NWP 37 part 4 – The Gilded Age – Breakers

1 Reply

21-Sept-24 Newport, Rhode Island

Dear reader. You’ve now seen Rough Point, Marble House and The Elms.

What did you think? Pretty impressive and opulent aren’t they.

Well.

They were just the amuse bouche.

For the Big Daddy and Giant Haystacks combined.

This house was built by Cornelius Vanderbilt II, one of the richest men in America at the time it was constructed in 1893-95. As the grandson of Cornelius Vanderbilt, he was involved in the family shipping and railways business. His brother William Kassam Vanderbilt built the other house down the road, Marble House. William K Vanderbilt hired the architects for Grand Central Railway Station in New York City.

This house is called…The Breakers.

Enjoy the photos.

How the other half lived.

You can read all about it here….https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Breakers

NWP 37 part 3 – The Gilded Age – The Elms

Leave a Reply

21-Sept-24 Newport, Rhode Island

You’ve now seen Rough Point and Marble House. So something a little bit more subdued in comparison, dear reader.

You can read all about it here…https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Elms_(Newport,_Rhode_Island)

NWP 37 part 2 – The Gilded Age – Marble House

Leave a Reply

20-Sept-24 Newport, Rhode Island

Having toured Rough Point, we now move on to the Marble House.

Another Vanderbilt built house.

This time as a birthday present to his wife.

Most blokes buy jewellery. But wait until you see this present!

You can read all about it here, dear reader…https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marble_House

NWP 37 part 1 – The Gilded Age – Rough Point

Leave a Reply

20-Sept-24 Newport, Rhode Island

Dear reader. Today and tomorrow’s blog is in four parts. For reasons which will become obvious. Too many photos for one blog post.

Having woken to heavy rain in Portsmouth there’s no sitting outside admiring a sea view. The closest thing to a sea view is the Blue Peter-esque ship formed into a rather ornate chandelier in the hotel lounge.

Dreadful weather so no pottering. Straight to Newport in Rhode Island. Quickly zooming through Boston as I do. Back in Boston in a few days.

Last came to Newport in September 2007 whilst working in New York. Said to myself back then I’ll be back. Only taken 17 years. But here I am.

Newport famous as being the summer resort for the rich and famous in the 18th and 19th centuries. Not for them staying in the likes of Butlins. As you will see, dear reader, specially commissioned summer ‘cottages’ were built for the likes of the Vanderbilts and Astors. There’s rich. Then there’s Vanderbilt rich.

By summer ‘cottages’ I mean. Massive mansions. Opulent in their interior architecture.

First up is Rough Point.

Going to direct you to its Wikipedia page, dear reader…https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rough_Point

Photos below.

NWP 36. Talk like a pirate

1 Reply

19-Sept-24 Portsmouth, New Hampshire

Massive fog bank a few hundreds yards out to sea as I open the curtains and test the air on balcony overlooking the harbour. Another dismal view from a hotel room. Ahem.

Spontaneous booking of a hotel for tonight whilst still lazing in bed. The half hour before physically getting out of bed. Awake. But not. All done on mobile phone app and a couple of clicks here and there. Isn’t technology wonderful. When it works.

Pass through more nice looking towns that perhaps deserve more investigation. Perhaps another time. One in particular is Wiscasset. Long line of people queue at 1100hrs for Red’s Eats to open. Famous for its lobster rolls.

Highway 1 all the way to Portland. And something I’ve not really seen since Vancouver. Homeless camping on the streets.

Portland might be a nice place to visit. Where it not for the thousands of cruise ship tourists dawdling. Two large cruise liners in port. Whole area heaving.

And as it’s the final day in Maine…lobster for lunch. Rather nice too. Four days on the trot of lobster. All very decadent isn’t it, dear reader.

Portland is named after the Isle of Portland in Dorset. And most of the port area buildings are now brick. Rather than timber seen thus far elsewhere.

Deciding there’s not much interest in the port area move on up to the Portland Observatory. Built in 1807 as a signal tower. Not a lighthouse. At 86ft high on the highest point in the area, Lemuel Moody used it to signal between ships and the port to alert workers which ships were arriving and thus improve the flow of goods around the wharves. Early day logistics computer.

