CAPE BRETON NOVA SCOTIA, THE CONTINUING SAGE

As I mentioned in my previous blog, my husband and I moved to Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, for a period of 18 months, which turned out to have been one of the happiest in our lives.

After disembarking from THE SCOTIA PRINCE,we drove to Truro and decided to stop over, so we registered into the “Tidal Bore Inn”, a very nice place set high on a hill overlooking the scenic town of Truro. It was called The Tidal Bore, because there is a nearby river which has a tidal bore. I didn’t know what that meant, but I gathered that when the tide is out the water level is low, and when the tide comes back in, the water comes barrelling up the river bed in a huge gush of water (which is called “bore”). People apparently come from all over and stand on the banks and watch this phenomenon.

It made me think of a similar event that occurs regularly on the Amazon River in Brazil called “pororoca” when the incoming tide, meets the massive volume of water emerging from the Amazon River into the ocean. The result is a spectacular water spout that shoots up to over 100 feet, with a loud resounding boom that can be heard for miles! And yes, people come from all over the world to watch this amazing phenomenon.

With this in mind, we decided to go and watch Cape Breton’s version of the pororoca. We stood on the bank waiting with great excitement and expectation. It seemed to take an eternity to happen and when it did, it was quite frankly, bore-ing (pardon the pun – I couldn’t resist it.) The water came trickling up the river bed no higher than a foot, if even that. I turned to a native Nova Scotian. “Is that it?” I asked.

“Yes” he answered proudly “Isn’t it grand?

Well nooooo, not really, but I agreed that it was indeed grand because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

We slept fairly well. I say “fairly” because both dogs had been thoroughly traumatized by the ferry kennel experience, and on several occasions, I’d wake up to find that my chest had acquired a dog on it which wasn’t in the general plan of things at all. Anyhow, we left next morning for the final leg of our journey.

We arrived at the house we’d rented in the early afternoon, and it was just as gorgeous as we’d remembered.

Cape Bretoners are unbelievably nice – everywhere we went, people were warm and friendly. We stopped at a hardware store, and I asked a young clerk for a product and he replied “I’m sorry dear, we don’t have it”. I’ve never been called “dear” by a clerk before, especially not one of the male persuasion and young enough (sigh) to be my son. Then I asked him for something else. “It’s up against the wall, honey, by the brooms”. “Honey” no less – I loved it!

The house we were renting (well actually hubby’s Company was renting it) was very large 3,400 sq. ft, home right on the banks of the River Mira. One of the bathrooms (there are two full bathrooms and a toilet and washbasin off the kitchen) resembled a Roman Orgy Bath! It was all in pale pink/creamy marble, with a step up into a Jacuzzi bathtub.

Well, never having had the joy of a Jacuzzi bath before, I decided to try it out. Now the mechanism to switch it on had a timer on a wall located several feet from the bathtub, so it had to switched on prior to climbing in! Furthermore, if you didn’t like it, you’d have to hoist yourself out of this bathtub (no mean feat), paddle across the floor dripping water all over the place to the switch in order to be able to turn it off.

I turned it on, got in and found the water came up to my armpits. Sitting in such deep hot water with the jets going at full blast attacking various parts of my anatomy didn’t strike me as being a heck of a lot of fun. As a matter of fact, I had the distinct feeling that the Jacuzzi was out to get me! Then hubby decided to have a go. I looked in on him a while later, and there he sat looking like Lord Muck, surrounded with foam caused by the jets kicking up the soap and shampoo he’d used. It was hilarious because he looked like a Hollywood film star being filmed in a bubble bath! Anyhow, he discovered very quickly that there is a gizmo on the side of the tub which allows one to adjust the viciousness of the water jets (needless to say, when I was in there they’d been set to go at full blast), so with that in mind, and since hubby had enjoyed it, I thought I might have another crack at it. However, in view of the fact that it took a full tank of water to fill the bathtub, we decided it wasn’t worth it and never used it again.

In Cape Breton, things move slooooooooowly. People are in no hurry to get things done. If they tell you that something will get done “soon” it could mean by the year 2000 (remember folks, this was 1993!). Time and man are in no hurry.

Marion Bridge was crow heaven! There were more crows there than I’d ever seen in my entire life! The first time hubby put out the garbage for pick-up, the crows got to it first and it took me an hour to retrieve it all. There was a strong wind blowing that day, and the debris got strewn up and down our street, including onto the opposite side of the road. We quickly purchased a large garbage bin and put a large heavy stone on top of the lid, in order to foil their fowl foul foraging!

