I’m not too sure how to begin this blog, or how to formulate the end thereof, or even how the beginning of the end should go, so I’ll start with the dipping of my feet in the Atlantic Ocean and take it from there. Due to feet-dipping being verboten at Cape Spear in Newfoundland, the Two Older Women chauffeured me to Halifax Harbour, wherein lies a body of water that could, at a stretch, pass for the Atlantic Ocean. Well, the Atlantic Ocean flows into it, or it flows into the Atlantic. Or something. It is possible that a few Harbour H2O molecules touched those swimming in the Atlantic, at some stage.
You may be wondering what I was thinking when the above photo was being taken. Reflecting on the trip, perhaps? Basking in the knowledge that I had reached my goal? Remembering with fondness the romantic lifestyle of the itinerant traveller? No, I was worried about squids. I was recalling a book I’d read about Gallipoli, and how the soldiers used to swim at Anzac Cove between battles. They used to swim at Anzac Cove, but stopped, because a giant squid was lurking in the area and had actually been responsible for the disappearance of several men. So, all I could think of as I sat on that wharf, grinning stupidly, was that a giant squid just might make an appearance and wrap its tentacles around my delicate, fine-boned, freshly shaven legs if the TOW didn’t hurry the heck up and get the bloody photo taken. I just KNEW they’d have Buckley’s if it ever came down to a tug of war, and…hmmm…may not put in too much of an effort, come to think of it…
Finally, FINALLY, the clickfest finished and I was able to stand on solid ground, my legs squidless and free of similar Swimming Things, or octopi, or other fearsome creatures of the deep.
That done, we did what all good Aussies do, whether at home or abroad: we retired to the pub. Not for drinks so much, for dinner. We did have drinks, after a fashion. Unlike Australia, in Canada when you go to the pub it’s not for the sole purpose of a Massive GuzzleSession (unless you’re a student). In Australia you primarily go for the guzzlefest and dinner is an afterthought. In Canada, you primarily go for the dinner and the guzzlefest is an afterthought. Ha ha, I like their style, better for the health. Well, I like their style when my skin’s not cracking. It was dryish when we hit this pub. The waiter brought me a beer and the TOW a Guin-i each. The TOW sipped daintily whilst I did the quench thing. Was feeling pretty good and shooting occasional glances at the service section, but, alas, no more was forthcoming for quite some time. Oh dear, even the Guinness was starting to look good. Luckily the food arrived promptly, and once I scoffed that I didn’t want any more alcoholic beverages.
Here we are at the pub, having a great old time:
Now, Aussies, a word of advice. If you are in Canada and you like a coldie or two, here’s how it’s done. Don’t just sit at the bar and expect an unlimited flow for nothing. Tip mightily and they will hover till the cows come home.
I’ve often pondered why the grog is such a big part of our culture. I look at the Canadians, and the Americans, and also at other cultures that have made their home in our countries. Grog is not a big deal to them. Why is it to us? One reason: you have to remember that in the 1800s grog, or rum, was actually our currency, our money. Everyone was paid their wages in rum, not in folding paper with the monarch’s piccy thereon. You worked 40 hours, your copped a gallon of rum. You worked 20 hours, you were paid 4 pints of the stuff. It’s the way it was.
Anyway, this is a massive digression and I’m really aiming at wrapping up the blog so that I can, well, wrap it up, and, I guess, get no more Nagsters asking me of the whereabouts of my next blog post. (Oh, the pressure)
First though, I want to show you some photos of the fall colours in Fredericton, New Brunswick. Following my trip to Newfoundland, I returned to the TOW’s house and have been here for the past three weeks, freeloading. During that time, we got some photos of the trees changing colours, as they do at this time of the year. So different to Queensland, and so pretty. Here are a few:
Below is an old cotton mill from the 1800s. It’s been restored and now contains government offices:
Thought this garden looked nice:
More photos of the pretty trees:
We saw this snake during a walk along one of the many trails around Fredericton. Non-poisonous, thankfully, and stayed still like this for quite a while. I guess it was pretending to be a stick:
I am going to finish this post here. I have many more photos to upload, and other things to tell you. However, WordPress can be very frustrating to work with if you don’t know it well (and I don’t). Specifically, the formatting is messing up and driving me absolutely insane, with photos next to each other and unrelated text scattered throughout. I can feel a headache coming on because of all this nonsense, so guess there’s going to be a Part III.