The Great Gatsby

Reluctantly leaving Canada, we had forgotten the huge silhouettes Americans cast as we pushed south into Maine. The quiet fields of corn and groves of Maple trees gave way to small towns and the familiar business chains we know from home. Maine is famous for the changing of the leaves and has a reputation for great hiking, camping and scenic parks; after Canada, Maine seemed tamed and crowded.

An immediate change was the signs striping the highway for lobster, even as we entered Arcadia National park we didn't go a minute without seeing a 'local lobsters' sign.

Arcadia National Park is an amazing giant, smooth rock, jutting into the Atlantic, in stark contrast to the geologically flat surrounding area.

It was beautiful, and an industry of hotels, tour buses and cruise ships knew it; at the park summit we shared the view with hordes of retirees hobbling about and taking photos, gassing at the view with their enormous cruse ship below. The cruise liner in the bay below was so huge that even from our distance it resembled a destroyer from star wars, landed, deploying hunched troops.

We enjoyed a lovely sunset, at a post card perfect beach and drove slowly through the small towns within the park admiring the colonial era houses and manors.

Realizing this isn't the sort of park you can camp in, we gave into staying at a fancy looking historic hotel; we felt out of place as we parked out Toyota between a pair of Mercedes coups.

Unwashed and scraggly we paused as we entered the lobby, silent but for the ticking of a grandfather clock, a semicircle of well dressed readers were silently enjoying the fireplace with upright postures.

We had gone back in time!

Our room came with free breakfast and was on the third floor of an enormous hotel built in a prime local, long before the area was a protected park; above our golden mirror was posted “ if joining us in the dining room, please make sure to wear your dinner jacket and appropriate shoes”.

In the morning we creaked down the stairs for breakfast to find the power was off, the stormy weather had followed us.

Two couples in their seventies sat ridged in the foyer waiting for breakfast, both the men sat upright with sweaters draped around their well fed necks.

What shall we do this morning George?

Well in this weather I suppose one plays bridge Charles.

Genius, George!

At this point the silent wives hummed and smiled in submissive approval.

We enjoyed our breakfast looking out onto the croquet lawns and row boats while listening to more antique conversation. Families had been 'summering' here for generations and there were pictures to prove it.

With our time table pushing us, we dove south towards the big cities of the East Coast with no illusions of familiar west cost culture awaiting us.

Nova Scotia

Following the scenic, wind buffeted coast South, we posed in front of the postcard lighthouse dressed in the state flag; we decided against Prince Edward Island because we were meeting Ami's friend Kim in NYC in a few days.
Having a schedule to meet rushed us through New Brunswick into the Bay of Fundy, famous for some of the wolds largest tides; we found our time too short, as this was a really amazing spot we want to return to.
Being on the tail end of the season we had little competition at the flower pot rocks, amazing rock towers carved out by the huge tidal movements and the freeze/thaw acting of the winter seas.
Pushing past the Bay of Fundy, through the quaint farmland and the amazing fall colors we arrived at the astern most point of our trip, Halifax. The city was full of history, the people were welcoming if the climate was not. We stumbled across a Bloc Party, unusual to us, but it seemed to be the product of isolation and their extreme climate. I already want to return here, and explore Newfoundland too. This is the rugged, unspoiled, wilderness we have been yearning for since we left the West, we simply fell in love with it.

Entering the Maitimes

Leaving the city, every passing town had a towering church steeple dominating its skyline, reminding us of Canada's French Catholic fur taping history.

The winters are bitterly cold here, and the growing season short; the nights were getting colder and every where we looked people were waiting expectantly for winters arrival.

We found a small mom and pop brewery just of the road and pulled over for some lunch and perhaps a local brew.

Perched on a small, rocky hill, the farmhouse/brewery looked out over fields of harvested corn towards a small island in the river; the hostess told us the island is locked in ice thick enough to drive on in winter.

Turning South East we entered New Brunswick and finally saw the Atlantic, now very much feeling like winter was nipping at our heels, a frigid wind played with the brilliantly colorful, fallen leaves.

Montreal

Returning to Montreal, this time without Lydia as our guide, we took a walking tour of the city. We retraced some of our steps; but mostly filled in the blanks on the map we had from the last trip. Coming from the U.S. and Toronto, Montreal felt very French and we both felt ignorant only speaking English. Something as simple as parking the car required a translator off the street to read the meter.

