For a weekend in February, we escape with friends to Mersey River Chalets near Kejimkujik National Park, just over an hours drive. Being inland and at a higher elevation (approximately 350-400 feet), there is typically more snow and slightly colder temperatures. 

We arrive on Friday afternoon and go directly to Keji, continuing past the Visitor Centre to the barricade that signals where the classic groomed ski trail begins. It is a warm day, at 5 degrees Celsius. It doesn’t take long before are hats are in our pockets instead of on our heads. The sun is shining and the snow is fast. A great ski to start our weekend getaway.

Saturday morning the temperature has dropped more than we expected – down to -10 and windy making it feel more like -17. In short, it is cold outside. Instead of going out for a ski first thing, we bundle up and go out for a snowshoe, leaving directly from our chalet. We follow along the boardwalk trail, covered in snow, following the river. When the sun shines, it creates a scene from a postcard.

In the afternoon our friends venture to Keji for a snowshoe. With the wind, it is too cold for skiing – or at least for those of us who are fair-weather skiers! Fortunately, there are many snowshoeing trails, including the Ukme’k Trail across the River from Mill Falls, where otter tracks could be seen along the river.  

As a bonus, there are free level 2 EV charging stations at the Visitors Centre. This is a bonus, as it allows for topping up the car while out on a snowshoe. 

Sunday morning the weather is a little nicer. We pack up at the chalet and head over to Keji for one more ski. The conditions are mostly good, except where the powdered snow blew over the trail yesterday, and then warmed up in the sun. The tracks go from fast to instantly slow, as snow starts to stick to the bottom of my skis. My friend is smart enough to have wax with her, that will help with these fluctuating temperatures. I, on the other hand, end up taking my skis off during the sticky part and walking a few hundred metres before putting them back on. Either way, the sun is shining and it is a beautiful day to be outdoors enjoying winter.

One of my neighbours reminded me of this idea, when she suggested that I needed to let go of what I thought (my vision of the future) our community would be, so that I could celebrate and be happy with what our community is. I had to let go of that fantasy future I was holding on to. 

I was part of the evolving community that built Treehouse Village Ecohousing. We joined in 2019, started construction in 2021, and moved in during the summer of 2023.

Cohousing is a form of community where every household has their own private space, in addition to access to shared spaces and amenities. In our case, we are owners of our own condo, with a full kitchen, three bedrooms, and two bathrooms. We are also co-owners of a shared common house, a workshop, basements spaces that include a gym and ample bike storage, and a forest with walking trails. We don’t have a condo management company, rather, members of the community do everything to maintain the common spaces. 

As you would expect, getting 30-households to agree on things isn’t easy, and people aren’t going to always agree on everything. 

I had created this fantasy about how we would operate as a community, and that is not the reality. This was making me unhappy. I felt that the community could be better, which isn’t a bad thing, just that I let it make me feel bad. I felt bad because I wanted more. I wanted the fantasy. 

Letting go of the fantasy has helped me see all that makes me happy about living here. I never in my wildest dreams thought that I’d love driving a tractor to clear snow. 

I love that:

• I have neighbours that I can call on when I’m feeling lonely or in need of someone to talk to. 
• My puppy dog has people in the community that she loves and is comfortable staying with when we need to be away. 
• I have neighbours that encourage me to get out for swim or a hike when I know I should, but likely would not if it was just up to me.
• There is always someone that has a lemon or a lime when I realize I need one and I’m already in the middle of making dinner. 

I’m glad that these parts of my fantasy future aren’t a fantasy, they are a reality. 

That is in part why I love living at Treehouse Village Ecohousing. 

PS: I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that we have units for sale or rent! Check out our website. 

We are joined by two touring cyclists who have been on the road for several years. Since we are riding about the same pace and will be on the road together for the next three days, we decided to travel together. Because they are on an ultra-low budget, they cannot afford to stay in campgrounds. Rather, they choose to wild camp, stealthy setting up their tent for the night, leaving no trace when they peddle off in the morning. We are looking forward to learning more about how to find places for wild camping, as we haven’t been particularly good at it.

After several hours of pedalling in the heat of the afternoon sun, we pull into a small convenience store. We know we will be wild camping tonight, so we need to find a source of water, not just for drinking now, but also for cooking dinner tonight and wiping our sweaty bodies down before sleeping. We also hope to top up the charge on our laptop.

I go into the washroom and am delighted by clean running water. I use the sink to rinse the sweat from my hair and my face, enjoying the sensation of cool clean water on my parched skin. I fill my water bottles and our water bladder for camping. Meanwhile, Scott scouts out the store and buys a bag of chips to snack on.

After using the facilities, I walk through the store hoping to find a few small things. I want to buy something that we can use for dinner, but their shelves don’t have much food on them. It is already late in the camping season (after Labour Day) and they are a seasonal store. Still, I want to help support the store. Eventually I come across a can of beans. They are heavy to carry and they are expensive, but we could use them. I buy the beans and then leave.

Our travelling companions use the facilities, fill their water, but don’t purchase anything.

I do not know what happened while I was in the bathroom, but the store owner is not happy with us. She accuses us of stealing electricity because we have plugged our laptop into an outside outlet while we were enjoying a snack on the shaded side of the store. We didn’t think to ask permission. We are too used to being in tourist welcome centres where plugging in is acceptable behaviour. We apologize and quickly pack up and leave.

