The Hand of God

When I travel, I go for local. Every place has its opportunity for iconic experiences.

A recent trip to Nova Scotia meant a spontaneous trip to Peggy’s Cove, when the weather belied the forecast, to catch a glorious sunset and strong winds crashing the waves on rocks that kicked spray on my camera lens.

After the sailing ship tour of Halifax harbour there was steamed lobster on the wharf – disdaining the net, I plunged my arm into the tank and bravely grabbed the feistiest two-pounder for my supper.

On the road to Sydney (with McLobster sandwiches for fuel), the sunny and clear day meant wonderful views of the Bras D’Or Lakes – and picking up a CD, oatcakes and tea at Rita McNeil’s Teahouse in Big Pond.

Collecting stones washed up on the shore at Glace Bay led to bird watching at Dominion Beach early in the morning, after a night of singing local music in a pub marred only by drinking imported Guinness because they ran out of Cape Breton Scotch. Keeping the maritime theme, there was another lobster for supper at the ferry docks in North Sydney (four pounds!) before it was time to trek back to Halifax.

Leaving the coal mines of Sydney and Glace Bay in the early morning fog and rain to drive along the Louisbourg road along the east coast of Cape Breton, I pulled out the CD from Big Pond and drove to the rhythms of Rita and the Men of the Deep, headed for Port Marien and then – the ultimate iconic destination – to Main a Dieu, the Hand of God.

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