but I wouldn’t call it “too much” faith. I think it’s the right amount of faith). No, I seem to assume that the merits of a destination are somehow reflected on the map. For example, sometimes it’s hard to tell what location the name of a town is referring to, and I’ll think that must mean the town is either hard to get to or not worth visiting. Or if the name is in a bigger font than other names it either is a larger town (which means it will obviously contain whatever amenity I’m currently looking for) or it has something superior about it that I need to check out.

This is how I found myself disappointed in Grand Falls-Windsor. It has such a royal name — two names, actually, and “Grand” is right in there, telling you the place is, well, grand. Plus the font was significantly larger than surrounding towns.

No, Grand Falls-Windsor was a big strip mall with bad roads. But wait! Gander is only an hour a way. And if you squint and look at the map sideways it really does look like the font is bigger still. My TomTom told me there was a movie theatre in town (the amenity I was currently interested in). Plus, I’ve heard of Gander. And it has punny potential. Let’s take a gander at Gander! Weee!

Turned out that Gander was smaller and less impressive than Grand Falls-Windsor, with a theatre that shut down in the 90s. Thanks, Tom! Though the roads weren’t as bad. I spent a surprising amount of time driving around trying to find a place to eat that wasn’t a) fast food and b) closed permanently. I finally found a pub in a hotel and when I asked what local beers they had the answer was Canadian. After a pasty bowl of clam chowder I retreated to my van and spent the night in the Walmart parking lot.

Day 112 (Sunday, Aug 29th)

Considering how well the previous day of choosing locations off a map had gone for me, I decided to do it again. See, there was this area close by that had two reasons to visit. One, it had a fun name — Twillingate. And two, that section of the map had been blown up into more detail. Why would a map do that, unless the place was fun and exciting and worth checking out?

So off to Twillingate I tootled, and was happy to discover that this time my map had not lead me astray. Twillingate is a few islands all connected by causeways. From the look of it, it gets just enough tourism money to keep it looking nice and tidy, but not enough to become an obnoxious tourist trap. It’s a quiet place full of windy roads, cute coastal communities, and lots of walking trails. I walked around the cliffs by the lighthouse, did the Top of Twillingate hike (with panoramic views of the islands) and ate a moose sandwich for lunch (tasted sadly like something from Subway).

In the afternoon I found a lovely campground on the water with the wonderful name of Dildo Run. Seriously, Newfoundland, you’ve named a few things Dildo. What do you think it means?

Photo Credits

All photos by Sarah Gignac

Twillingate Lighthouse View

Twillingate Coast

Dildo Run Campground

This article was first published on Raggedy Threads in September 2010.

The ongoing story of a girl and her van on an epic journey across Canada.

Allow me to open with two stories that I believe are relevant to what happened last Friday.

Story #1

My dad bought a house on one of the gulf islands a few years ago. The island is lovely and his property is a darn fine piece of land. But the house, well, let’s just say that it was built around 30 years ago by a butcher whose priority was obviously not the longevity of the structure. Nothing against butchers. They just ain’t carpenters. I wouldn’t trust a carpenter to turn a cow carcass into delicious steaks, and I now know not to trust a butcher to build a house.

I went with dad to view the house shortly after he bought it. It was his first time sleeping surrounded by those walls. Those thin, uninsulated, mouse-filled walls.

We lay camped out on the kitchen floor listening to the scritching and scratching of tiny little feet on plywood, running up and down and all around, dad trying to pretend that he hadn’t just bought his own private petting zoo. For months and months after that, any noise in the night would jolt him awake screaming, Damn you, mousie! Okay, maybe he didn’t scream. But to this day phone calls usually include an update of how many mice were caught in his various rodent-killing schemes.

Story #2

I never think to buy, or apply, bug spray. I was talking to my sister Angie a few months ago, after I’d been nearly eaten to death by mosquitoes in Manitoba, and she said, Yeah, when the bugs are that bad bug spray doesn’t help at all, and I slapped my forehead and thought bug spray! Of course! Why don’t I have any of that? And then promptly didn’t buy any.