One of the themes that I’m exploring is that of the ethics of low budget travel. I have read many adventure cycling travel stories about people who leave on adventures with very little money – sometimes not enough to adequately feed themselves. Part of their story is about the adversity of their experiences. The low budget constraint means that they needed to reach out to people, sometimes knocking on doors, to find a place to set up their tents for the night. It meant that they met more local people, but at what price? Leaning on the infrastructure and services that are in place without giving back feels wrong to me.

Our story is different. Budget was not an adversity that we had to overcome. We tried to stay on a somewhat low budget, but it was never so low that we went hungry or that we couldn’t get a room in a hotel when we needed to.

This brings me to my question for all my readers. Are you interested in this aspect of our trip? Does the idea of ethical travel when you have the privilege of budget and a Canadian passport sound interesting?

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I have been paddleboarding for years. I bought a Stand up paddleboard (SUP) during Covid. Unfortunately, I ended up working a lot then had a recurrence of cancer. Physical limitations and inability to plan meant no paddleboarding. 

This year started out well. I was stronger than before. The first time out, I paddled the entire length of Wiles Lake without needing to sit down. That gave me the confidence to sign up for the advanced level course. It sounded like a good idea at the time. 

I’m anxious about my ability to get back on the board, especially with my chronic back pain acting up. I’m nervous that the other people in the course will be athletic and beyond my ability.

But, I’m going to do it. I know that I need to push myself outside of my comfort zone in order to improve. I have given myself permission to leave the course mid-way through if it isn’t working for me. If my back is at risk of injury, I will stop and come home. Giving myself that permission is what I need in order to be OK with going forward. 

I leave half an hour early, hoping to talk to the instructor in advance and let him know about my concerns. When I arrive, there is no sign of activity in the store front. I go down to the water and test the temperature — nice and warm. Unfortunately, I messed up the timing. The class was this morning. I missed it! 

I could go out on the ocean at LaHave Islands, but I’m nervous about paddling in unfamiliar waters alone. Instead, I take as a sign that it wasn’t meant to be. I decide to drive over to Fancy Lake and paddle in more familiar waters. 

The lake is as smooth as glass and is empty. Since I’m paddling alone, I don my personal flotation device (PFD) and board leash. I attach my Crocs to the front of my board, so I can always swim to shore if I’m not able to hop back on after a fall.

After 20 peaceful minutes paddling, a guy takes out a Jet-ski and tows kids on a tube. They pass on the far side of the lake. I turn into the wake and have some fun bouncing over the artificial waves. He returns and again gives me lots of space. On his final pass, he loops around me, closer, causing confused water. Then he slows down causing a huge wake. I turn into the largest wave, but it is too big. I put my paddle in the water. As I complete the stroke and lift the paddle I go flying. 

I think, no big deal. The water is warm and I wanted to practice getting back on the board anyways.

First, I try with my PFD and leash on. I kick to get up but  only get partway. I cannot get enough of my core onto the board, so when I try to lift my leg the board tips.

Next I decide to try and make a paddle float, like I learned during a kayak self-rescue course. I tuck my paddle it into the straps at a right angle. I try and try again, but still cannot get on. 

Then one of my Crocs starts to float away – oops. I grab it and tuck it in more solidly under the straps. This extra effort saps my limited energy.

I cannot get enough kicking power. The paddle leash is getting in the way. I remove the leash and try again. I’m getting higher up on the board, but I’m getting stuck on my PFD. 

I’m tiring. I remove my PFD and hook it to the board. I don’t have many attempts left in me before I need to give up and swim to shore. 

Fortunately, this attempt works and I’m able to get back on. This is exactly what I was afraid would happen during the course. 

Glad to be back on the board, I paddle a bit while sitting, then eventually stand up again. I stay close enough to shore that I can swim in if needed. Just outside the swimming area, I jump off the board to try again.

I start by removing the leash and my PFD. I try a variety of configurations — PFD as float for my thighs, PFD as paddle weight, Crocs as foot buoyancy — none of them work. I run out of ideas and energy. I swim back to shore towing the board behind me, promising myself I’ll watch a few SUP YouTube videos when I get home. I really need to figure out self-rescue. 

I learn a couple of things from YouTube. First, I need a longer leash. My leash should be as long as the board. My current leash is only half that length. I also learn of another technique which involves using a rope connected to the handle that acts as a stirrup, like getting on a horse. In theory, that would give more force when jumping up onto the board, allowing me to more of me on the board before trying to swing my leg up. 

Now I have to try again.

The next day, I hop on the board, ever hopeful. The water is warm on my feet as I get myself organized. I clip on the dry bag with my keys and my water bottle. I check that the new stirrup strap is attached to the carry handle. I awkwardly, as always, sit on the board and remove my Crocs. This time, I use a carabiner to attach them. I don’t want a repeat of them floating off!  

I slowly paddle out to deeper water, now is the time to test out my stirrup. While still sitting on the board, I lean back and fall into the water with a splash. The water is warmer than a swimming pool and feels wonderful on my skin. I love being in the lake at this time of year. 

First I try the stirrup while still wearing my PFD and leash, but the leash is so short it makes it impossible. I remove the leash and try again. Nope. 

Since the stirrup doesn’t work, I use it to make my leash longer. When I try this time, I feel the extra power in my kick, but my PFD still gets in the way. I remove it, and finally I get back on the board.

Success. Yay. 

I hear the call of a loon. I see a couple of them in the middle of the lake. This is my signal to go out for a paddle. I stand up and wobble a little, keeping my knees soft. As I take the first few strokes I notice the board is sluggish. As I paddle out towards the loons I notice that my board is sagging in the middle, a clear sign that it is under-inflated. I return to shore and pump up the board. 