We had another interesting crow experience. Hubby accidentally left his reading glasses outside and they disappeared. A couple of days later, the man from the telephone company came to install our line and when he climbed up his ladder to make some connections, he called out to me that there were a pair of glasses up on the eaves and were they ours! A crow must’ve nicked them!

We were constantly delighted and amazed at the beautiful countryside all around us. We went on the famous Cabot Trail as far as the town of Ingonish, and the sea views were nothing short of spectacular. We were especially impressed with Smoky Mountain where one travels from sea level to 275 metres in just 6 minutes! The view from the top is absolutely spectacular.

We also came across a curious little cemetery along the Cabot Trail, perched way up high on top of a steep hill. We made a detour and drove up an incredibly steep, pot-holed road to where it was located and found it to be a really lovely little immaculately kept cemetery with all the tombstones facing the ocean!

Another place we visited was about 20 kms. from our home, called Main a Dieu (Hand of God). The locals pronounced it “Manadoo.” It was a sleepy little fishing village, with a road leading up a hill on the far side of the harbour. There was what looked like a little lighthouse there, (it turned out to have been a wind shelter) and we drove up to it and parked our car. Leading down on the other side of the hill was a nature trail, and we took a long walk along it. I have never seen anything to compare with the beauty of this trail. Every time we rounded a corner, there was another breathtaking sea vista to absorb and enjoy. Main a Dieu is not a place most tourists would even know about – we only came across it because I saw the signpost on the highway to Louisbourg and suggested we go and see what it was all about!

Our home was a 20 minute drive from the ocean! The Mira River (ours was a waterfront property on this river) disgorges itself into the Atlantic Ocean at what is called Mira Gut (if you’ll pardon the expression). We gather that “Gut” is Gaelic for where rivers and oceans meet, because every river in the vicinity has the word “Gut” following its name at the point in which it disgorges into the ocean.

We also visited the reconstructed Fortress of Louisbourg – a really fascinating place where all the employees at the fort were dressed in colonial costumes. We were stopped by the guards at the main gates and asked if we were French spies! All in good fun! It’s definitely worth visiting this Fortress.

We ate lunch in a little restaurant where everything was 1800’s original – low seats, ancient table, un-ironed tablecloth and just one spoon provided which had to suffice for the entire meal! The meal itself was from recipes of that era and the serving wenches were colourfully dressed in colonial costumes – really fascinating stuff! As for the food itself, well let’s just say that back in the 1800’s, bland food must’ve been the accepted diet!

At the gift shop, I purchased a most amusing key ring I gave Hubby for Christmas. It’s called “How to be a Good Husband Reminder”. It consists of a smiling man’s face and has four buttons below. Press the first button and a man’s voice is heard saying “JUST CHARGE IT MY LOVE”, the second button says “OF COURSE I LOVE YOU” the third button says “YOU ARE SOOOO BEAUTIFUL” and the fourth button says “YES DEAR”! I love it – especially the last button and I wouldn’t mind hearing the third button from time to time either!!

Marion Bridge is a delightful little village located about 16 kms. from Sydney. The distance we had to drive to do shopping, etc.,was the only disadvantage of living there. Like all small villages world-wide, everyone knows what everyone else is doing! A visit to the local convenience store (about the same size as your average 7-11, and euphemistically known as “Marion Bridge Shopping Centre”) yields a wealth of information on who’s run off with whose wife, who’s been laid off, who’s croaked, etc., etc. I didn’t have the foggiest idea who these people were, but I surely did know everything that was going on in their lives – and I had no doubt they knew everything about me too!

I had to drive there every day to pick up our mail (the Post Office is located next door to the Marion Bridge Shopping Center), which was a drag, but the compensation was that our postman, Donny, was a really sweet man who loved nothing more than a good old chat! And he knew precisely what mail I’m getting every day. “Ah, there’s a letter from your Uncle in New Zealand today, and one from your daughter as well” he’d tell me as I walked into the Post Office. Donny was also the biggest gossip in the village and knew everything that was going on, down to the last tiny detail.

I also quickly learned that everybody in Marion Bridge was related to everybody else, so care had to be taken when saying anything about anybody! Not that I’d do that anyway …

I liked this nosiness, because there was a feeling of caring and community that is sorely lacking in Ottawa. And there is definitely an advantage to being told by the clerk at the local shop “No dear, yous (local dialect) don’t need to be pickin’ up milk and a newspaper today – your husband already got it when he was in but a few minutes ago.”

I can honestly say that in all the time we were there, we didn’t meet one Cape Bretoner we didn’t like. We will always remember the eighteen months we spent in Marion Bridge with great nostalgia and affection.