Weeks later when I was leaving the States I popped into a department store to spend up some of my US cash on sundry items. A new tooth brush, shampoo, deodorizers for my van…and I walked by a massive bug spray display. A few aisles later I clued into what I’d seen and walked back to grab some.

I came across it crammed in the back of a cupboard about a week ago, vaguely remembered buying it, and strongly remembered all the times since I could have used it. So I placed it in a spot of honor in one of my cup holders.

Day 110 (Friday, Aug 27)

2 am

I was sleeping soundly in my bed in Pistolet Bay National Park. It’s way up at the top of Newfoundland’s Northern peninsula. For the first time since I got to Newfoundland, it was cold and damp and rainy. I was snug and warm, and not happy to be woken up.

By scratching.

That’s got to be outside. Right?

I lay in bed trying to ignore the obvious sound of something trying to get into a chip back in my food cupboard. For those unfamiliar with my van, this cupboard is directly behind the driver seat —  an important visual for later.

I got up, instantly freezing cold, and tried to arm myself. Flashlight for seeing, pot for catching, and if that failed, one litre container of engine oil for bashing. I opened the cupboard and! Nothing? Hmm…I sat still for a while and heard nothing. So I turned off the light and went back to bed.

Scratching.

But this time it didn’t sound like it’s in the cupboard. I beamed my flashlight at the driver seat and caught a glimpse of a little brown mouse hanging out on my foot mat. It quickly disappeared, but I couldn’t see where.

It’s possible to climb from the back of the van to the front seat, but not with any sort of grace or style, and certainly not sneakily enough to surprise a mouse. So, grumbling, I exited the van, walked around to the front, and threw the driver door open.

Nothing.

I poked around. There’s a piece of loose carpet that covers some fuses and wires. Is it hiding in there? No. Did it run up into the back and is now cuddled in my bed? Probably. I closed the door and got startled by that damn mouse running along my bumper. How the heck did it get there? Who cares? It’s out! I went back to bed.

Scratching…

I opened my food cupboard and there’s that damn mouse, perching in front of a granola bar munching away, giving me a cheeky look like yeah, I’m eating your peanut butter crunch. Whatcha gonna do about it?

Oh I’ll tell you what I’m going to do! I’m going to cry! TAKE THAT SMELLY STUPID FACE!

You know that old joke they do in films and cartoons where someone is being chased and you see them run into one room and then out of another, and then they peer out of a closet and go back in, only to emerge from a cupboard in another room, etc, etc? Well, what happened next was like one of those scenes. The mouse would be in the cupboard, then disappear, only to reappear on my driver seat, then disappear again, then he’d be in the cupboard again, then slipping under my foot mat…and on…and on.

I sat there there watching the magic act and wishing for some little traps and some of my dad’s rat poison. I was considering taking some cheese and maybe lacing it with something. But what? I now realize how silly it is that I don’t travel with poison. It’s going to the top of my next shopping list.

Then my eyes fell upon my bug spray, sitting nonchalantly in the spare cup holder. That damn mouse was currently taking a nibble off my foot mat. I grabbed the bug spray and doused him good. This sent us both scurrying out of the van at top speed: me out the side door and him using that loose carpet to make his get away. Ah, is that how he travels in and out of the cupboard? Is there an underground passage that leads him straight to my food supply? And then outside? If so, I have a stern letter to write to Volkswagen.

Once the toxic cloud had cleared enough so I could breath I ventured back into the van. I emptied all of my canned goods into a box and sprayed the cupboard too. Then I sat very still, listening.

Nothing.

I finally went back to bed. The next few hours were spent ignoring the lingering sent of bug spray wafting through the air and jumping at every little noise. Mouse? No….MOUSE?? No…. Karma for not being terribly sympathetic to my dad’s plight? Perhaps.

In the morning I awoke to a huge mess. Food all over the floor, pots and pans spread out all willy nilly. Gosh, it looks like someone was trying to catch a mouse in the dark!

Photo Credit

Mouse © Dano @ Flickr. Some rights reserved.

This article was first published on Raggedy Threads in August 2010.

The ongoing story of a girl and her van on an epic journey across Canada.