With the board fully inflated and a longer leash, I try again. I succeed. 

I still struggle with the idea of paddling on my own. It has been ingrained in me from a young age that it is unsafe. However, I really enjoy it. If something happens and I die, I know that I will die doing something that I love. 

I feel a sense of relief to have figured out self-rescue. I can now confidently paddle alone. As I paddle, an eagle flies directly over me, congratulating me. Telling me, you got this!

This year, life got busier. In June, I started a Masters in Creative Nonfiction (creative writing), while Scott spent much of April, May, and June getting our old house ready for its new occupants—a massive renovation project that took time and energy. All this meant that July was nearly over before we finally got out camping.

Our van has seen better days—at least inside. After years as a construction vehicle, everything in the back needs a little love. After all the delays, we finally made it out.

Getting a campsite on weekends in this part of Nova Scotia during tourist season is almost impossible unless you’ve booked in advance, so we opt for boondocking. We decided to check out the coast southeast of Shelburne, closer to Yarmouth, somewhere we’d never really explored.

Our first lunch stop wasn’t a win—horse flies that bite. Instead, we continued along in our explorations and found ourselves at a lovely picnic area under the Baccaro Point Lighthouse. It is clearly labelled “no camping” so we wouldn’t be spending the night. It was perfect for lunch and an impromptu nap. We had no agenda, just relaxation. On the same peninsula as the lighthouse is the Canadian Coastal Radar Site Barrington, a huge cold-war era radar station. The dome is massive. I had not seen one up close before. I love the textured shapes that make up the dome. The scale is hard to grasp. We can confirm it is clearly visible from the beaches on Cape Sable Island, further south. 

Baccaro Point Radar Station

Cali chasing the ball with Baccaro Point Radar station in backgroun

Baccaro Point Lighthouse

Cali and Scott enjoying the beach

Beach view

Beach

Camping at the beach

Baccaro Point Radar Station

Cali chasing the ball with Baccaro Point Radar station in backgroun

Baccaro Point Lighthouse

Cali and Scott enjoying the beach

Beach view

Beach

Camping at the beach

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After our naps, and a few Cali ball chases, we made our way to Cape Sable Island (not Sable Island with the wild horses—Cape Sable Island is accessible by causeway). The east side of the island boasts incredible beaches. We parked and walked about 2km, barely making it to the point connecting the beach with another. 

The Atlantic wasn’t warm enough for a swim unless you fancy a chilly dip. 

Cali loved the beach but not so much the post-beach shower!  This is what she had to say: 

Unfortunately, the ocean rinse off was not enough to make Cali van ready – I was not about to live in a small vehicle with a dead animal stinky dog! Luckily, we have a shower of sorts to rinse her off. Unfortunately, it didn’t over winter well – something we missed on one of the construction winters past – so I ended up using the bike pump constantly to maintain enough pressure while Scott rinsed Cali. It worked well enough, but something else to add to the list of things that needs repairing in the van. 

That night, a cool ocean breeze kept the van perfect for sleeping. We slipped into “stealth camping” mode—no chairs out, no awning, just quiet seaside rest. We had a great night’s sleep.

The next day after a lazy start, we swapped lighthouses for windmills and headed for the trail at West Pubnico wind farm. Up close, the turbines are unreal in scale—the swooshing sound and endless rotation fascinating to watch and hear. I’ve seen windmills before, but never from directly below one. I don’t think I’d enjoy spending too much time in with the constant swooshing sounds. Scott didn’t think it was any worse than being in the flight path of a runway (were we lived in California. 

Because it was Sunday, we scored a site right on the lake at Ellenwood Provincial Park park (tip: the lakeside sites give you direct access to the lake for water play). I dove in for a swim; Cali wasn’t a fan of the tannic water—she couldn’t see the bottom, which made her nervous. When I swam, the lake was so dark I lost sight of body parts. I couldn’t see the bottom in 2 feet of water. The chilly water left my skin tingling—one of the joys of wild swimming I look forward to every summer.

West Pubnico Windfarm

Campsite at Ellenwood Provincial Park

Sunrise over Ellenwood Lake

I attempted a shower in the comfort station, but found only scalding water—so I rinsed off by the tap and declared myself “camping clean.” As the day faded at Ellenwood, the haunting calls of loons echoed over the water—a true sign of summer.

In the morning we awoke to a very orange sun–a result of a high layer of wildfire smoke from the fires out west.

Packing up and doing dishes, with Cali here with us, the dishes get “cali clean” which makes it much easier to wash them! She is such a helpful puppy. It almost makes up for rolling in stinky stuff!

Overall, it was a lovely two night getaway – something we hope to do more of this summer. 

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I am reminded of my cadet years. Back in the late 1980s, I spent my summers at HMCS Quadra, a cadet camp in Comox BC. The camp is on a small spit of land surrounded by ocean. The parade square, where we congregated multiple times a day, overlooked the jetty and the docks. I remember the kids from Saskatchewan who were seeing the ocean for the first time. Their surprise upon seeing their first low tide, and asking “where did the water go?”. The difference in tide heights was typically between 13 to 16 feet.

I’m brought back to a concert I attended in Lunenburg where Terra Spencer mentioned growing up on the Bay of Fundy – where we have the largest tides in the world. For her, it was normal to see boats sitting on the bottom of the ocean while docked at low tide. The mud soft and not damaging to the boats. The ocean water itself was only swimmable for 2 hours a day, during the slack leading up to high tide. The tides here are between 53 and 73 feet! 