Entrance fee is $10.

But.

It’s ‘Talk like a pirate’ day.

And.

If you talk like a pirate. You get a $2 discount.

So.

Tell my best pirate joke instead.

Do you know why pirates are called pirates?

Because they aaaarrrrgggghhhh…hahaha

And that, dear reader, warranted a $2 discount.

In response, receptionists asks how do you make a pirate angry?

Take the ‘p’ away.

What’s that, dear reader….groan is it??!?!

Cracking views from the top.

Only when I drive down Congress Street do I realise there’s a lot more to Portland than the harbour area. Quite a lively town centre. But glad I’m not staying here overnight.

I’ve chosen well, dear reader. And instead opted for a hotel in Portsmouth New Hampshire. Called The Hotel Portsmouth (www.larkhotels.com/hotels/the-hotel-portsmouth). Built in 1881 as a home but now converted to a boutique hotel. An example of Queen Anne Victorian architecture and one of the town’s grand old mansions. Rather nice.

Gives an indication of the sort of town Portsmouth is. It’s all rather nice, dear reader. Very upmarket. Even a Fat Face shop. Could almost be twinned with Salcombe.

Town was named ‘Portsmouth’ in honour of the colony’s founder, John Mason, who had been captain of the English port of Portsmouth, Hampshire, after which New Hampshire is named.

The stuff you learn on this blog.

NWP 35. Psychological support cat

1 Reply

18-Sept-24 Rockland, Maine

As was the case in Port Ludlow up the road from Seattle at the beginning of this trip, find myself having a morning brew sitting outside in the warm sun overlooking still and silent waters. Now on the east coast though. In Lubec. Technically the Bay of Fundy.

This is definitely the way to start a day. Even at 0900hrs it’s hot. Another scorching 30C day beckons. Magnificent vista before me. Canada is just to my right a few hundred metres away across the water.

Could sit here all day. Read the paper. Have a brew. Or two.

Could stay here another day. Too.

But need to skedaddle.

Just down the road is the official easternmost point of the USA. At West Quoddy Lighthouse. Arriving can hear a groaning noise. From a buoy (which Americans pronounce ‘boo-ey’) just offshore. It’s called a groaner and groans with the waves. Every. Few. Seconds. To warn of rocks. Glad I don’t live near that!

So.

Have now been to the northernmost point of the continental USA. Barrow in Alaska.

But not the northernmost point of the contiguous USA. The lower 48 as they refer to it in Alaska. No. That’s in Northwest Angle, Minnesota. Quite why the northern point is in a town called Northwest I do not know. So. Another trip to do.

Have now been to the southernmost point of the continental and contiguous USA. Key West in Florida.

And.

Have now been to the easternmost point. West Quoddy Lighthouse.

Just the west to do. Oh. And the centre of the contiguous USA. In Lebanon, Kansas.

Perusing the small museum inside the Lighthouse Keeper’s former home. In walks husband and wife. Husband has a very large square grey container strapped to his chest. At first assume it’s a baby carrier.

Until.

Woman announces to receptionist.

It’s my psychological support cat.

Oh FFS!!!

Really!?!

Barking mad.

Receptionist asks to have a look at the moggy. It’s plonked on the desk.

Jeez.

It. Is. Massive.

Never seen a cat that big.

Looks an evil thing too.

Even has a mane.

Could be a baby lion. Were it not grey and black.

See for yourselves, dear reader, in the photo below. And the size of the crate it’s being carried in.

Built in 1808, West Quoddy lighthouse was necessary for the safe passage of merchant ships to Eastport up the coast. What you see today is the third iteration. Was originally built of wood. And octagonal. The original light was 90 feet above sea level and could be visible 21 miles away.

When the British occupied Eastport during the War of 1812, British soldiers operated the lighthouse. West Quoddy thus became one of the few lighthouses to be under the control of a foreign government.

The name ‘Quoddy’ is derived from the local native American tribe ‘Passamaquoddy’. Meaning ‘people of the dawn’.