Day 104 (Sat, August 21)

1:30 AM

Why, dear god, WHY did I think that booking myself on to the 5:45am ferry from North Sydney to Port Aux Basques, Newfoundland was a good idea? At the time my thoughts were on the ‘arriving’ bit — getting in at noon seemed smart as I’d have all afternoon to figure myself out. I didn’t give any thought to the whole “departing” bit.

I had to be at the ferry terminal at 4:15am at the latest, but couldn’t arrive until 1:30am at the earliest. Go figure. So I slept in the North Sydney visitor centre parking lot, and had my phone and iPod alarms set for 1:30. I also had my sister and mom on strict instructions to call me at 1:30 (9:30pm their time) as a back-up plan. My thinking was to get to the terminal as soon as I was allowed, and then sleep until boarding.

With four alarms in place I promptly didn’t get any sleep and was awake all by myself come 1:30. Once in the ferry line I lay in bed and listened to the trucks continually powering on and off, and the alarm of the car in front of me singing merrily every few minutes.

Once on board (an hour late boarding, which I later found out is actually quite good for this particular route) I curled up in a chair and somehow managed to doze for a few hours, so I wasn’t a total zombie when I got my first view, ever, of The Rock.

I spent the afternoon driving around the south west roads of Newfoundland, ogling the rugged coastline dotted with rickety vinyl-sided houses perched precariously close to cliff edges, and wondering how anyone can get anything done with this relentless WIND.

Day 105 (Sun, August 22)

I drove out to Lark Harbour, which had a cute campground with the wonderful name of Blow Me Down, several walking trails, and a little restaurant called Captain Cook’s Eatery or something similar. I sat down at one of the nine tables, of which only three others were occupied and two already had their food. I ordered a cheese burger and small fries.

An hour later I asked my waitress how much longer it would be, and she sighed and stomped off to the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later saying it would be SOON, and they’d been really busy didn’t I know? Um…I beg to differ.

My burger was not a patty, but a loose meat catastrophe, which my waitress tried to over charge me for. And I thought Newfies were supposed to all be wonderful?

Day 106 (Mon, August 23)

I passed through Corner Brook, which has a pulp mill right down town and the most extensive collection of potholes I’ve ever experienced. I checked my email and there was a message from my lovely friend Tasha saying she had an aunt and uncle in town I could stay with, and I could find the aunt at the library. So to the library I headed and started asking around for an Esther, and a few hours later I was snug in her home enjoying the comforts of a home cooked meal, shower, and BED! Thank you so much to Esther, Allan and Hanna for taking this wayside traveler in!

Photo Credits

All photos by Sarah Gignac

Port Aux Basques

Newfoundland Welcome Sign

Lark Harbour

Corner Brook

This article was first published on Raggedy Threads in August 2010.

The ongoing story of a girl and her van on an epic journey across Canada.

Day 107 — 111 (Tues August 24 — Sat August 28)

I spent four nights camping in and around Gros Morne National Park. It is hands-down the most beautiful and interesting national park I’ve ever been to in Canada (Arches Park in Utah might compete on an international level mostly because it’s so unique, and also because Angie and I nearly blinded ourselves, twice, while visiting it 10 years ago. But that’s a story for another day…).

I don’t even want to try explaining Gros Morne to you, because it’ll be paragraphs full of unhelpful descriptions including words like “spectacular” and “picturesque” and “breathtaking”, which are all accurate but won’t help you actually visualize what the hell I’m talking about. So instead I’ll share with you my favourite pictures.

Discovery Centre Hike — The discovery centre tells you all about the history of the park, and has a pretty challenging 5km hike up a hill. The view was great, but the best part was that at the top there were bleachers. I’ve never seen that before. Bleachers full of tourists sitting and staring out at the scenery like they’re watching a basketball game or something.

The Tablelands — A geologic anomaly. This part of the park is made up of peridotite, a kind of rock that doesn’t have any of the nutrients needed to sustain plant life. So, as you can see, on one side of the road it’s a plant party, and on the other it’s a barren wasteland. Geology is neat!

Sunset at Green Point Campground. Do you see the evil face? It sort of looked like Tim Curry as the devil in Legend for a while.