Having grown up not far from the ocean, tides were a part of my childhood. We lived in a small town, Kemano BC, and needed to take a boat when we wanted to leave town. Every six months, we would  go on an overnight trip to Kitimat to see the dentist. For me, the tides translated to how steep the ramp to get to the dock was. Moving luggage and up or down to the boat was either easy or difficult depending on the tides. 

Later, as a teenager, we had a sailboat that was docked at a small marina. Our boat actually leaned over at low tide, as the keel hit the bottom. We had to wait for the tide to be at a certain level before we could leave the marina. Reading the tide charts was a critical requirement as part of our trip planning. Kitimat tides typically range around 21 feet.

After moving to Bridgewater, it took me a year before I discovered that the beaches were not beaches at high tide. Before driving to the coast for a beach walk, I needed to check the tides. If the tide was high, I would need to change plans and go for a forest walk instead. The beaches are incredible on the South Shore of Nova Scotia, but they are only beaches at low tide. This is especially interesting because the tide heights range only 5 to 8 feet, and yet the sand beaches are shallow enough that they appear and disappear with the tides. 

I cannot imagine not understanding the tides or seeing them for the first time. 

Sitting here, watching the extreme tides over the Minas Basin, I’m reminded of how the rhythm of the tides as been apart of my entire life. 

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On this particular leg, we are pedalling from Matera to Brindisi in Italy, hoping for an affordable place to sleep, only to find ourselves facing unexpected obstacles. With limited options, we must decide whether to press on into the night or embrace the uncertainty of wild camping.

Wild Camping

November 3-4, 2008 

We finish our lunch break and climb back onto our bikes. I tuck in close behind Scott, drafting off him to make the pedalling easier. My mind is restless.

I worry.

I worry about where we’ll sleep tonight. I worry about our budget. We had planned to camp more in Italy, but most campgrounds are closed for the season. Aside from one night in Nicotera Marina, when a generous Couchsurfing host let us stay in his beach house, we’ve relied on hotels and bed-and-breakfasts. It’s been safe, but it’s also been expensive. We’d expected to cook more meals on our camp stove, to spend nights in our tent. Instead, each day ends with the same uncertainty—where will we sleep?

Scott never seems bothered by this. While I stress over it constantly, he just pedals forward, untroubled. And then I realize: 

I need to make him responsible for figuring it out. Even if he doesn’t actually worry about it, I need at least the sense that he will be responsible for figuring things out. And maybe, just maybe, that will give me some peace.

There are no cars on the rural road as we ride along, so I pull up beside Scott and say, “How about I let you worry about where we’ll sleep tonight?”

He shrugs. “But I’m not worried about it. We’ll figure something out.”

That does nothing to ease my anxiety. I need to phrase this differently.

I try again. “How about you take responsibility for figuring it out? Even if you don’t actually worry, just knowing it’s your job will help me let go of it.”

Scott gives me a puzzled look. I have no idea what’s going through his head. “Okay,” he says, “but I’m still not worried about it.”

The funny thing is, it doesn’t matter to me whether he actually worries or not. Just knowing I’m not the one responsible for it allows me to relax—at least a little. It gives me permission to let things unfold without carrying the weight of the unknown.

Originally, we had planned to stay at a small inn in Masseria, halfway between Matera and Brindisi. But when we arrive, we find the front door locked—the inn is closed for the season. Our Lonely Planet guidebook doesn’t list any other accommodations nearby that fit our budget.

With November now upon us, the days are getting shorter. Darkness starts creeping in around 4:30 pm, with the sun setting at 5 pm. We have less than an hour before we’ll be riding in the dark.

Scott glances at me and says, “Why don’t we stop at a grocery store, grab a cold dinner, maybe a good sandwich and some fruit, then get back on the bikes and look for a place to wild camp for the night?”

Wild camping means setting up camp in a spot that isn’t a designated campsite, often on unused or abandoned land. The idea is to arrive after dark, pitch the tent discreetly, sleep, and leave at first light without a trace. It’s a common practice among cycle tourists looking to stretch their budget and extend their trips. Though we haven’t done much of it, we’re hoping to get more comfortable with the idea.

There are unspoken rules to wild camping: respect private property, avoid “No Trespassing” signs, and always leave the place as you found it. Doing this in a foreign country makes it even more challenging, but as we ride, we constantly spot what seem like perfect camping spots—abandoned buildings just off the road, hidden patches of land. Finding them in broad daylight is one thing. Finding them after dark? That’s a whole different challenge.

I’m scared and anxious, but I don’t see many other options. We have good lights and reflectors, so riding in the dark is possible. And if all else fails, we can push through the night and reach Brindisi by morning.

We stop at a grocery store, grab food, eat quickly, and get back on our bikes just as the last light fades. After about 20 minutes, Scott spots a potential camping spot. We turn into the driveway of a small, abandoned, single-storey cement building—some kind of former industrial site.

We get off our bikes and cautiously walk around, making sure it’s truly deserted. There are no signs of life. No locked doors. No windows glowing from within. The main entrance—some sort of large garage-style opening—stands wide open. Inside, we find remnants of the business that once operated here: a biochemical company that had been growing algae. My stomach tightens. Is this place safe? Could the air or ground still be contaminated with chemicals?

We explore the rest of the property, looking for a suitable place to sleep. The front room seems like the best option. It is partially open to the outside but covered overhead. Scott suggests we just unroll our sleeping bags and sleep on the floor.

