This Is How Horror Movies Start

Friday August 15, 2015

I suppose you are wondering about the title of this post.  It does NOT in any way refer to St. Martins, New Brunswick or Century Farm campground.  These are charming places and we are very happy to explore the waterfront of our campsite as well as the adorable town in which it's located.

Our view

We spend the first day checking out the town and laying in some provisions from the tiny general store.  They make their own sausage, so of course we have to try those.  Also, vegetables because you know, Twizzlers.  We buy some firewood on the way back from the campground next door and have our lunch of sandwiches.  Mary has one of her Magic Bullet smoothies again.  I don't know how she does it.  After that, the boys putter around a bit while Rob does some work (that thing that's paying for all this adventure).  Mary and I decide to walk to St. Martins Harbour where, we are told, there will be shopping which has been in short supply this trip.  Our campground hosts, Byard and Linda Moran, supply us with a map:

If there is one thing I learned on this trip about campground hosts it's that they LOVE maps and sharpies.  Just look at all those colors!  Anyway, what looks like it will be a pretty good hike turns out to take just about 20 minutes.  On the way there, we pass beautiful old summer cottages, several of which are now B&Bs.  We also come upon this interesting covered bridge.

If you can see the purple blob toward the top of the map, that is our destination.  It's Harbour Park and there is a faux lighthouse with plexiglass windows and a treacherous staircase to the top.  The effect is a little like being in a strange attic.  It's dusty and filled with old photos of people we don't know.  On the way down, we make the mistake of engaging in chit chat with the girl behind the information desk.  I'm thinking she doesn't see too many visitors.  As the sun begins to set and the breeze turns chillier, she decides to engage us in a thorough examination of what we are planning to do and see.  As we are leaving tomorrow after a quick tour of the sea caves, we can't really tell her much.  HUGE MISTAKE.  She starts adding colors to our map with a crayon, highlighting her faves. She thrusts brochures we already have into our hands.  We take them; she is scary.

You can never have too many brochures...

Okay, here's the horror movie part.  As we are trying to leave, she calls us back one more time to tell us about the one thing we "absolutely, positively have to do."  There is a place called Anvil Rock where there's a real lighthouse and "the BEST beach ever."  Having been to the Grenadine Islands, I doubt this, but she is on a roll.  She tells us, "You have to climb over some slippery rocks to get there, and you must leave before dark because once the tide rolls in you'll be stranded for the night."  Ummm...no thank you?  We thank her and pry ourselves away.  As we are leaving, Mary, who is prone to scary scenarios, supposes that if we went, we would likely run into our enthusiastic tour guide wielding an axe and laughing maniacally.  They always fall for it!  Ha Ha Ha Ha! 

We head back to the RV where the boys have made a roaring campfire.  The previously serene campground has been replaced by a raucous, packed RV party.  It's Friday and the weekenders have arrived.  I'm reminded of those scenes in movies when the circus comes to town and sets up their camp.  What is fascinating to me is that they all seem to know each other.  We must look like outliers to them: this quiet, white bread family of five, with our foldable camp chairs and '40s era big band playing on our speakers.  I pour myself a martini and Rob cracks a beer and we soak in the goings on around us.

After our dinner of delightful homemade sausages, bacon drippings-roasted potatoes (if you said 'ew', don't knock it till you try it) and a big salad, we huddle around the campfire for s'mores.  The younger two retire fairly quickly because the weather has turned downright cold.  See your breath cold.  The 17 year old waits it out till us old folks head inside as well; he has a prowl in mind, we think.  Sure enough, he disappears for a while and we go to bed.  Oh to be young and anticipating adventure around every corner!  He returns just in time to say goodnight.  We are not sure if he's smiling because he had some fun or because tomorrow is our last day.  The kids are all kind of RV'd out at this point, but they've been great sports.

We didn't even make them stand together.  Surely this St. Martins is a land of miracles.

So Long Haligonians!

Thursday August 14, 2014

SO LONG HALIGONIANS!

Well, it's our final day in Halifax.  The day dawns chilly and gray.  We are so happy we chose yesterday as our beach day.  The weather's so different today, it could be from another season.  After a little walk around to secure some souvenirs and possibly some giftys, we are hungry for lunch.  Earlier in the day, we lured everyone from the RV and one of my ridiculous breakfasts with the promise of a hearty lunch.  By the time we hike around the impossibly steep streets of the city, the chill wind biting our noses, everyone is quite ready for some comfort food.  And where better to find that than a traditional Irish pub?

Inside, we are greeted with a big smile and a gorgeous Irish lilt.  As we gather around the big old wooden table, Charlie is handed a children's placemat (with a menu printed on it just for the wee folk) and a cup of crayons.  From the look on his face, they might just as well have brought him a high chair and a bib.  He is incredulous.  I share my menu with him before he can mount one of his signature diatribes against our poor waiter.  Sodas are brought in due time and all is forgotten.  The salad I was going to order suddenly seems ridiculous.  So I order this instead:

Fried calamari with french fries and cole slaw...

It is every bit as yummy as it looks.  Mary does order a salad and I pause to admire her self-restraint, but only briefly because, well, look at that picture.

Anyway, after a lunch like this, we can't possibly want dessert...or can we?  Cue demented laugh.  OF COURSE we have dessert.  After all, we will be sitting in the RV for the next five hours and that takes a lot of energy.  There is brownie.  There is chocolate.  There is ice cream.  There is regret.  But not much.

Rob, Mary, Charlie, and Peter

After that, we waddle back to the Breaking Bad car and head back to Dartmouth to begin breaking down the RV for the long ride to our next and last destination before we hit Bethel, ME for a week long celebration of my mother and father-in-law's fiftieth wedding anniversary.  Google Maps, true to form, have us arriving around 5 o'clock.  Real life gets us there closer to 7.  

Check in at Century Farm Campground

This is a stupid angle.  We have a view of the water that's fantastic.

On our way into St. Johns, there's a roadside stand selling lobster rolls and chowdah.  While my clan cowers in the RV (it's raining and chilly) I procure our dinner.  There are two Frenchmen waiting for their food and I pass the time trying to understand what they are saying, but alas, Canadian French is very different from the language I'm used to.  The food takes an inexplicably long time to prepare, considering it's already been cooked and only needs to be bundled for transport.  Two other things offer diversion from the wait:  a precocious little boy and his trucks, which I get a full description of, including the names of the drivers; a collection of 8 track tapes that are for sale.  And yes, there is a Partridge Family one.  I ask the proprietor about them and she says she does have people stopping by occasionally, looking for one.  Maybe for something to do before the key party at the disco?

The food is really tasty, but mine will wait while I mix up a proper martini.  Rob's given up the hard stuff for the trip, and is going in for local beers.  This is why I can fit more of the lobster roll into my tummy:  beer takes up room!

After a bit of cleaning up and arranging our stuff, we head to bed.  Tomorrow we will check out St. Martin's and the Fundy Trail.

The Fundy Trail