Returning to Halifax, border control had a few questions about my sudden trip to New York. The explanation was simple: I decided to go on the day. My bags were searched, my phone was swabbed, and soon enough I was back on Canadian soil.
Nova Scotian hospitality returned immediately. A local from Dartmouth offered to split a taxi into downtown Halifax and insisted on covering most of the fare. What could have been a sixty-dollar ride turned into a twenty-dollar one. A note and a key were waiting at the hostel, and before long I was asleep, checked in for the second time.
Thursday morning brought plans rather than action. Thoughts turned to trains heading west and catching up with a friend I’d met in New York. The idea of a Friday departure came and went. Friday became a recovery day, spent wandering across the road to Henry House, a pub that would become very familiar over the following weeks. Conversations with locals turned into a pub crawl through the city and another late night.
Saturday slipped by just as easily. Staying another night brought more wandering and easy conversations with new faces.
Sunday arrived late, edging into the afternoon, the train well and truly missed. Sitting in a coffee shop, conversations with Haligonians led to an invitation to the Lower Deck. One introduction became several, and soon I was offering advice on Brisbane while listening to stories of life on the east coast. A couch was offered later that night, and the walk back to the hostel came with the early morning light.
Halifax had begun to feel comfortable, familiar even. Thoughts turned to spending my birthday there on the Friday. Extra nights were booked, and a small piece of luck followed with a ticket secured for the Doctor Who 50th anniversary special, screening the day after my birthday. The following days were quiet and reflective, catching up on films, looking into work and living opportunities, and wandering Point Pleasant Park.
Friday brought a short trip out to Peggy’s Cove as part of a local tour. The historic Titanic graves were visited, where an English actor with an extensive knowledge of the disaster explained details behind the unknown headstones, identifying possible names and stories from numbers alone. It was fascinating. Birthday dinner followed later that night at Henry House with Chris, whom I’d met in Iceland, and a group of his friends.
A new idea soon formed. Conversations with fellow travellers planted the thought of heading further east to Newfoundland. Expecting not to return to the east coast any time soon, plans shifted again. The train west was delayed once more, replaced by a flight to St John’s departing the following Tuesday and returning the Sunday after.
Snow greeted the arrival into St John’s. Colourful houses clung to the hillsides, and dramatic cliffs framed the city. The decision felt right immediately. Bags were dropped at the hostel, and walking followed, leading naturally to George Street. Hostel staff soon extended an invitation to a birthday celebration later in the week for another traveller named Mark.
Hiking followed in the days ahead, including the Cabot Head Trail to Signal Hill, still open for a few more days. The walk continued down toward Quidi Vidi, with coastal views unfolding the entire way.
A slight detour after the hike led to an unexpected meeting with a local named John while searching for the brewery that produced Iceberg beer. A lift was offered without hesitation. The drive extended all the way out to Cape Spear, the easternmost point of Canada. Conversations flowed easily, as if we had known each other far longer than an hour.
More wandering filled the remaining days in St John’s, along with a powerful Titanic exhibition. Soon enough, it was time to return to Halifax once more.
Waiting at the airport in St John’s brought time to plan the journey ahead. Back in Halifax for the third time, a bus ride downtown followed to finally purchase a train ticket west. The next chapter was ready to begin, with Moncton, New Brunswick waiting as the first stop.
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