Being in the Bay of Fundy, the tide rises and fall an average of nearly 16 feet.

Pleasant and easy drive south on Highway 1. Passing through small towns and villages with white pained clapboard buildings. Set off against a bright blue sky.

Lunch at Scovills Millside Dining in Harrington. Building is from 1868 but owner says, “Not as old as where you come from!”

Further on is Tidal Falls. Picturesque spot where the incoming tidal waters of the Bay of Fundy rush up into a pinch point over a shallow rocky bottom in the river causing a waterfall effect going one way as the tide comes in. And then the waterfall is reversed a few hours later when the tide goes out draining the inlet. See video below.

Cross the Penobscot Narrows using the newer bridge. The original steel bridge built in 1931 had to be replaced in 2007. Someone had the bright idea of including an observation room in one of the two towers. And for a small fee, a lift whizzes you up 128 metres for amazing views.

Because I know, dear reader, you would like to see the view from the top. No expense was spared. Paid up and up I went.

To the tallest public bridge observatory. In. The. World.

Ta da.

Great view as you will see in the photos below.

I mentioned yesterday that I had no plans and nothing booked. Spontaneity is the key. So it was only this morning that I booked the Rockland Harbour Hotel (www.rocklandharborhotel.com).

Rockland being famous for holding the annual Lobster Festival.

Ask for a recommendation for the best restaurant in town for lobster.

Hill’s. Is the answer.

Off I toddle.

Third day in a row of having lobster for dinner. When in Maine.

Past couple of nights have had picked lobster (already out of its shell) with prawns, clams, scallops, haddock, crab. But don’t feel like I’ve had lobster. If you know what I mean.

So.

Tonight.

Going all in for lobster in a shell.

Sit down. Order drinks.

Then.

Order a whole lobster. In its shell.

Oh yes.

But.

Rockland’s best restaurant in town for lobster (according to hotel reception).

Does. Not. Have. Any. Sodding. Lobster. In. A. Shell.

What the.

No.

The delivery lorry apparently delivered its lobsters to another restaurant this morning by mistake.

Really?!?

So.

Make do with picked lobster. In melted butter.

But to be healthy. Order Ceasar Salad to go with it. With lots of dressing. And buttery garlic bread.

Rather than the less healthy option of chips.

All this lobster talk reminds me of Phoebe in Friends.

Will you be my lobster, dear reader?

NWP 34. Half way between the North Pole and Equator

Leave a Reply

17-Sept-24 Lubec, Maine

Well. No police turned up last night to arrest me. So a free man. But even so. Double locked bedroom door just in case. Remember an old boss who came up from London to visit the Nottingham office. He stayed in a hotel on the hottest day of the year. So hot he had to sleep naked on top of the bed clothes.

At 3am a policeman with an Alsatian dog and young girl in tow burst into his room. Somewhat startling as he was lying there naked.

Policeman said to girl. Is that him?

No. She replied.

And with that they left.

How we laughed when he told us.

So, dear reader. Always lock your hotel bedroom door.

Had wondered why all the hotels were fully booked in Bangor last night. And why they are all so flipping expensive. American singer and songwriter Post Malone was having a concert.

Last night was also the first to feature lobster. When in Maine. Eat lobster.

Now have a car. Now have freedom. Now have the ability to go wherever I want. When I want. Nothing is booked. Just need to be in Boston late next week to fly home. Boo.

So.

Where do we start.

How about the easternmost point of the USA?

Famous author Stephen King lives in Bangor and his home is well known. Quick scurry to see what it’s all about. Flying bats adorn the gate posts. Nice large mansion. The sort you see on Scooby Doo.

Scorching hot day. 30C hot.

And an easy drive through lots of forest to Calais. And the Canadian border. Some of the trees are starting to turn to autumnal golds and yellows. Must be an impressive sight when the foliage completely turns.

Driving south from Calais. Pass a large globe with ‘45’ splashed across it. Worthy of investigation. And realise I am now at 45 deg North. Have to back track a few hundred metres to find the exact spot. Which is marked by a stone which is surprisingly not very well signposted. You would think they would make a bigger deal of it.

