Circumstances (read: the usual suspects -- time and money) having prevented another return to Sequim this summer, Stone took Figlia with her to visit Old Friend Maid of Honor in New Hampshire for a few days, while Jake took flight for a late July week in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Jake knew he would not exactly replicate Sequim, but hoped Halifax might provide a reasonable facsimile.
Seeking cheap single digs, I found residence at a “residence hall” – Risley Hall, to be exact, at Dalhousie University. My dorm room was just that, and nothing more, but at $250 for the week (senior rate!) it was an excellent value. Once I got used to the unisex bathroom and showers, and the occasional late night student noise, things went well enough, until the lack of A/C finally…. but more on that anon.
Friday, July 24, 2009 – Having been seriously delayed with my Thursday afternoon flight out of Newark, today was my first day in Halifax. I awoke after only a few hours sleep to find the morning cool, overcast and misting rain – an excellent start. Though I have rented a car, I plan to walk as much as possible, and started out down one of Halifax’s arteries, Spring Garden Road. I had an average breakfast at a place called Smitty’s, then took a look at St. Mary’s Cathedral Basilica (the pope was there, you know), the Halifax Courthouse (19th century architecture), the Halifax Public Library (a dynamic statue of Winston Churchill on the front grounds) and walked briefly through a section of the stately and lovely Public Gardens (British gardening, please stay off the grass), all on Spring Garden Road. Still on SGR I had a terrific lunch at the Saege Bistro, where I enjoyed a deep bowl of seafood chowder, warm spinach salad and some good local pinot grigio.
After lunch the weather turned truly rainy, so I found shelter at a movie-plex (still on SGR), where after 28 minutes of previews (I timed it), I sat through the more than 2 hours of “Public Enemies.” My affinity for Johnny Depp’s acting couldn’t help me from thinking that the whole movie was just a realistic version of the Coen brothers’ “Miller’s Crossing,” both of the movies being so centered on men in hats.
Outside the theater wind had been added to the previous rain, so I hustled on back to Dalhousie, got in the car and headed to a place I remembered from my first visit to Nova Scotia some 30 years ago as being especially picturesque in the wind and rain – Peggy’s Cove. Usually packed with tourists, the now lonely lighthouse, rugged granite shoreline and white-capped sea made for a scene perfectly in tune with the heavy maritime weather.The wind and rain had not abated when back in Halifax I easily found a parking spot (is it the weather?) and had a light dinner at the bar at the rather fancy Gio in the Prince George Hotel. Here the seafood chowder was once again wonderful, this time highlighted by mussels still in their just-opened shells. My dessert – the whimsically named “I’m jonesing for…” – was a nice variety of tasty treats.
Risley Hall sits very close to Wickwire Field, where, on my way back to my dorm room from the parking lot, I noticed a late night soccer game going on despite the wind driven sheets of rain. There being less than a dozen spectators, I watched for a while from the sideline, my first “serious” soccer game up close and personal. Even with my limited knowledge of the game I could see that these college kids were very skilled players. I found out subsequently that what I watched was not the Dalhousie Tigers versus some other university, but rather two teams from the Eastlink Premiership Men’s Division. I went to sleep that night in my single dorm bed thinking that Landon Donovan and his mates notwithstanding, it seemed unlikely that soccer would ever be so pervasive and passionate down south in the USA.
Saturday, July 25, 2009 – Having seen a little ad in the newspaper for “Tastes of the Valley” at a weekly farmers market in a nearby town, I headed out of Halifax on Highway 101 towards Wolfville. As I approached the town I noticed that the surrounding riverbeds, inlets and such appeared to be recently and violently drained. It took me a few minutes to realize that Wolfville, though not really directly on the Bay of Fundy, was still close enough to bear witness to the bay’s world famous tides, and I marveled at what looked to be at least a 20 foot drop in the water level clearly visible from the highway.
The Wolfville Farmers’ Market was crowded and fun. Besides the usual rural offerings of gluten free bread and organic tomatoes, local restaurants from the Annapolis Valley were cooking up some goodies at $3 a pop. I tried a beef/lamb burger with some type of garlic mixed in, a glass of red wine (to go with the burger) from Muir Murray Winery, and a Raspberry Sensation dessert from Between the Bushes Restaurant. I also snacked on a large cup of nice local cherries ($1) washed down by a mini bottle of apple cider ($1.75) pressed from “little Macs,” by a guy to whom apple pressing seemed a sort of religion.
