Nova Scotia might be one of Canada's poorest provinces and the Easten Shore is one of the poorest parts of Nova Scotia. There are no jobs. David, who's a sailor, has to work from the New Brunswick coast down towards Maine. As we head down the coast we pass through some dismal-looking villages. There's not a lot of people living down here. Some houses stand empty and are being subsumed back into the surrounding forest. There are some notable exceptions - Guysborough has had a philanthropist benefactor invest in the community and - but the overall impression is of abandonment and gloom. At
Sherbrooke the sense of abandonment is enforced by the presence of a
complete and preserved village which is now a living museum. It's
illuminating. Mind you, the weather's got a bit crap and there are too many mosquitoes so that doesn't help.
In one village we see a man outside his house and ask if we can get water. I am beckoned in and enter a small wood-frame house. The man's wife asks the usual questions and when she sees her husband filling our bag from the tap she remonstrates with him. Instead she tells him to use the 'spring water' which is stored in 5 litre plastic bottles. The tap water is not safe for drinking, she says, so they drive up the road to collect drinking water from a spring.
The coast is actually extremely wild and unspoilt. It's mostly rocky coves and spits of land jutting out into the ocean. With a cloudy sky it can look bleak and harsh but when the sea mist shifts and the sun is out it's very pretty - the contrast is startling. The road takes us to the head of the sea lochs that push into the land, and then over a headland to the next bay or inlet, time after time.
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| no need for the school bus |
To reach Dartmouth and Halifax we find ourselves on a rail-trail that keeps us off busy roads. We're looking forward to a rest in the two cities that face each other across a bay. Our final night of camping begins with a warm and clammy camp and swarms, clouds of mosquitoes around the tent. It then hammers down with rain most of the night and we take refuge for breakfast by some closed-up beach changing rooms. It's a muddy wet ride into Dartmouth.
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| the glamour of cycle-touring |
We have a couple of places booked through Airbnb, one on each side of the bay. They are both quite different but comfy and what we need for looking around Halifax and having a break. Down at the main pier there's a migration museum to mark the important gateway that Halifax was in welcoming immigrants to Canada. The records show that between 1928 and 1971 they received over a million immigrants here. (We discover a year later that Gayle's uncle and aunty were two of these migrants.) 
While Dartmouth hosts the docks and naval base, Halifax has the snazzy new builds and tarted up old bits. We're surprised to see the British flag flying over the citadel up on the hill overlooking the port. A cruise ship disgorges thousands of tourists in one large evacuation of its bowels. Large people of all ages in bright white trainers are suddenly everywhere. In the art gallery we marvel at the Maud Lewis exhibition which includes her actual house, painted inside and out, in situ. The work is marvellous.
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| a bit different to our Halifax |
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| Maud Lewis' incredible house |
