Question:
How could you logically travel from Halifax to Truro in a north-easterly
direction?
Answer:
When you are in Nova Scotia.
 |
The multi-coloured houses of Lunenburg
and cars without front registration plates |
I have just had the pleasure of visiting
Nova Scotia, having been invited to help provide family therapy training to mental
health professionals in the province. After
an overnight stay in Halifax, we travelled to the town of Truro, stopping off
for a brief touristic interlude at Mahone Bay and Lunenburg.
Truro is perhaps not the most exciting
place in Canada but, as a centre for training people from all over the
province, it made geographical sense.
It’s described as a ‘hub’ and was once the point of convergence of major
railway lines but I was surprised to learn much of the railway network has
closed, simply because, so I was told, ‘Everyone has a car and the highway network
is so good’. Nova Scotia is now left
with a legacy of disused railway-lines-turned-cycle-tracks which, sadly, I had
neither the time nor the bike to enjoy.
The Nova Scotians seem to be generally an
unassuming, rather conservative people who made us feel very welcome with their
enthusiasm for learning and their commitment to improving the lives of families
dealing with mental health problems. So
what does a British visitor notice that’s different from the UK?
Cars display no registration
plate at the front which, for some reason, creates a slightly sinister
atmosphere when you first become aware of it, as if you have stepped into a
sci-fi movie. That said, the road etiquette is characteristically well-mannered: pedestrians don’t cross roads at crossings
until the ‘red hand’ turns white. Visually-impaired pedestrians are prompted to
know when it’s safe to cross by birdsong sounds – one that sounds like a cuckoo
and another more monotone one which, I think, help you to determine when it’s
safe to cross either in a forward or a sideways direction. Traffic stops as soon as a driver notices a
pedestrian wanting to cross. For a while
I found myself looking the wrong way when crossing roads (the traffic being on
the right) and gratefully acknowledging the person in the passenger seat rather
than the driver!
Most of the buildings are made
of wood rather than brick (there are endless forests all around so timber is
plentiful and brick is reserved for the more prestigious buildings.) Homeowners
favour steel roofs – they last forever.
I had expected to have lots of
good strong coffee but Nova Scotians seem not to prioritise this. I was also surprised
at how alien vegetarianism seems to be to them.
Restaurants seemed satisfied with themselves so long as they offered a single
veggie option (usually mushroom risotto or salad). Salad sometimes had meat in
it, however, and even baked beans in the hotel’s hot buffet had to contain bacon
– real cowboy food. Frankie and Gino’s (nothing like our Frankie and Benny’s)
was an unexpected treasure. Friendly
staff served pints of Rickards Red beer for those of us who were missing our
real ale, and they were able to be more flexible about the menu. The complimentary
mints that came with the bill caused a minor transatlantic stir.
 |
| wintergreen |
 |
| magical ointment |
Our Canadian
hosts explained that, in North America, the over-sized Polo mints are called
Life Savers (they are lifebuoy-shaped, if you think about it for a moment!) But
what was that pungent aroma that could be smelled through the sweet
wrapper? ‘Wintergreen,’ said the Canadians. ‘Germolene,’ said the English. We were
transported instantly back to the playground, grazed knees and the comforting
smell of that magical, skin-coloured ointment applied lovingly by our mothers from
a little tin. The Canadians looked
bemused but I politely declined to pop a Germolene-impregnated mint into my
mouth. Germolene was, as far as I was
concerned, not to be taken internally.
The Nova Scotians seemed more
Scottish than they realised. Some of them pronounced ‘Out and about’ as ‘Oot
and aboot’. They seemed to prefer meat and fish to fruit and vegetables; trees
and lakes (lochs?) abound. The traditional
music they enjoy, which they think of as Nova Scotian, sounded pretty Irish and
Scots to my ears. If a young man decides to take up the bagpipes rather than
the guitar it is not considered strange.Fresh fruit, like strong
coffee, seemed unimportant in Nova Scotia.
A few precious bananas appeared in
the hotel one day but, within 24 hours, they had converted themselves into a banana
dessert. Curiously, slices of oranges were de rigueur, whether on the edge of a
pint of Rickards White beer or as an accompaniment to poached eggs. Apart from
these ubiquitous slithers of orange, fruit was, if not forbidden, rare.
After a week in Truro, the enthusiastic
politeness of the hotel staff was wearing a bit thin. Call it grumpiness, but an
English person is satisfied with a grunt when he thanks a waitress for pouring
his coffee whereas it is the Canadian reflex to declare: ‘You’re welcome!’ at
every turn. I had the privilege to meet some great characters and kind souls in
Nova Scotia and so - perhaps despite rather because of the urgent, insistent
‘You’re welcomes’ - I genuinely did feel very welcome in this big, beautiful,
peaceable province.