Now precisely half way between the North Pole and the Equator. The same line of latitude as the wine regions of Bordeaux, the deserts of Mongolia and the northernmost tip of Japan. And Salem in Oregon. As I read with interest.

Turn off Highway 1 to Lubec. The USA’s easternmost town. To stay at the Inn on the Wharf (www.theinnonthewharf.com). Basic but charming. And comfortable. A former sardine factory.

The town was initially renowned for smoking herring with traditional buildings called stands. Canning sardines here arose because during the Franco-Prussian War of 1870, a sardine importer had difficulty supplying sardines. The waters of the Lubec region had an abundant supply and so the industry grew from that.

Once again. Lobster for dinner. And crab. And haddock. And scallops. And prawns. And clams. A mixed grill if you like.

All excellent. But refined dining it is not. Lots of everything. And a big pot of melted butter.

Cause of death. Can now add melted butter to blue cheese dressing.

Have yet to tackle a lobster in its shell. Two lobster meals thus far have already been picked. So no messing. Quite amusing to see those who have had lobster in a shell. All have grease marks down their shirts.

Yet another stunning sunset. The hotel is right on the water with balcony overlooking an amazing vista of sea and islands. Just across the water a few hundred metres away is Canada. So close that mobile phone is picking up the Canadian signal.

So sometimes I’m one hour ahead. Which confuses. Thinking should go to bed now. As it’s late. But no. Still only 2300hrs.

NWP 33. Going to the police station right now

1 Reply

16-Sept-24 Bangor, Maine, USA

Not the best night’s sleep. Tad tired. Plus early start. Had rung to book a taxi at 0745hrs this morning last night but could tell it was a driver driving who promised he would remember to book it in. To be on the safe side ring taxi company again to confirm the booking. Don’t want to have come this far and fall at the final hurdle and missing the ferry.

Young lad taxi driver arrives bang on time. But control is going beserk. A young lady has been waiting for a taxi for ages. She’s going to be late. Any driver free to pick her up. My driver radios to control that he has picked me up and on the way to the ferry terminal. Control still going berserk. Desperate for a driver to pick up lady who is dreadfully late.

My driver then radios in with those immortal words, “Sorry for the chaos I’ve caused.”

Well at least I’m on time.

Have to be at ferry terminal by 0830hrs for the 0930hrs sailing. For customs and immigration. Expecting a queue of people. To go through Canadian customs and immigration and then USA customs and immigration.

Well. Not what I had been led to believe.

There is no queue. Only 16 foot passengers.

Obtain boarding pass from a counter. Then go to a scruffy bloke sitting at a plastic table who takes boarding pass from me. He’s the sort with straggly long hair, baseball cap, tattoos, rings on fingers. Like an ageing rocker high on drugs. Looks like he might enjoy a few beers too. Needs to have a rummage in my bags to check for the usual. Guns and ammo. And pepper spray. His grubby little hands rifling through my bags. Needless to say doesn’t find any guns and ammo. Or pepper spray.

Then proceed to the passenger terminal. A few steps past his plastic table. I say passenger terminal. What I really mean is transport café. Without the café. Small waiting room that’s fallen out of the 1970s. Plastic chairs. Mr & Mrs Georgia from yesterday waiting patiently. A few odd bods. And a woman who is yakking non stop to a stranger who just sat down near her. Telling her life story. Turns out she’s just had brain surgery. That’s why we can all see bumps in her shaven head. At the top of her voice. Which reverberates around the austere tiled waiting room. No carpet to soften the sound. It’s harsh. Welcome to my Monday morning. And not had second and third brews yet, dear reader.

Boarding sooner than expected at about 0815hrs. Aboard a ten man golf buggy. No walking allowed. Zoom up to the loading ramp and its reversed all the way up to the car deck at some speed. And we jump off. Up in the lift and first onboard.

Grab front row seat at the pointy end. A small table with two chairs fixed to the floor. Spread out. So no one can sit in adjacent chair. After yesterday’s cramped conditions I’m going all in for leg room and space today. I’ve earnt it.