The thought makes my skin crawl. I picture mice, rats, and insects scurrying around us in the dark. I need some kind of barrier, even if it’s just psychological. “Let’s set up the tent,” I say. “Without the fly. Just for a bit of protection.”

We don’t need the fly since we’re inside, but having the tent around us makes me feel safer. I feel like we’re creating a small bubble of security in this eerie, abandoned place.

By 8 p.m., it’s pitch dark. We avoid using our lights inside the tent. If we do, we’ll glow like a giant lantern, making us far too visible. I sit outside the tent and read for a few minutes, but exhaustion quickly takes over. It’s been a long day.

I crawl into the tent, slip in my earplugs, pull on my eye mask, and settle in. Once I’m snug in my sleeping bag, the tent becomes home. That’s all I need to fall asleep.

Sometime around 3 a.m., I awake.

There’s a sound outside the tent. Footsteps. Slow and deliberate, circling us. My heart pounds. Someone is out there.

I nudge Scott awake. We both lie still, listening. Five minutes stretch into what feels like an eternity.

Then, realization dawns. It’s just the wind. The tarp covering our bikes has come loose, flapping noisily in the gusts. The wind has shifted direction while we slept, now funnelling straight through the open entrance of the building.

Relieved but still alert, I slip out of my sleeping bag, crawl outside, and place a rock on the tarp to silence it. While I’m up, I take the opportunity to step into the yard to pee, looking up at the stars in the sky. It doesn’t feel real that I’m here, sleeping in an abandoned building in a foreign country. 

Moments later, I’m back inside, cocooned once again in warmth and safety. The wind may be howling outside, but inside the tent, we are warm and dry.  And, again, I fall into sleep.

I wake again at 5 am. The sky is still dark. Sunrise isn’t until 6:30 am, but we need to be gone before then.

Scott is still fast asleep. I watch him for a while, but impatience builds until I can’t stand it any longer. At 5:45 am, I nudge him awake. I feel a sense of urgency. We need to pack up and go.

Overnight, a thick fog has rolled in, leaving everything damp. There’s no time to wait for our gear to dry. We have to pack up as it is and slip away before the world wakes up. 

As we pack up, Scott tells me about his dream from the night before.

“Last night, I dreamt that a security guard found us and woke us up. He yelled at us for trespassing, and we had to pack up and leave in the middle of the night.”

His words make me pause. Maybe he was worrying about where we’d sleep, just not in the same way I was. While I had carried that anxiety consciously, perhaps he had tucked it away, only for it to surface in his dreams. Or maybe, without realizing it, I had offloaded my own worry onto him, shifting it from my waking thoughts into his subconscious.

In the end, this turned out to be a good wild camping experience. No one disturbed us during the night, we slept reasonably well, and we left without a trace. But what stands out most is how much letting Scott take responsibility for the worrying helped me relax. It allowed me to experience the moment rather than stress over every unknown.

I’m proud of myself for pushing through something that scared me. This was a stretch, a challenge, but I did it. And as a bonus, it helped our budget too.

As I work on the Going East Book, I will share more stories of our travels. Subscribe to have the latest stories delivered directly to your inbox.

April 13, 2009

It’s stifling. A hot humid heat that makes the air feel heavy. Sweat isn’t dripping from me so much as it is pooling on me, sticking to my skin and failing to cool me down. I consider using some of the water in my water bottle to cool my head, but that water is precious. It is clean drinking water, and I need every drop of it to keep me hydrated while pedalling in this heat.  

We are slowly and steadily climbing a long hill. The incline isn’t steep, but the hill seems to be going on forever. I hear the rumbling of a vehicle. I look in my mirror. I can see that it is a pickup truck, slowly trudging up the hill. I am hopeful. Could this be one of those trucks carrying revelers celebrating Songkran, Thailand’s New Year? Held from April 13 to 15, during the country’s hottest month, Songkran transforms Thailand into a joyous, nationwide water festival. To the uninitiated, it looks like an enormous, good-humoured water fight, but the tradition is symbolic. Participants are often blessed with talc, believed by some to ward off the evil eye, followed by a drenching of water to wash away the past year and invite blessings for the year ahead. Maybe, just maybe, relief in the form of a cool splash is on its way. 

I shout out “water” as the vehicle approaches. I see garbage cans filled with water in the back, flanked by teenagers with buckets in hand and at the ready. As the vehicle passes, the kids toss bucketfuls of water at me. The water isn’t that cold, after all it is 40 degrees Celsius outside. However, it is wet and offers me a break from the oppressive heat. I shout out “Thank you” as they continue to their destination. This is what it is like to be riding our bikes in rural Thailand during Songkran.  

We started our day shortly after 8 am and it did not take long for our first Songkran experience – as we leave Phang-Nga a few teenagers on the side of the road are poised to douse us. As we passed, they threw buckets of water at us. Fortunately, the day was warm, and we dressed expecting to get wet. All our panniers are also waterproof, which allows us to relax as buckets of water are poured over us. We don’t need to worry about any of our gear getting wet.  

As we approach a cafe in a small town for lunch, there are kids at the side of the road to greet us. They ensure that we are well covered with heavily perfumed bright pink and blue talcum powder, followed up by a dousing of water. We enjoy watching them greet passers-by with the same ceremony of marking with talc and then dousing with water.  