The music was better than usual at these types of events. It was provided by TripALady, who
bill themselves as a “Fiddle-Riffin', Djembe-Thumpin', Harmony-Pumpin', Dance-Pop Acoustic Rock Band,” and for the several songs I listened to, they lived up to the phrase. And don’t you just love their logo? Their version of “Sweet Dream Are Made of This,” sounded even better than this video.The local tourist office told me of a golf club down the road called Ken-Wo (etymology: it’s between Wolfville and Kentville), and despite it being early Saturday afternoon I was able to walk on and play 9 holes for $25. I joined three young Canadian dudes, who on the second tee told me not to mind them lighting up “some of Canada’s finest,” as they passed around a joint. Not something you’re likely to witness on my local Jersey course. Nor are you likely to see a bald eagle, which soared off to our right as we walked the fairway of No. 7. And I didn’t see a power cart all day. Nor a house, nor a condo, nor a car. I didn’t just like this course, I loved it. As usual this week, I didn’t have my camera when I needed it, but check the photo gallery to get an idea.
After we finished No. 9 and the boys headed on to the back side, I asked them what beer I should get at the clubhouse, and they answered in unison, “A Keith’s, of course.” Of course. I don’t remember what I had to eat in the clubhouse but the Keith’s was so good I drank no other beer the entire week.
That night I went to the Lower Deck Beer Market down by the water and the tourists in Halifax. I had some chowder and salad again, as well as two 10 oz tugs of Keith’s, and talked some baseball with the bartender as the Red Sox were on TV. It being Saturday night the place got crowded and noisy rather quickly, and I headed outside where I got some coffee and pastry. I sat by the water watching the Dartmouth/Halifax ferry shuttle people across a narrow part of the world’s second biggest harbor. Tourists took pictures in the fading light, bachelorette parties wobbled by trying to have fun, and panhandlers flitted like moths between the flames of hoped for easy touches. After such a scene, my 40 minute walk back to the dorm, once out of the harbor area, seemed eerily serene.
Sunday, July 25, 2009 -- Oh, how the Haligonians (as the city’s natives sometimes term themselves) all love a day like today: sunny and warm. To me the sun just seems relentless. It makes me skip from shade to shade as I take the 2 kilometer walk from my dorm northward on Robie Street towards Jane’s on the Common for breakfast. Luckily the breakfast – an omelet with herbed goat cheese, pancetta and sun dried tomatoes, accompanied by two cranberry mimosas, and topped off by a coconut cream tart – makes the sunny trek more than worthwhile. Jane’s proves to be a small, snappy, busy, friendly place, and this was the best breakfast experience I had on this trip.
From Jane’s I headed around the common (a massive bit of green grass without so much as one tree, and scores of Haligonias who frolic there and seem to like it that way!), past the Citadel and down to the ferry, looking forward to the harbor’s breezes. The senior rate (age 60 and over) for the ferry is only $1.50, and that includes a free trip back if you come back within 90 minutes. I have never met a ferry I didn’t like (and this has nothing to do with the fact that I was in Halifax during Gay Pride Week!), and the 10 minute ride seems too short to me, but most enjoyable.
In Dartmouth I walk around a little bit, but it is too hot for me to really enjoy the effort. I check out a restaurant I hope to patronize later in the week – the Nectar Social House – which is close to the ferry and features a nice patio upstairs. (Unfortunately, I never made it back.) Back on the Halifax side of the harbor I attempt to cool down with a “Peach Floyd” smoothie from a harbor side kiosk ($7, but hey…).
Sure that it must be cooler near the ocean proper I head back home, hop in the rented car and head out of town down Purcell’s Cove Road, then down Herring Cove Road, in search of what a tourist brochure calls Crystal Crescent Beach.
The drive is lovely, and the watery scenes are tonic to my sun fried senses. Less than 30 minutes out of Halifax the weather changes dramatically as the sun grudgingly gives way to various degrees of fog. I turn off the car’s A/C and open the windows. After a few odd turns and a dirt road or two, I actually find Crystal Crescent Beach, and, to my surprise, it is actually a beach, complete with sand and Frisbees throwers. There are even some hardy souls splashy about in the water. There are several walking trails near the beach so and I have a nice little walk, binoculars in hand, should a rare bird need spying.On the ride back to Halifax I discover the York Redoubt, which sits on a commanding bluff overlooking Halifax Harbor. Long ago it was vital to the
defense of the harbor, as its remaining guns give witness, but on this late afternoon it provides me, and but three other visitors, with a nice distant view and a nice pervading quiet. Lovely way to end the day.Monday, July 27, 2009 – Outside my dorm window the morning is so foggy I can barely make out the buildings only 100 or so yards away. I head out to Common Grounds, a coffee place on South Park Street, about a 15 minute walk away. Half way there the fog gives way to a light mist, then quickly becomes a steady rain that makes me hustle to my destination. Common Grounds is a big place and provides the morning’s necessities – fresh coffee, a muffin, free newspapers and lots of comfy seating. Making sure to give the weather a chance to change, I take my time eating. Indeed when it is time to leave the rain has stopped, allowing for a dry, if humid, walk home.