And then car passengers arrive. Everyone fussing about where best to sit to avoid sea sickness. Yesterday’s email confirmation from ferry company said in big bold letters that you are to take motion sickness tablets 1hr before departure.

Check Windy.com app. Just to see if I’ve missed the weather. Nope. Forecast to be dead calm.

More people arrive. A good few are taking sea sickness bags and placing them on tables in front of them. What is going on?

Check Windy.com app. Again. Make sure it’s refreshed and not showing an old forecast.

Nope. Still dead calm.

And it is dead calm. For the whole three and half hours.

During the crossing. Some whales spotted blowing. Everyone stands up to look out of windows. I am working at my table but now have a woman standing behind me literally on my shoulder. Not wanting her to see my work. Have to stop working and close down. So now I can’t work. As she’s looking for whales. Standing right over my shoulder.

Not having this. Do what Dad did on an Iceland and Norway cruise once. Walked into the bar saw no seats available said ‘Ooh look at that whale!’ pointing nowhere in particular. Everyone vacated seats to look for non-existent whale. Dad got a seat.

So.

Following his lead.

I say.

Ooh there’s a whale.

And point to somewhere on the starboard side.

Woman quickly scurries off to look for non-existent whale.

Problem solved. Can continue working.

And that, dear reader. Is how you do it.

Once in Bar Harbour I need to get to Bangor. Having done considerable research there is no easy way. It’s a taxi or shuttle bus. Shuttle bus is from middle of town late afternoon.

According to my Uber app. A taxi costs $85 for the hour or so journey. Uber it is.

Arrive Bar Harbour. Golf buggy to US Immigration. Usual routine of why do you have a tourist visa and not an ESTA. Because been to North Korea.

And finally enter the USA after a lot of questioning. Or. To be more precise. The ferry waiting room.

This is going to be easy. Click on the Uber app. Taxi will arrive in a matter of minutes. Will be in Bangor by 1300hrs. Job done.

Erm. Nope.

Firstly. Can’t get a decent mobile phone signal for Uber app to work.

Switch to wifi. But the terminal has no wifi. The only wifi signal I can just about pick up is the Holiday Inn a few hundred metres away. Very weak signal. But a signal.

So. Click on the Uber app. Book taxi. And wait for the confirmation to say a driver is confirmed and will be with you in a matter of minutes.

Erm. Nope.

No drivers available.

No can do. No taxis available through the Uber app.

As it slowly dawns on me that this is now going to be a nightmare. Conscious of another traveller also trying to get to Bangor. Deliberately kept quiet as I want to travel solo. Not get involved in other people’s problems.

But. There’s something not quite right about him. Has had assistance from staff who have given him a list of taxi firms and confirm there’s no trains or buses. Just a shuttle from the centre of town late afternoon.

He asks if anyone else is going to Bangor. I pipe up. Yes. Me.

Great. Do you want to share a taxi. Why not. Uber is saying it’s $85 one way so that will be $40-ish each. Job done. Easy peasy.

But. Tells me his Canadian mobile isn’t working in the USA. So. Use my UK mobile number to ring a USA number. To ring for a taxi.

The sheet he has been give has about a dozen or so taxi firms printed out.

Start at number one. No availability.

Second one. No availability.

Third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth…erm nope.

Not looking good is it, dear reader.

Finally. Ring tenth company and say, “I would like to book a taxi from the ferry terminal to Bangor for now please.”

“Yes, no problem. 15 minutes.”

“How much is it please?” – and this is important for later, dear reader.

“$150”

Look to my new travel companion and tell him it’s $150…so $75 each. Is that OK? He confirms.

Taxi booked.

This is now 1200hrs. 1hr behind Nova Scotia.

Hobson’s choice really.

So.

Now have 15 minutes wait. Should be in Bangor by 1315hrs-ish. Excellent.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

So.

Get to know my new travelling companion. There’s an air of Clint Eastwood in the way that he talks.

This is his story…which explains the condition he’s in.

