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Published: September 22nd 2015
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I awoke to the soft glow of the sun filtering through the curtains of our bedroom window. Tim was still sleeping so I tiptoed outside to watch the sun rise. Its glorious splendour was reflected in the calm waters of the inlet below our balcony. It was a good morning to be alive.
By choosing to stay at the B&B in Charlos on the southeastern shore of Nova Scotia last night, it made more sense this morning to take the scenic route to Halifax as I had steered us too far away from the high-speed highway. That suited us fine as our philosophy is always to choose the pretty route over the fast route. We stopped to get directions from a lady who was walking her dog alongside the road. She had no idea how to get there. We suspected that she rarely ventured from this tiny place. Another fellow was more helpful and after fretfully driving quite a distance not knowing whether we were going the right way, we found that his directions were good and true.
In our opinion, Nova Scotia wins the award for the worst roads in Canada. On this road, as on others in
the province, we spent our time dodging potholes, driving in ruts, and taking our shocks on an endurance test. Secondary highway driving requires nerves of steel. Fortunately, the scenery makes up for it.
Marked by many inlets, islands, coves and bays, the winding highway provided a multitude of exquisitely beautiful views made all the more lovely by the early morning light. We were congratulating ourselves on our decision to take this route when the GPS announced, "Take the ferry to Port Bickerton". Ferry? What ferry? We checked our paper map and sure enough, if you looked really closely, you could see that the road ended on one side of a small inlet and started again on the other side. Shortly thereafter, we arrived at the small cable ferry. We could see it across the water and were happy to read that it picked up cars on our side every half hour. It soon arrived and we drove on, our lone car looking out of place on the deck. The ferryman was a happy, friendly sort. He seemed pleased to have someone to talk to and happily chattered away, answering our questions and entertaining us with stories. Ten minutes later
we were on the other shore and said our goodbyes with a cheerful wave. As we drove off, we marvelled yet again that it is always the surprises that provide the best experiences.
We stopped in Sherbrooke, a slow-paced little town, and I was delighted that they had a coffee shop where I could get a latte. We drove past Sherbrooke Village, which depicts a typical Nova Scotian village from 1860 to pre-WW1. It has over 25 buildings open to the public and I could see people dressed in period costumes. Unfortunately, we had no time to stop. It'll definitely be on our list of things to do when we come back someday.
As we continued on, we drove past towns with names like Ecum Secum and Mushaboom. Ecum Secum is derived from the Mi'kmaq language and means "a red house". The first Europeans to settle in this area were Loyalists in the 1770s. So much history. The name Mushaboom means "a pile of hair". Mi'kmaq legend says that fairies would play ball and run, pulling at one another's hair as they did so. They would pull so hard that locks of hair would come away and then
the fairies would scatter the locks on the ground. The song "Mushaboom" by Nova Scotia-born Canadian musician Feist is named after this community. The lyrics go, "How many acres, how much light? Tucked in the woods and out of sight. Talk to the neighbours and tip my cap on a little road barely on the map."
Finally we arrived in Halifax and found the home of our Couchsurfing hosts. They weren't home from work yet, but a handsome and helpful young man was painting the front steps and let us in. The house was old and quaint, colourful and homey. We deposited our belongings and went for a walk. The old neighbourhood was quirky with old brick and colourful wooden houses. It wasn't long before we were among funky little boutique stores, bakeries and shops. We stepped into a little art and jewellery shop and chatted with the owner. We told her about our Couchsurfing adventures and when we said that we would be staying in Moncton, she got excited as she had grown up there. She gave us her card and said, "Ask the fellow there if he knows my name. Everybody knows everybody in Moncton". I love
the Maritimes.
We returned to the house and met Ray and Chantelle, our wonderful hosts, and their charming two year old, Amelia. Shy at first, I was soon pulled into her bedroom by a chubby little hand curled around my finger and I realized that we had become fast friends. Her parents cooked up a delicious dinner and we sat outside on the back deck, sharing food and stories. It was delightful. Amelia's curly dark hair, chocolate brown eyes and smile disarmed us and when she wished to distract her parents, she used her finger to point to something. Chantelle shared the story with us of how her daughter came to be named. She and Ray were both single until their early 40's and up until then, they had each resigned themselves to the fact that they probably wouldn't have children. Meeting and getting married opened up the possibility and they were excited to give it a try but Chantelle knew that it might take some time, if at all, to get pregnant, all things considered.
Shortly thereafter, they went to Cuba, where they went on a tour which included a visit to a cemetery. In it was
the grave of Amelia Goyre de la Hoz, who died during childbirth in 1903, at the age of 23. The infant, who also died, was buried in the same coffin as his mother, lying at her feet.
When Amelia was exhumed some years later, it was discovered that her body was as it was when she had been buried and the baby that had been laid at her feet was nestled in her arms.
The faithful believe that La Milagrosa (The Miraculous One) looks after them and answers prayers. At her tomb, always adorned with flowers, visitors seeking La Milagrosa’s aid perform a ritual by touching the tomb three times and walking around it, while never turning their back to the grave. They ask for protection for their children, for childbirth without complications or for couples with no biological possibilities of conceiving, children.
While not taking it seriously, Chantelle and Ray thought it would be fun to perform the ceremony. Walking away, Chantelle said to Ray, "You know we'll have to call our baby Amelia if this works, right?" A week later she was pregnant and nine months later, Amelia was born.
What a great story and how wonderful it was of them to share it with us and allow us to share it with you. We went to bed, happy to have made such great new friends.
Tomorrow we explore Halifax!
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Chantelle and Ray
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Tears!
What a wonderful post - it brought tears to my ears reading the story of Amelia through someone else's words. Thanks Eileen and Tim for reminding us how lucky we are to have out little brown eyed girl.