We set out expecting a mostly quiet ride broken up by celebrations as we pass through towns—our map shows long stretches of road between small towns, suggesting little sign of civilization. For the first 20 km, we got what we were expecting. But after lunch, the landscape shifts, and we couldn’t go more than a kilometre without passing a house. Each small village or cluster of homes brought with it a lively gauntlet: kids, teenagers, and the young-at-heart armed with buckets and talc powder, ready to drench or paint us. At first, it was fun—dodging streams of water and laughing with strangers. But after three hours of this, the novelty wears off. The water isn’t cool enough to refresh me, it is, however, enough to soak me through. My shirt clings to my skin, and my wet bike shorts make me feel like I’m wearing a soggy diaper.  

As we approach Takua Pa, a bigger town and our evening destination, we see larger celebrations. The water buckets are bigger, and the talc comes in more colours. We ride past a group of people holding high pressure hoses that create a waterfall for us to ride under. As we get close to the town centre, I watch Scott pause to take his turn first being painted and then being doused. He moves ahead and stops waiting for me to take my turn. I pedal up slowly, resigned to another soaking. The water hits me, and I scream. It wasn’t the lukewarm splash I’d come to expect—it was a bucket of ice-cold water! Scott, of course, had seen a large block of ice being dropped into one of the buckets, so he knew it was coming and is laughing along with the crowd at my reaction. 

The unexpected chill jolts me awake, leaving me with that euphoric, tingling sensation you get when diving into a cold pool after a sauna. It is a moment of relief, and for a few minutes, I forget the heat and humidity of the day’s ride.  

By the time we reach the hotel, I am grateful to escape into the cool sanctuary of air conditioning. Finally, I peel off my soaked clothes, let my skin dry, and embrace the stillness after a day of chaotic, joyful mayhem. 

As I work on the Going East Book, I will share more stories of our travels. Subscribe to have the latest stories delivered directly to your inbox.

Beneath the coloured fluorescent lights, reminiscent of Las Vegas, we pull into the parking lot of a love hotel. The entrance is draped with heavy curtains, shielding our arrival from prying eyes. Around us, cars sit parked in neat rows, their licence plates concealed by wooden signs bearing the hotel’s name—a discreet touch for a place designed for anonymity. Here, guests stay for an hour, two, or the night, but no one ever knows they were here. No names are taken at reception. Payment is in cash.

I step off the bike and head inside to inquire about a room. The reception area is dimly lit, the air thick with secrecy. A glass window separates me from the receptionist, its top half blacked out. Only her lips are visible as she speaks. I pull out my guidebook and recite the phrase asking for the price of a room for the night. She responds with a rate—affordable for a pair of cycle tourists on a tight budget. I ask to see the room.

She steps out through a side door and leads me to an elevator. The hallways are bathed in low, moody lighting, heightening the sense of invisibility. The elevator is small—I already know it will take two trips to get our bikes upstairs.

As the doors slide open on our floor, I spot a vending machine. Alongside the usual drinks and candy bars, there are flavoured condoms, lube, and dildos—an unexpected inventory for a vending machine, but fitting for the setting.

She unlocks the room and switches on the lights. Suddenly, brightness floods the space—the first well-lit place in the entire hotel. The room is clean, with a jacuzzi tub and a large TV. It carries the signature tackiness of love hotels: mirrors on the ceiling, a coffee machine and glasses beside a small microwave, and an ultraviolet disinfecting machine—useful for keeping cups clean, but also, I imagine, for other items. I’ll let you fill in the blanks. Most importantly, the room is spacious enough for our bikes, removing one more worry from our night. “We’ll take it,” I tell her. It’s perfect.

We first learned about love hotels from a fellow cycle tourist. He documented his adventures on CrazyGuyOnABike, a website filled with travelogues from cyclists around the world. The hotels may be kitschy, but they’re clean and affordable—two words that are music to the ears of budget-conscious cyclists.

Love hotels exist in Korea due to the country’s historical “mistress culture,” where extramarital affairs, though discreet, were widely accepted. They also serve another purpose: in a society where young adults often live with their parents until marriage, love hotels provide a space for privacy.

We settle in for the night, each taking a long, hot shower to wash away the day’s sweat and fatigue. The bed is comfortable, the room is quiet, and we sleep peacefully. In the morning, we pack up and hit the road again, recharged and ready for whatever comes next.

Part 7 covers our time in Syria and Jordan in 2008 and 2009, including Christmas in Syria.

The book has been priced at the lowest point that Amazon allows for the 70% royalty, which is $2.99 CAD and $2.99 USD. Price varies in other areas. It is also available for free to those with Kindle Unlimited. All proceeds for the sale of this book will go to the UNHCR campaign for Syria Emergency Response.

We will also be running promotion where you can download the eBook for free January 2nd and January 3rd.

If you read the book, we would love it if you would leave a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads.

I’m looking forward to the time when I can just take her out for a quick walk around the duck pond, as that doesn’t involve getting in the car. For now, however, we are limited to either walking around the block or getting in the car for a short ride to walk someplace else. Fortunately, she is a happy car passenger.

One of our neighbours had mentioned a wooded area across from the high school. It is owned by the town, and is kind of a park. Since it isn’t downtown, it doesn’t get as much use as other parks. I can imagine that during the school day, it would be a hangout for kids skipping school. However, on a bright sunny and warm Sunday afternoon it was delightful.

We had the place to ourselves. When we arrived there was another car, but it was gone when we left and we didn’t see any other people. In theory there may have been trails, but with the light covering of snow they were impossible to find. However, it was a truly beautiful place to just walk around and explore. Cali also loved exploring.

