HALIFAX & RAIN

Two months ago I had to program my GPS to find my way across the street. Now I drive around Halifax like I know where I’m going, and I get where I want to be. It’s kind of like slicing a sheet cake into squares. When you learn a half dozen streets in the same plane and another perpendicular set, you can explore the grid with some confidence.  

I am staying in the NW part of HRM. A while back, the suburbs and marginal communities merged into what is now known as HRM - Halifax Regional Municipality. So Clayton Park is now just the far NW corner of Halifax. It’s got a few neighborhoods with single family homes but high rise apartment/condos line  both sides of every major street. Old Halifax still has the tree lined streets and shingle-sided, two and three story homes wedged together only a few feet apart. 

I’ll be heading back to the Midwest in a few weeks, making little course  corrections as the day draws near. I want all clean clothes and no Canadian money left when I cross the border. Then I don’t want to miss anyone I want to see here before I go. This immersion into the Maritime culture has been comfortable and the people I come across have treated me well. 

The differences between us are few but they are real; I suppose it depends on who you hang out with and where you go. On the surface I’d say Canadians are less caught up in ideological controversy than Americans. You don’t see  the trappings of affluent consumption that I take for granted. When I go into a store, the lights are not as bright; saving energy. Public buildings have lower ceilings, fewer water fountains, smaller washrooms. At some level, efficiency is favored over appearance and convenience. From baristas to fishermen to educators, the people I’ve met are courteous, articulate and well spoken. Political correctness thrives here, less about an agenda and more an inherent mutual respect. I’ve grown accustomed to their little accent; with the “out” words. Phonetically, any word with the “out” sound written into it is pronounced “oat” So “about” is “aboat”, and “without” is “withoat”.  There are many more subtle little “o” sounds that emerge when I’m not expecting it and that’s cool too. Nobody mistakes me for a native. They ask what part of the southwest I come from. I tell ’em Michigan with a disclaimer; in Michigan they want to know where I’m from as well. 

I’ll be cleaning out the Toyota and figuring out how to pack soon enough. In the meantime, fall is here. Fall is big tourism time in Nova Scotia. Fall colors draw people from all over. Big cruise ships are tied up on the wharf every day and the double decker busses are running non-stop, rain or shine. Recently it’s been more rain than shine. Two big boats on the same day dump over 6,000 people onto the water front and into down town. That’s good; on those days food vendors set up shop at the Farmer’s Mkt. inside the Pier. I usually choose between Indian, Thai and Mediterranean. Yesterday it was falafel and tabouli. 

Every sunny day now is a holiday. Everyone dresses for it and walk outside. Sunglasses are as much a statement as for the eyes. I’ve done December and January in Anchorage and I know how that goes. Somehow this place reminds me of Alaska, from the dark rocky outcroppings and the thin film of soil, to long stretches of forest and lakes. They know what’s in store, later on. It will be cold and gray, with low skies and wind. I’ll be somewhere else.