Today’s feature event is golf at Indian Lake, an 18 hole executive course a little bit out of town on the road to Peggy’s Cove. The fog, which had abated somewhat in the city, grows more intense as I drive toward the course. To my surprise the parking lot is pretty crowded, but I’m able to walk on ($34 with a pull cart) pretty much right away and join up with a threesome that features a father and high school age son, and their friend, who happens to be a bartender at the Midtown Tavern in Halifax.
Indian Lake, a par 60 playing at about 3,400 yard, proves to be a fun little course. The fog is never really an issue except on one or two of the four par-4’s, and then not seriouly. For an exec course the layout has good variety, features a good amount of elevation change, and there is
enough sand and water to tighten your grip on more than a dozen shots. What I enjoyed most about the course was that it is truly out in the country, seemingly carved from the surrounding pine forest. Oh, and there are no power carts available – everybody walks. There is a nice patio for après golf dining and the entire facility is, though modest, quality oriented. Indian Lake was built about 10 years ago, I am told, by the same guy who built, and then sold, Granite Springs, a high end (read: expensive) course down the same road.Though it was never warm on the golf course it was very humid and I had to take a cold shower back in the dorm. I did some reading (apparently an odd activity this summer in this college dorm; every time I looked in an open door the student(s) was avidly watching TV), took a short snooze and then headed for a late lunch at Darrell’s, which proved to be busy even at 3:30 in the afternoon. But once I finished my big and delicious “Pita Club” wrap and two cold Keith’s I could see why the place was so popular.
Certainly traveling alone (something I haven’t done in years) has its benefits, but eating alone in not one of them. So during this solo trip I often ate at the restaurant’s bar to make myself feel less alone at meal time. I did so again for dinner at the Bitter End on Argyle Street, where I had two martinis and a dish called (ironically enough) “Shrimp to Share.” But I sat virtually alone at the bar with my shrimp, vodka and olives, and except for a sextet of young women obviously celebrating something in a distant booth, the restaurant’s atmosphere was down right sedate. Indeed, on the walk home, several coffee houses, eateries and bars were closed. On this Monday night, Halifax seemed more like a town than a city.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009 – Another overcast and seemingly cool morning, but my walk to Annie’s Place – just off Spring Garden Road, on Birmingham Street – proved once again the enervating power of maritime humidity, and I arrived hoping against hope for some A/C. But of course it was not to be. Outside of the movie theaters, hotels and museums, I found no A/C anywhere in Halifax. Annie’s Place is a small (5 tables), entrepreneurial, very homey place, where Annie (one surmises) does the cooking, runs the cash register and asks nearly everyone where they’re from, while the young waitress carefully hands out the hot coffee and takes orders in both English and French. My Hearty Oat French Toast (ordered in English) with warmed maple syrup was large and fabulous.
From Annie's it is a short walk to the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia where my senior admission costs only $8. The gallery is housed in two buildings, but is small enough to be viewed in an hour or so of leisurely walking. Properly enough, the gallery’s emphasis is on “local” art and artists, and on the day that I visited its collection of Native Indian art was interesting and on occasion, quite stunning. It is nice to be able to get up close to the paintings and other art works without being admonished by a gallery guard, of whose regiment I saw but one during my visit. The gallery’s gift shop is loaded with stuff, but unfortunately, not a lot of reproductions from the gallery itself. I did wish I hadn’t filled up on Annie’s French toast, for the gallery’s eatery, the Cheapside Café, had a menu that was most tempting, and the place itself looked very stylish and inviting; and oh, it was air conditioned.
After the museum I took another ferry ride to Dartmouth and back simply for the fun of it. But during my back and forth harbor trip the sky lost its cloudy luster, the sun came out, and I found myself once again jumping from shade to shade as I walked back uphill from the harbor to the Little Fish restaurant for lunch. Here it was actually cooler on the shaded sidewalk patio than inside, so I enjoyed my (very good) fish and (only average) chips (and Keith’s, of course), as I watched the world walk by, seemingly enjoying their damn sunshine.
