Holy crap, I went to Green Gables

We are back in Halifax for our last night in the Maritimes - actually closer to the airport, since both of us have to leave at an unfortunate hour in the morning. That didn't stop us from driving into the city tonight, though, straight from the ferry, to dine at a seafood restaurant we'd had our eye(s) on. One final night of lobster and fresh oysters under the stars. Ahhhhh.

The ferry I refer to, of course, is the Wood Islands ferry that transported us back from P.E.I. this evening. Or "the Island," as I'm already accustomed to calling it. P.E.I. was something else. I expected it to be pretty, but whatever I expected, the reality was different. It isn't gorgeous in a dramatic, breathtaking way. With the exception of some outskirts of Charlottetown, every inch of the island is just sort of picturesque and idyllic. Cows, rolling hills, rivers, ponds, lakes, trees, farms, red clay, sand dunes, red cliffs, the ocean. There's apparently an exceedingly touristy area along highway 6 outside of Cavendish, but we weren't on that stretch of road ... and everything else was shockingly lacking in ugly tourist trappings - at least compared to what I expect from virtually any popular destination these days. Even the immediate area around Green Gables in Cavendish is run by the Prince Edward Island National Park, so it isn't too hideously tacky.

And ohh yeah, I went to Green Gables. Paul and I actually visited Summerside (where I ate my first whole boiled lobster!), stayed the evening and night in Charlottetown, then headed north to Cavendish, drove along the Gulf Highway in the national park on the north shore (taking a break to play among the cliffs and waves and sand dunes), to New Glasgow and the P.E.I. Preserve Company, and then back southeast to Wood Islands and the ferry to Nova Scotia. The weather today was as gorgeous as I could possibly have hoped for. I felt like I was in a truly different place on P.E.I., and I would go back in second. Waking up at our inn and looking out the window on the garden and grounds, sitting in a Charlottetown pub on "acoustic soul night" while local musicians played a song about Nova Scotia and everyone sang along, feeling the Gulf of St. Lawrence wash over my feet. Yeah, I would go back.

Chicken. Burger.

On Thursday in Bedford, Nova Scotia, Paul and I dined at the Chicken Burger drive-in. Established in 1940, it's one of the oldest, if not THE oldest, drive-in in Canada. The chicken burger was not what I expected at all, but it was delightful in its own way. Even more delightful was the printed sheet posted at every table that showed photos of two famous Canadians - one being Chris Murphy of Sloan - proudly sporting a Chicken Burger hoodie.

Not quite so delightful was the pouring rain that greeted us this morning when we left Halifax for New Brunswick. Luckily, though, we weathered the storm (literally!) and by the time we were 200 km or so from Fredericton the weather was back to its charming Maritime goodness. It's like the weather here is even too polite to stay bad for long. (I probably shouldn't talk yet.)

At a gas station not far over the NB border (I notice Irving seems to have a petrol monopoly around these parts) I made two of the best purchases possibly ever made on a rest stop: hockey tape (at a rest stop! next to the light bulbs and other necessities! they had three kinds!) and Kinder Eggs. It doesn't get any better.

Fredericton is a charming city, in a different way from Halifax. It's somewhat bigger than I thought it would be, judging from all of the towns (or lack of) we passed on the way from Halifax. We wound up an eventful evening at a lovely pub called the Snooty Fox (wonderful name) and everyone was terribly polite. It was almost frightening. Our waitress was sorry we had to wait so long for our late-night food (we hadn't even noticed) and insisted we take two free desserts. She also kept the drinks flowing the whole time. And about five random employees implored us to have a good night, and enjoy the weather, and all sorts of pleasantries ... and they actually MEANT it.

Prince Edward Island tomorrow. I love the Maritimes.

Halifax? More like Halifawesome!

Halifax is a lovely old city. Pretty harbor, pretty old churches and buildings, friendly music-store proprietors, delicious seafood, and charming accents. I've also learned that there's a town at the top of Cape Breton Island called Meat Cove. I want to meet someone who lives in Meat Cove.

On to New Brunswick tomorrow!

Twilight zone

I booked my flight to Halifax today and secured my vacation time. Hooray for the Maritimes! However, I'm beginning to think fate may have played a part in all this. First of all, as I was finalizing flight plans, I realized this all seemed just a little bit ... familiar. And delving back into the blog archives, I found this. A little weird, huh? Especially considering that half the flights I had to choose from stopped over in Montreal. (The one I actually booked doesn't, but shhhh.) Also, guess when I'm leaving for the trip? July 11th, 2006. Now look at the date on that entry. Yeah, that's right. July 11th, 2005. Coincidence? I THINK SO. But you never know. Pay attention to your dreams, ladies and gentlemen, because they may turn out to be premonitions that come true exactly one year later. With the exception of some small details.

Those last two sentences should have been a Ben Franklin aphorism. I'm going to start working on Poor Brianne's Almanack.

I'm all smart in dreams

Last week I saw Sloan in Chicago. After the show, Kristina asked me where they were from. "Halifax? I think?" I replied. "Nova Scotia?"

"Is that Pacific Northwest?" she asked. I'd have changed names to protect the innocent here, but my response isn't going to win me any prizes either - "Ummm, yeah? Maybe?" I replied. That sounded reasonable enough to me. Really, my brain was just like, "Mmmmm. Somewhere in Canada. North."

And that was that. Until I went to sleep Saturday night, and dreamed about taking a trip. In my dream, I was trying to get a flight from Montreal to an East Coast city (gee, where would that have come from?) but when I looked at the airline's flight maps I saw that there were no direct flights. According to the map, I would have to make a stop in Halifax.

My dreaming brain registered that this was a funny place for a layover, especially since I'd just been talking about Halifax. Here's the weird part: it also noted, with some surprise, that according to the map, Nova Scotia wasn't in the Pacific Northwest at all! In fact, it was pretty damn far east. And Halifax wasn't even very northern - it appeared to be at a roughly similar latitude to Montreal.

I remembered this dream when I woke up. (Obviously.) I was ready to dismiss my kooky little dream map of North America, until a little voice in my head said, "Hey. Wait a sec." All of you who aren't retarded about Canadian geography know where this is going, but bear with me. My first thought that this might actually be close to the truth was based on the teachings of L.M. Montgomery. I do know where Prince Edward Island is located, and I remembered that Anne of Green Gables had taken a jaunt or two over to Nova Scotia in her time. Which would imply...

I checked a real, non-dream map. And yeah. Halifax is, oddly enough, right where my dreaming brain evidently knew it was. I can accept subconsciously knowing where Nova Scotia is located, but Halifax? Specifically? Dude.