Leaving New York always brings with it a restored sense of space, one that is hard to imagine when you’re in the thick of the concrete jungle. Leaving New York for Nova Scotia punches you in the gut with that sense of space, almost choking you with the immensity of your newfound breathing room. Miraculously, Nova Scotia has escaped the fate of so many beautiful places that get overrun with tourists. It remains pristinely intact and scarcely occupied, its natural beauty echoing loudly in the dearth of human visitors. Or so it seemed to Alex – my lovely boyfriend – and I when we spent a week there at the end of July.
With a little investigating, it seems that Nova Scotia’s relative quiet is, indeed, real, and we weren’t the paranoid New Yorkers I thought we were. While much of Nova Scotia’s economy relies on tourism, only two million tourists visit the providence each year. New York, to put it in perspective, received 48.8 million tourists in 2010 (not that any of us missed that). With a little more time spent in Nova Scotia, this lack of visitors and residents became one of its most alluring qualities. In the week of backpacking, camping, kayaking, canoeing, and cooking over the open flame that was to follow our arrival in Nova Scotia, the remote, sparsely populated and under-traveled peninsula didn’t feel like it was missing a thing, or anybody at all. It was perfect the way it was.
The afternoon took us to La Have islands, a tiny archipelago of fishing cottages inhabited by, our guidebook explained, “those who have escaped the rat race.” As if they hadn’t already escaped it by living in Nova Scotia.
The next morning we drove to Lunenburg, a fishing village an hour south of Halifax whose Old Town is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Colorful homes and storefronts lie stacked on a hilly downtown, leading to a picturesque waterfront, replete with board-walked piers, fishing boats and seafood restaurants. The harbor, speckled with sailboats and lobster traps, is timeless, showing not a wrinkle of age.
After a trip back in time along the waterfront and a stroll around the town, we were back in the car again and off to Halifax, Nova Scotia’s capital. A bit like a Canadian (read: grungier, not- quite American but not-yet European) Boston, Halifax is an old, harbor city of brick buildings, and is home to four universities. Alex and I had our first meal in a restaurant all week – a relative feat for us New Yorkers – at the Henry House, a three-story pub built in 1834, offering regional cuisine and a host of English-style ales brewed in Halifax’s own Granite Brewery. A lobster roll, grilled salmon, and couple beers later, we lazily wandered around the city, and were back in the car in time to make it to our next destination before nightfall.
We headed to our inn for the night: the Lighthouse on Cape d’Or. Once parked in the inn’s lot, we loaded our packs and hiked down a steep, dirt road to the edge of the cliff, the only way to
get to the lighthouse inn, which consists of an operating lighthouse and two, matching white houses – one a four-bedroom guesthouse, the other a charming restaurant and the inn-keeper’s quarters. Sitting on the point of Cape d’Or, the Inn’s views were spectacular. Taking a hot shower and sleeping in a bed felt very luxurious, but nothing could compete with the stunning, dramatic scenery right off the cliff we were perched on. Listening to Frank Sinatra and taking-in the views over a breakfast of French Toast at the inn’s restaurant the following morning was the perfect way to begin the final leg of our journey: a morning of sea-kayaking followed by a three- day, two-night backpacking loop in nearby Cape Chignecto Park.
The Bay of Fundy is home to the largest tidal range on the planet, the water rising and falling
twice a day anywhere from 40-50 feet. Alex and I kayaked with a tour group around the bay, witnessing the extraordinary difference in sea level as we paddled out alongside red, rock cliffs and returned to find beaches where coves where there had only been water.
At about 3 p.m. we embarked on a thirty-one mile loop that would snake us along the coastline
of Cape Chignecto Park. With three days worth of food, cooking supplies, clothes and our tent on our back, as we set off along a black sand beach, I felt like we were forging into the unknown, leaving behind a post-apocalypse society and looking for hopes of survival. Survive we did, enduring taxing up-hill and far distances. The striking views of crystal, blue water meeting rocky, red coastline coated with emerald evergreens eased our burning leg muscles as we pushed our bodies to the limit each day. By night, dinner was the best thing we had ever eaten and our sleeping bags felt like clouds. Difficult as it was, testing our mental and physical strength and endurance over those three days in Cape Chignacto was exhilarating and rewarding.
By the time we left Nova Scotia, we were stronger, happier and ready to do it all over again. We couldn’t wait to tell everyone about our epic adventure, and then plead them to keep it to themselves, in hopes of protecting the best-kept secret that is Nova Scotia.