On 18 February 2020, Matthew was cycling to work one morning in his hometown Vancouver. The sun was low. He was cycling with the sun behind him. A driver of an SUV blinded by the low sun turned in on him. Leading to multiple broken bones, internal injuries and a severe traumatic brain injury.

He was 38.

Parents were actuaries and the family had lived in England for a few years. Matthew had later returned to the UK to set up a travel business before moving back to Vancouver. One sister still lives in London. One in Vancouver.

Educated. Intelligent. And a quick wit. Dealt a crap hand. In a sliding doors moment.

Took over a year to recover.

Now walks with a hiking pole to steady his left side. An eye patch on his left eye used intermittently when it’s bright. Left hand side of his body is not great. Almost looks as if he’s had a stroke.

But he can walk and talk. And clearly still got his humour.

Left Vancouver in June and made his way across Canada. Now dropping down the eastern side of the USA to New York to meet friends. Before crossing USA to the west coast and then heading north back home to Vancouver.

And doing all that on his own. With just a rucksack.

Brave bloke. You can tell he’s a fighter though. Given what he’s gone through.

Taxi eventually arrives 30 minutes later with name of the taxi company on side.

Great. Nip outside to confirm she’s the taxi for Bangor. She is.

Nip back to grab Matthew and bags.

Nip back to taxi.

To find a little old lady putting her luggage in boot.

And saying.

This is my taxi. I booked this weeks ago. I have to be at Bangor Bus Station by three.

Whoa.

We were told this was our taxi.

Lady driver says we are all to get in. She’s going to take us all to meet another driver. Who, it is made out, will take the two of us to Bangor. While lady driver and little old lady continue on to Bangor Bus Station.

Hmmm.

That seems a bit daft.

If we’re all going to Bangor. Why don’t we all go in one car.

And split the cost. $150 split three ways. $50 each. Lady driver doesn’t disagree but needs to talk to the boss.

So I say to little old lady if we each pay $50 then she gets a cheaper ride.

Unfortunately. This confuses little old lady. She retorts with. I don’t know. I agreed to pay $150.

Yes. But that’s $150 for the taxi to Bangor. If we give you $50 each you pay the driver $150 and we give you $100. So you only pay $50. In effect.

Oh I don’t know. Flustered now. Can’t work it out. Main concern is she needs to be at Bangor Bus Station for 1500hrs. It’s now 1245hrs. Plenty of time.

Lady driver seems to agree it’s sensible that we all share one taxi. And the impression is that it’s $150 for the taxi.

Not. Per person.

Because that would be a scam.

Considering Uber taxi can do it for $85.

Pull into the rear car park of a restaurant in Ellsworth. Lady driver jumps out. The intention is that it’s to swap cars. But makes sense to swap drivers. Not cars.

Another young woman is our driver. African-American. Bit of attitude. It seems.

And we all drive merrily along to Bangor.

Thinking this is a good deal.

$50 each.

Quite by chance. The taxi drives past my hotel in Bangor enroute to the bus station.

So.

I say. Can you drop me off here please. Seeing as you’re passing.

Pulls up to the front door of the Hilton on the outskirts near the airport.

Get out. Have daysack in hand. But hand luggage still in boot.

Hand over $50 to driver. As it’s $150 for the taxi.

She’s not happy, dear reader.

And rings her boss.

Another African-American. By the sounds of it.

There follows an argument. I work on construction projects. Spend my whole career arguing. It’s what I’m paid to do. I can argue like there’s no tomorrow. And loudly when needs be.

Me holding driver’s phone on speaker. Next to little old lady sitting in passenger seat.

Voices are raised. Little old lady is flustered by the aggressive tone. Starts huffing and puffing in nervousness.

Boss man at the other end of the phone is screaming that it’s $150 per person. That would make him $450 for this 1hr trip. When Uber quoting $85 for a taxi.

Clearly a scam. And he is told so.

At this point think it a good idea to retrieve bag from boot in case driver drives off.

Judging by the nods, Matthew is agreeing with me. Driver then closes the rear side door. So now can’t see Matthew on the back seat because of the blackened window.