Western Brook Pond — A fake fjord carved by glaciers. It’s fake because it’s not filled with salt water. Apparently that’s what makes a fjord a fjord. Not the thousands of years of ice carving intricate designs in the earth’s rocky coating. Oh, no. It’s what it gets filled with afterwards. That hardly seems fair to me. It’s an hour walk into the pond (Newfoundland calls their lakes ponds. How sweet is that?) and then you can take a two hour boat ride down the non-fjord. It was a beautiful sunny day when I did this, which sadly means all my photos are kind of washed out. Need to get me that polarized filter!

Baker Brook Falls — It’s about a 5km walk through a forest and a bog to get to these falls. I started off early enough to get them all to myself. On my way back to the parking lot I passed about 50 people heading off towards them.

Photo Credits

All photos by Sarah Gignac

This article was first published on Raggedy Threads in August 2010.

The ongoing story of a girl and her van on an epic journey across Canada.

Day 92 (Mon, August 9th)

After a few weeks of lollygagging around Halifax, I decided I needed to leave immediately or stay forever. Since nothing was leaking out of the bottom of my van, I opted for the former, and hit the road, heading north. Check this out and tell me how lucky I am. An old coworker has a family cottage on the coast of Nova Scotia on a lovely little beach that looks out to the distant sands of PEI. This cottage was not currently spoken for, so I got to spend five days there.

Five days of sunny skies, low tides, and ocean that is actually warm enough to swim in without risking hypothermia. BC friends may have a hard time believing this, but I SWEAR IT’S TRUE! The water had just the faintest whisper of a chill, only enough to be totally refreshing — unlike the arctic currents that terrorize the west coast and threaten to freeze anyone foolhardy enough to dip a toe into its icy swells. I swam out about a kilometre from shore in this blissful salt water haven, and then was bawled out by three grandmas sitting on the shore when I returned, who didn’t believe me that even that far out I could still comfortably touch the bottom and was in no danger of being sucked out to sea, what with their being no waves at all.

My time at the cottage was spent very lazily, with lots of walking on the beach, sitting on the beach, staring at the beach, and thinking about the beach. I also bought some steak and kidney pies at a local butcher, my first ever! Very tasty.

Day 96 (Fri, August 13th)

It was hard to say goodbye to my cottage. But considering it wasn’t really, you know, mine, I had to. I decided to sooth my aching heart by seeking out more beaches on PEI. To take the bridge I crossed into New Brunswick, and was able to get the welcome sign that eluded me the first time into the province. So here you go, Bev!

I’ve driven across the Confederation Bridge before, but I didn’t remember it. Now that I’ve seen it again, I have no idea how I can have no memory of my first crossing 12 years ago. It’s 13km, and I spent every one of those marvelling at how freaking cool it is. Especially on a sunny day.

If you’re going to go, you must do it on a sunny day. That’s an order. Because then you get to enjoy the cute coastline of PEI as well.

So, how did I spend my first night on this wonderful island full of beaches and seafood and country drives and fiddle music?

I watched Stallone’s new movie, Expendables.

Why, you ask?

I don’t rightly know, but if I have to I’d guess that it’s because I’m an idiot. An idiot who gets distracted by shiny things and theatre marquees.

Photo Credits

All photos by Sarah Gignac

My cottage beach

New Brunswick Welcome Sign

Confederation Bridge

This article was first published on Raggedy Threads in August 2010.

The ongoing story of a girl and her van on an epic journey across Canada.

It has been brought to my attention via my faithful readers (ie. Frank) that I haven’t provided a drink recipe for a few provinces. Oops! Bad blogger! Bad, bad blogger!

In my defence, I breezed through New Brunswick in just over a day and didn’t really do anything there, so I didn’t feel like a credible source for the definitive NB drink. And I’m taking FOREVER in Nova Scotia, so that drink is to come.

But yes, I did forget to do Quebec. And I don’t want New Brunswick to feel left out. Far be it from me to alienate an entire province of faithful readers.

Right?

Hello? Anyone there?