Truly it was beautiful and a place that we likely would not have explored had we not be searching for a place to walk Cali.

I tried to get some pictures when the sun was just right. I’m discovering that it is really difficult to get pictures of her because her fur is so dark. The pink harness helps for now, but she is going to grow out of it very soon. Oh well. I managed a few cute picks.

Risser’s Beach Provincial Park is less than a 30 minute drive away. I have driven by it several times. I often could see people walking along the boardwalk at the edge of the park.

I parked across the street and headed over to the beach. As I went to enter the pathway for my walk, I noticed a little waterfall in the rocks. If it were warmer outside I might have walked down closer to it to get some more pictures.

The sand pathway was just beside the ocean. It reminded me of walking on a trail along the ocean in Half Moon Bay California with my friend Lori. It was eerily similar except here you could walk onto the beach, in California the beach was below with a 50 foot cliff keeping you off of it.

Eventually, the path brought me to the boardwalk – the same boardwalk that I have seen several times from the road.

Once I stepped out onto the boardwalk I felt the wind. The breeze was definitely cool, hovering at around the freezing mark. That did not stop me from continuing my walk, nor did it stop the several others who were out walking their dogs along the trails and on the beach.

I turned to look back at the highway and saw this tree as if it were posing just for my photo.

The boardwalk went through the woods a little way and then the trees cleared, and when I looked back I could see the bay.

I could see that the boardwalk was approaching the ocean.

The boardwalk ended with stairs down to the beach. Clearly there had recently been some weather as the seaweed came right up to the bottom of the stairs.

At one point I noticed a collection of what looked like very large clams (about the size of a baseball). I walked over and checked and they were still alive. I wondered if I could harvest them – thinking they would make a nice dinner. Having no idea what the law was, I left them be. I have since looked up the regulations, and in this zone (zone 4) I could have collected up to 150 per day. Next time I’m out hiking on the beach I’ll bring along a bag just in case I come across some more. Technically, they aren’t clams, rather they are qhahogs.

At one point I saw what looked like small bright yellow vegetation. The colour was rather extreme given the grayness of the day.

Upon closer look, these bits of “vegetation” were actually the frayed ends of some synthetic rope. It seemed to cover a large part of the beach. I reached down to pull to see if it lifted up, but it didn’t. Whatever is buried it is quite solidly there.

When I returned to the beach where I first entered the pathway, I continued down the roadway looking at the various campsites. I found myself imaging camping this summer. My first thought was to try and book something for Victoria Day long weekend in May, however, it appears the park doesn’t open for camping until mid-June. The season starts a little later down here than it does in Ontario.

Today’s skating rink was Kingsburg Pond, near Hirtle’s beach and the Gaff Point hiking trail, about a half hour drive from Bridgewater.

We met our friends out at the pond and spent almost an hour circumnavigating it.

For the most part the ice was good, but not completely smooth – but we did find a smooth patch that was amazing to skate on and the patterns in the ice were beautiful.

Another beautiful day in Nova Scotia. We are loving living here!

We didn’t hike the entire trail, as that would have been 12km return, rather we hiked out for just over 2km and then headed back – our total distance 4.5 km.

The trail itself follows along the coast alternating between beach walks and an old logging road, which has been reclaimed by the ocean in many places.

For most of our hike we were alone with the ocean, however, we did pass a few fellow hikers. We got there early enough to get parking, and noticed that it was busier as we were leaving.

Here are some photos from our hike.

I started by walking down to the river and was mesmerized by the mists hanging just above the glass still water.

As I walked towards downtown, I got a closer look at the mural on the back of the Sobey’s building.

The local orthodontist has a cute little lighthouse out front.

I got a chance to check out the community Christmas Tree, setup on the waterfront.

And took a selfie with Santa.

Behind the TD Bank there are decorations setup along a path called CandyCane Lane. It didn’t look like much during the day but is probably pretty at night. At the entrance by the King Street sign in a snowman made of tires.

And a slightly different one at the other end of Candy Cane Lane.

Although it was a grey day, it was warm outside and a lovely afternoon for a walk.

First I have to say that the website is misleading – in that you need to move awfully fast to do this hike in 1h20m. We also ended up hiking more like 7.5km, and it took us just shy of 3 hours – however, we did stop a lot to take pictures.

Starting off on the beach, I was fascinated by the ocean roaring on one side of me and a still pond on the other. I’m guessing that this is one of the places our friend Cate goes to ice skate in the winter. I cannot wait to try that out – ice skating with the roar of the ocean in the background!

The first km of the hike involves walking along the beach. Unfortunately, we arrived at high tide, which meant a lot of our beach walk was a scramble on rocks that were about the size of a softball. These were not the easiest things to walk on. My ankles got a good workout.

Prior to our hike, Scott was on a conference call. This call continued as we hiked. If you look closely you can see him in the distance behind me. I cannot imagine what the folks on the other side of his call where thinking about the roaring surf in the background.

We followed along the edge of a cliff, and then came to this spot where the trees just fascinated me – trees in the middle of the beach rocks.

It was at about this point that I first heard the rumble of the rocks as the water rushed back out to sea. The best way to describe it is to have you watch this video clip.

Once we made is across the beach, the trail brought us into an enchanted forest – at least that is what it felt like.

As the path worked its way up (not that much of a climb), the rocks slowly changed to roots.

I noticed in several places that trees had fallen near the trail, with their roots exposed. I wondered if they fell during one of the recent hurricanes – their root systems weakened by the trail.