The argument is going nowhere. He’s screaming that it’s $150 each. To get rid of him tell him I’ll pay $150 for the two of us as we booked a taxi. So give a further $25 to make it $75 from me. Matthew will then pay a further $75 when he gets dropped off at the bus station. This seems to be agreed by the driver as she starts to pull off. Having had enough of the slanging match.

The fly in the ointment being that Matthew has no US dollars on him. Needs a cash machine.

Because she’s shut the rear door and I can’t now see Matthew and then she drives off. I don’t get a proper chance to say goodbye and good luck sort of thing.

And I’m a bit perturbed by that, dear reader. Hope he’s OK and gets it sorted. Easily someone I’d like to have a beer and a laugh with.

Checking in at hotel reception seconds later receive a text.

From the taxi boss. He had my number and had texted earlier to say driver was on the way.

This time the text reads…

I’m going to the police station right now.

Good luck with that mate.

A whole new perspective of the song.

Didn’t we have a lovely time the day we went to…

NWP 32. Pain in the ****

Leave a Reply

15-Sept-24 Yarmouth, Nova Scotia

Need to get to Yarmouth today. Southern tip of Nova Scotia. For ferry tomorrow. Had booked a shuttle bus. But they are not terribly forthcoming about getting in touch and confirming by email. Had to ring from Corner Brook to confirm he had actually received my booking by email. Having had to write all credit card details down in email to confirm the booking you will understand my nervousness. Had reduced credit card limit to a paltry sum just in case. He confirms in email that all OK.

But.

I’m hesitant. Very low scoring reviews online. Took the money but never turned up sort of thing. Cancelled at the last minute sort of thing.

Fairly critical that I reach Yarmouth today. If I miss the ferry to Bar Harbour in Maine, the next one is Thursday. And do not want to be stuck in Yarmouth for a few days. If you’ve been, dear reader, you’ll understand why.

A text confirming the pick up was sent yesterday. So fingers crossed there’s no last minute cancellation. It’s CAD110 for the 4hr journey. Suspect it only works if they have a full shuttle bus of seven people.

Old folk from Georgia at my hotel also waiting for the same shuttle. So that’s three at least.

Thankfully. It arrives just before 1300hrs. Knackered old thing it is. The sort of minibus you see on a construction project ferrying workers about. Dirty inside. Uncomfortable. 400,000km on the clock.

Already three in. Little old lady. All nice and comfy in the front passenger seat. Two women on rear seat. Four seats remain. On one back seat next to women. Three on middle row.

Georgia folk sit next to each other on middle row. I sit on back row next to women. Clearly not wanting the Great White to sit next to them they are insistent there is more room in the middle row.

There isn’t because the vacant middle row seat is behind the front passenger seat. The back row that side at least has room to put right leg straight in gap between middle row seat and sliding door.

It’s the left leg that is the problem, dear reader. Not enough room. Knee digs into seat in front.

Can assure you, dear reader, it’s not a comfortable position to be in.

Journey should take about 3hrs-ish from Halifax. For the 200 miles.

But.

We have to go to the airport first to pick up final passenger.

The airport 45 minutes north of Halifax.

And a further 45 minutes back to Halifax.

After 30 minutes enroute to the airport realise I am not going to cope with nearly five hours sitting like this.

But. Brainwave.

Mr Georgia is sitting in the middle of the middle row. His legs are in the gap between the driver’s and front passenger’s seats.

Tap on shoulder.

Kind few words. Posh English voice. Oh yes, dear reader, can do posh when needs be.

Nicely does it.

Of course. Not a problem. He says. Fully understanding my predicament. His boss was 6’8”.

Swap over at the airport.

Ah. Yes. That’s moderately more comfortable.

But now sit there trying to be as thin as possible so as not to encroach on him and his wife now either side of me.

Don’t do thin very well, dear reader.

And then the long. Very long. Journey south. For five hours. All sitting in silence. Looking out the window.

For five long hours.

Seats are the most uncomfortable. The sort where the springs have gone and you can feel the metal frame.

A brief pause for a leg stretch and pit stop in Liverpool.