If you’ll be so kind to remember back about a month, my time in Quebec was spent almost entirely in a yoga ashram. Among other things, this meant no alcohol (or caffeine, or onions, or sleeping in). But there was plenty of tasty tea. So Quebec’s drink is my best guess at the mystery tea I consumed every meal for seven days.

Quebec’s Myster-Tea

• Hot Water
• Lots of Mint Leaves
• Orange Slices
• Fennel? (I think that was the other flavour…)
• Let seep until the leaves start to disintegrate
• If you would like to Sarah-ize this feel free to add that ever ready shot of Tequila

The New Brunswick Drive-By

• Order a drink at your local bar
• Get distracted by something shiny, and leave before it arrives
• Promise yourself you’ll go back and pay for it, but never do

Nova Scotia Teaser (Not my real NS drink, but to tide you over for now)

• Drink Keith’s. A lot.

Next post: back to our regular random travel story programming.

Photo Credit

Empty Beer Bottle © C. P. Storm @ Flickr

This article was first published on Raggedy Threads in August 2010.

I would like to introduce you to an old friend of mine. Internet, meet Emily. Emily, meet the Internet.

I’ve been told that when introducing people, you should always share an interesting fact about each party. That way they can continue on a conversation — if they wish to — while you slip off to the kitchen to sneak sips from a hidden bottle of gin. Thanks for the tip, mom!

So, Emily, something interesting about Internet…did you know that as the most complicated and sophisticated data archiving system in the world, it’s used primarily to look at porn and lol cats?

And Internet, did you know that Emily has just recently completed a three month walk around the perimeter of Nova Scotia?

That’s right folks. Emily got it in her head that circumnavigating Nova Scotia, by foot, was a swell idea. So to all the people that thought I was nuts for driving across Canada alone, I’d like to present Emily as exhibit A in my defence. If she’s not certifiable, how can I be?

Armed with a red backpack and newish running shoes, Em left Halifax in May and headed south. Over the next three months she walked approximately 40km a day, taking one day off every two weeks. She stayed with friends, walking enthusiasts, and B&Bs, and encouraged anyone and everyone to come out and walk with her. Which I did.

Day 89 (Fri, Aug 6th)

Emily’s walking days tended to start around 8am. I had full intentions of getting up at 6am and driving the hour up the coast to meet her at the first departure location. Really, I did.

But then I didn’t.

So, the 10am departure location it was! And thank goodness for that. Considering how freaking sore my hips were at the end of the day, I’m not sure I would have survived the additional two hours of walking.

But I’m skipping ahead.

So, I did make it to the 10am rendezvous at Oyster Pond. And I was thrilled to discover that I got Emily all to myself that day. Being so close to town and all I thought I’d have to share her with other part time walkers such as myself. Together I think we did about 32km, with only a short lunch break. She’s strict! I got to hear all about her travels, including a brief history of the health of her feet. I’ll spare you the details. Let’s just say they do not sound pretty.

The last hour was challenging, what with the previously mentioned hip aches, and also some blisters on my toes that suddenly appeared and wanted to PARTY! We arrived in Musquodoboit Harbour just before 5pm and ate what for me was the most refreshing orange popsicle of my life. Then Emily’s billet for the evening graciously drove me back to my van. Watching the days walk fly by the window in 15 minutes of driving was a little annoying.

I drove back to Tina’s and spent the evening whinging about my sore feet and hips, and wondering how in the hell Emily was able to get up every morning and do that again?

Day 91 (Sun, Aug 8th)

After three months and almost 3,000 kilometres, Emily walked her final day. The Heart and Stroke Foundation threw her a little party in the Halifax commons to welcome her home. We all got free neon green t-shirts that say “Walking Takes Your Places” (when I first read mine I thought it said “Walking Takes you Paces”, which I think is a punnier slogan), and snacks and there was a percussion band and speeches and everything.

Well done, Emily! On behalf of the entire internet I would like to say that we think you are amazing, and have inspired a lot of people in more ways than you will ever know.

And please send our regards to your feet. Hopefully they feel better soon.

Photo Credits

All photos by Sarah Gignac

“Emily and her pack”

“Our Walking Route”

“Emily and her entourage returning home”

This article was first published on Raggedy Threads in August 2010.