On my way back home I head over to Spring Garden Road and make a visit to the Old Burial Gound, where there is at least some shade from the trees. This cemetery has a good number of headstones from the late 18th century, several with still visible iconography that strikes the 21st century eye as 
strange indeed. Further up the road I visit again (I walked through the gardens three or four times duirng this trip) the venerable Public Gardens, where I can also walk in the shade of the numerous trees (many with an interesting history) while admiring the meticulous gardening, the rigid formality of which only seems to enhance the vibrant color of the myriad flowers, the old gravel paths of counterpointing grey, and of course, the obligatory grand gazebo.After a cold shower back in my dorm and a less than totally successful attempt at a snooze, I headed out for Lost Creek golf course, about a 45 minute drive away. I had hoped that by playing late in the day I might not only get in a quick round by myself but might mitigate the heat and humidity. Neither actually happened, but still this round of golf ($41 with a pull cart) proved to be the best of my three outings. I was joined on the tee by two guys (both members of the club) and a middle aged woman who had just gotten off work. It turned out that it was good I didn’t play alone, for while Lost Creek is a short course, its numerous doglegs, blind and purblind shots, often insidious water, deep bunkers and slanted greens, all give the first time player a definite need for direction and advice.
Lost Creek, though 10 years old, is still fine tuning some landscaping and such, and apparently three holes were just recently finished and opened for play. There is no clubhouse and the pro shop works out of a trailer. But there is little doubt that this layout – with a river running through it (especially beautiful as it rushes between No.1 and No.2), lake views (especially on the back nine) and surrounding forest (on virtually every hole) – is both a challenge and fun to play. Despite the humidity, the late day flies, and the mosquitoes (helping me remember why I rarely play golf in the summer), this round of golf, finished on No. 17 under a Canadian sunset worthy of song and on No. 18 in near darkness, was flat out wonderful.
The only down side to my late play was that by the time I rolled back into Halifax I was so hungry (and too sweaty to go any place nice) that I ended up eating at a 24-hour McDonald’s on Quinpool Road. Well, at least it was air conditioned.
Wednesday, July 29 – Last night was the first night I found my dorm room to be too hot to get any kind of decent sleep, so I didn’t mind finding myself awake a little earlier than usual, though in need again of a cold shower. I had my usual coffee and such this time at the Coburg Coffee House, which is just on the edge of the university’s campus.
It is another warm day and I decide to head out again to the shore, but this drive, though nice enough, proves to be uneventful. For lunch I head back to the Saege Bistro where I sit at the little bar area and enjoy another tasty lunch amid the busy hubbub.
Part of the reason I was so happy to reserve my dorm room at Dalhousie (besides its price) was that my issued swipe card worked not only for dorm and room entry, but also for the university’s recreational facility, Dalplex. Here I found the promised big swimming pool I had read about, and though it was busy with frolicking children and swimming lessons, I found it easy to find a lap lane all to myself.
Though refreshed by my swim, I had already decided that after last night’s sweaty tossing and turning I was not going to go another night without A/C. So back in my room I phoned around and found a room at the Howard Johnson Bluenose Inn and Suites for $69; A/C assured. Sitting near the eastern shore of the Bedford Basin, this HoJo was more than adequate for my needs. And it is actually closer to the Halifax airport so tomorrow’s drive will be that much shorter.
For my final night’s dinner in Halifax I motored back into the city and ate at the Economy Shoe Shop, a much ballyhooed restaurant and night spot. Again I found the city’s streets to be generally lacking in crowds or buzz, but what buzz there was was certainly at the Economy Shoe Shop. Large, loud and busy, with an eclectic décor that is both sassy and classy, it seemed to me to be very much a bistro on steroids.
Whenever I had seafood in Halifax (except for that fish sandwich I had at McDonalds – did you know it comes with a slice of cheese??) the seafood was always, as they say, awesome. Up until this evening the seafood soup at Saege had been at the top of my list, but the Economy Shoe Shop’s Whiskey Maple Scallops made it a photo finish.
Happily sated and comfortable on my bar seat, I lingered over my trip’s final Keith’s and thought about what made Halifax so cool, so to speak: the sign on some country road that said “skates sharpened here;” the way every car stops for pedestrians, even jaywalkers; the law that makes it mandatory that cigarettes sold in stores be hidden from view; the fact that Halifax hosts a giant Gay Pride Week; the fact that almost all the city’s numerous bicyclists wear helmets, even the kids; the fact of Keith’s Pale Indian Ale.
And so now, what of my hope to find a reasonable facsimile of Sequim for a summer escape?
In sum, no luck; Halifax was simply too hot and humid (as is, my research shows, 90% of North America south of the Arctic Circle) to warrant another summer visit from me. The people, the vibe, the food, the beer, the countryside and the golf were all exceptional. Surely Halifax must be paradise, come autumn.