All along the main highway pass signs to small villages by the sea a few kilometres away. Each one seemingly having a historic waterfront.

Long straight roads. Trees with splashes of autumnal reds and yellows intersperse the otherwise green forest we drive through.

For five long hours.

Can’t even play music in my headphones in case it can be heard by my neighbours.

Mrs Georgia chews gum. But not in that quiet way. No. That squelching way.

For five long hours.

Finally. Just before 1800hrs. After. Five long hours. Arrive Yarmouth.

Oh. My. God. Do. I. Ache.

In need of a decent night’s sleep as an early start. Somewhat perturbed by the very noisy ventilation system. Corridor is literally vibrating with the noise and air flow.

Bathroom extract is like a vacuum cleaner.

Jeez.

Painful day that!

Very long and cold beer needed!

NWP 31. Number crunching

Leave a Reply

14-Sept-24 Halifax, Nova Scotia

Very sad morning. Disembarkation day. Say goodbye to the housekeeping lad. The one who cleans toilets in the morning. Then delivers food to each waiting station at night. And grabs you off the Zodiac landing gantry. Lots of jobs he does.

Cabin has been absolutely spotless throughout the voyage. He’s been brilliant. As they all have.

He exits someone’s cabin having been cleaning it. Wearing blue latex gloves. Sees me in the corridor. I wish him well and thank him for everything. To which he approaches and proffers said blue latex gloved hand to shake mine. On the assumption said blue latex gloved hand has just been cleaning a toilet we make do with an elbow shake. Elbow to elbow. Nice and hygienic like.

Expedition crew line the gantry as we disembark. Have learnt a lot of new things from these very bright young things. Most in the twenties and thirties. Enjoying life. Living life. As it should be.

Jump in taxi for the short distance to hotel. It’s CAD20. Hmmm. That’s a bit bloody steep. And he is told so. More like CAD10 sort of trip. Flat fare apparently. But know I’m being ripped off.

As it’s still only 0900hrs when I try to check in to hotel it’s no surprise the room isn’t ready. Sit in a little glass pod in the business centre area for a few hours completing some work for a deadline on Monday. Being looked at by everyone who walks past. Like a goldfish.

OMG. Now have high speed internet. Quick as a flash. As brilliant as Starlink was for 300 odd people onboard ship in remote polar regions it was only 1-2MB/s. The old dial up speed. Remember? In the old days. Well it worked but took ages to upload all those blog photos and videos dear reader. Two to three hours per day on the trip doing blog, dear reader. Just for you.

Quick walk along the harbourfront boardwalk. A lot of development appears to have taken place since I last came in 2010. Why. Might you ask was I here in 2010.

Well.

I had travelled by train all the way from Vancouver to Halifax. You can read about that little jaunt on the ‘Around the World in 60 Days’ blog on this website, dear reader.

And now.

I have travelled from Vancouver to Halifax. By ship. Well. OK. Technically Nome. But you know what I’m getting at. Flew from Vancouver to Nome then ship.

So. You could say that I have now circumnavigated Canada?

Fantastic views over the city from the top of the citadel. But. Hear some very, very sad news. From home. Someone I know has, very sadly, just been given two weeks to live. And now in the final few days.

It rams it home that life is for living.

And a reminder that a few years from now you won’t remember how much it cost to travel. But you will remember the memories you made.

So. Travel often.

At the end of my rail journey from Vancouver to Halifax in 2010, I had a celebratory dinner in a restaurant called Salty’s. Across the quay from hotel.

For old time’s sake decide it’s as good a place as any to also finish my North West Passage expedition.

So as I’m walking back to hotel. Pop in to make a reservation for later that evening.

What name is it? She asks.

What telephone number is it? She asks.

Give her a number ending in seventy three.

See her write it down on the reservation sheet as 723.

No, no. It’s seventy three.

Ah. Scrubs out 723. And see her write down 703.

No, no. It’s seventy three. Seven. Three.

Ah. She scrubs out 703.

And then says. Oh we don’t need a number.

And that, dear reader. Is what I thought would make a couple of amusing lines in today’s blog.

Make every day count!