We had a good time in Nova Scotia. I thought lots about my Papa. Cray pots everywhere and lobsters (live ones) sold in every shop, and even in the airport. I was slightly amused that I could buy my lobsters just before I boarded the plane. I had this vision of lobsters escaping at 35000 feet and clomping down the aisles of the plane. Apparently, in Nova Scotia, if you take lobster sandwiches to school it is a sign that you are quite poor – well, we quite enjoyed being impoverished.
Drove out to Peggy’s Cove past stunning Canadian scenery. Lost of lakes, spruce trees and small cabins. Peggy’s Cove is a windswept small fishing village on Saint Margaret’s Bay. The population is 35 and it is a wonderful collection of traditional fishing cabins. The local legend is that Peggy was a small child who was shipwrecked in the late 1700s. She was found by a fisherman and grew up as Peggy of the Cove. There is a wonderful lighthouse in the town and you could imagine a ship being caught in a massive Atlantic storm and being battered against the rocks. The village has major restrictions on who can live there, so even though it is spectacularly picturesque, it has retained a tiny village feel. Standing on the rocks, looking toward Casablanca, being blown about and chilled by the Atlantic winds called for serious warming measures – the hot mulled apple cider, with a decent nip of rum, went down a treat!
Sleeping under the stars 