The highlight of Montreal this trip was the Art Museum's exhibition on American Landscapes, comprised of photographs and painting dating back to the 1600's. At any other time in our lives this exhibition would have simply been pretty pictures, but this road trip had given them personal significance. The exhibition was special to us, as it answered questions of what the landscape looked like before it was heavily populated and helped us to put into perspective the massive landscape changes we have seen on this trip.

One great photograph, revealed some strange limestone spires that were flattened to build Seattle, images like this make us think about how much has been lost in the American advance west.

We spent one very wet afternoon in Quebec City, a completely French city, we had left the bilingual Canada behind us. We walked around it's steep cobble stone streets and saw the old citadel and magnificent castle like hotels. We could only handle the rain for so long and pushed on along the St. Lawrence river towards New Brunswick.

Down time

A word on traveling: being exposed to foreign sights, sounds and cultural exchanges for 18 hours a day requires hummingbird like stamina. Eventually a day of rest and recovery is required to catalog the backlog of data and experiences.

Between the cites, near the town of Port Hope, we found a spot for our recuperation: a race track!

Pulling over on a grassy hill, we boiled water for tea and nestled into our duvets, watching a amateur endurance race place conveniently below us.

Watching screaming Honda's, roaring Vipers and lumbering NASCARS case each other around a track was both mind numbing and strangely comforting; just the right amount of action for our red lined brains to handle.

Not rushing to Montreal, we fried up a delicious English Breakfast on the green soupy shores of Lake Ontario. Following the lake shore we stayed at a campground next to a small burbling stream; that night we heard splashing as a three foot Salmon struggled upstream, completing it's life cycle.

They say a fish has no feelings but we could see the exhaustion on its smooth face; Ami was so moved she almost jumped in to lift her fishy friend over the rocks, but as she knew it had miles to go, before reaching its mecca.

Fabulous Toronto!

Feeling immediately at home in Canada, we navigated confidently into the big city with our GPS guide saving the day, as it would many times in the future.
Toronto is a very international city; we were struck by the worldly population of well dressed Arabs, Indians, Asians and Africans who decorate its upscale community.
On every clean street we walked down, we heard dozens of exotic languages, amongst the sounds of Ferrari's, BMW's, Audi's and Jag's roaring past.
We had found the center of Canadian Wealth, and it was sporting a well trimmed metro goatee.
When in civilized places, Ami and I see the attractions between coffee shops, bakeries, fromageries, restaurants and the occasional bar.
We stumbled across a shoe museum {not literally}, and marveled at Winston Churchill's boots, Gandhi's sandals and even Queen Victoria's wedding slippers; after seeing history from a toes eye view, we parked the house, and slept next to zillionare mansions with a view of the city.
On our second day, we discovered the Toronto International Film Festival was on, and celebrities were lurking in town. We enjoyed an Australian film call 'Last Ride' staring Hugo Weaving, who's unshaven mug sometimes reminded me of a younger Ted; a well executed film who's moving cast made up for its familiar plot.

We finished our Toronto experience with a trip to an excellent Natural History Museum and a long trek across town, grazing as we walked; in passing Ami saw Penelope Cruz in a hotel foyer, as paparazzi stampeded in front of us.
We left in a downpour for Montreal and the border of French Canada; leaving Toronto with good memories and full bellies.

Escaping to Canada

Crossing the US/Canada border at Sault Saint Marie, the cultural and environmental changes were immediately evident. Julian's jokes were not answered with confused frowns and it was obvious the landscape had not had the burden of sustaining a much larger and more demanding population.

We had spent the day with Julian watching the massive coal and grain ships pass through the locks, like a school boy at the zoo.
By the time we crossed the border, the sun was setting and we drove as far as we could into the Canadian wilderness. When we awoke in the morning, the yellow, orange and red Birch leaves welcomed us to the new leg of our trip.

We skirted the north shore of Lake Huron, crossing onto Manitoulin island and spent the day thoroughly enjoying being surrounded by nothing but jaw dropping landscapes and the occasional lovely, friendly Canadian. The days are cool here and the nights are becoming crisper as everyday passes.


Looking around the lake, my eyes were constantly scanning for mussels, barnacles and the normal seashore life, it was only the wave-less horizon that constantly reminded me that I was in fact looking at a massive lake, not the open ocean. From Manitoulin Island we took a 2-hour car ferry through Lake Huron to Tobermory, where we would continue SE to Toronto the next day.