As we reached the point, the forest gave way to a sea side trail. The rock formations along the sea shore were quite different here than on the beach. It felt like we were in a completely different place.

We walked a little further and over to the other side of the point, the waves calmed right down and things got quieter.

After leaving the shoreline, the trail changed yet again.

We came out of the woods one more time.

When we re-entered the forest, it was boggy, and the nice trail keepers built a wooden path. The logs that were wet were very slippery. At one point I slipped and made a very elegant recovery – amazed that I didn’t fall!

On the way back, rather than following the shore the entire way, we opted for a path that went above the beach. The nice owners allow people on their property as long as the horses aren’t out on that pasture. It made the return a lot easier, and also gave us a great view of Hirtle’s Beach.

Overall, we had a delightful hike. The variety in this trail will have us returning over and over again.

Have I said lately how much I love Nova Scotia?

I have no idea what the types of fungi are, so if you know, please leave a comment.

I began by searching for trails around me using the Alltrails website. It has a handy map feature that lets me see what is close by. I find that they have a lot more trails listed than any other site – at least that is what I have found so far. I decided upon Indian Path Commons hiking trails.

The beauty in this trail is in the woods that you hike through. There were not really places to catch a view – however, when I did climb a small hill I was able to sneak a view of a lake in the distance.

I found the trails to be interesting and every now and then you’d get a sniff of fresh pine.

The green trail was the main trail which was well established and well marked.

The fall colours don’t seem to be happening all at once this year. I expected that by now all the trees would have turned, but there are still a lot that are green. However, what makes this area so interesting is the mix of different types of trees – with varieties of both deciduous and coniferous trees.

I did manage to get one picture of leaves that I’m particularly proud of.

I have not yet hiked the blue and yellow trails, so I will definitely need to return for at least one more hike.

The locals call it the duck pond. It is clear by the picture that it definitely has ducks, and although the signs say to not feed them, it is also clear by their friendliness and the way they approach people that they are fed on occasion. When you look at a Google map it is called “Town Pond” and the park that it is in is Woodland Gardens.

The other day our friends dropped by on bikes, and I joined them for a short ride. They introduced me to the duck pond. There is a 1km trail around it, that is bikeable and walkable. It is surprisingly close to our house (like 200m or a 2 minute walk), so I’ve now taken to walking around the pond rather than walking around the block.

The other day, I booked myself a hair cut – my first haircut since Covid. Well, the first one that Scott didn’t do – and although he does a pretty good job, I was craving the attention of a salon haircut. Fifteen minutes before my appointmented, I looked it up on the map – figuring I needed to figure out parking and how long it would take me to get there. Google maps informed me that it was an 11 minute walk (900m) – and so, instead of getting in the car, I walked to my appointment. The idea that I can walk places directly from our home is a bit of a mental shift.

I also have so say it was a delightful experience. The hairdresser was super friendly. She was excited to be cutting short hair, as most of the ladies here have long hair and generally only come in for trims (at least that is what she told me). She was super friendly, born and raised here, and lives in a rural area outside of town. She welcomed me to Bridgewater, which was delightful. For the most part, people have been super friendly and welcoming.

I’ve also discovered that locals only use seven digits of their phone numbers. When I travelled here, it always frustrated me because I didn’t know the area code and cell phones need 10 digits. Since the first three digits are the same for everyone, there is no need to share it, so you see everywhere that locals use only the seven digits when sharing their phone number. I’m learning to not say the 902 so that I don’t always sound like I’m from away.

This week we are having the insulation in our attic removed. Once it is all cleaned up Scott will install some new soffit ventilation and hopefully a Sun Tunnel. Having lived here for a week now (it feels like we have been in this house for a month already), we are aware now that the hallway between the bedrooms doesn’t get any natural light. I’m hoping a sun tunnel will help brighten up the space.

We are slowly getting settled in our new home. We have Nova Scotia driver’s licenses and healthcare cards. Our car has Nova Scotia plates so we no longer feel like we need to back in everytime we park. We are officially Nova Scotians

I didn’t quite realize how much more settled and productive I would be when my office was set up again. Scott seems to do better with working wherever he can find a comfortable place to sit.

On weekdays, we are balancing work with the various house projects that need doing – some more urgent than others. We would like to be setup for winter by the end of the month.

With help from a friend, the pods have now been emptied. The big furniture is in the house but most of the boxes are still in the garage. It is difficult to figure out where to put things when we haven’t figured out priorities yet. We are still discovering things.

The small kitchen has a surprising amount of space. I am guessing that because it was small, there was no wasted space. We have validated that the dishwasher moves water around, but it doesn’t actually clean the dishes. Given that we really like to use our dishwasher, it might be the first appliance we replace – it is in competition with the fridge. The fridge is on its last legs too. The seals not quite sealing and I’m sure it is using way more energy than we want to be spending. When we are ready, Efficiency Nova Scotia will pick up our old fridge and give us $30 for it.

Since we had some nice weather on Sunday, we did a little outside work. Scott cleaned some of the eaves troughs – prioritizing dealing with the flow of water before winter hits. I did some trimming of vegetation that was up against the house. We would spend weeks just working on the outside of the house and not even get to the little forest that is also on our lot. Funny thing is that, as I was trimming the vegetation, all I could think about was how this was such a fire hazard. The years spend in California have me much more aware of the things that need to be done to reduce fire hazards.

Today’s projects include the removal of the vermiculite insulation in the attic. We have specialists that will be working here all week. We have two attics (the house is split level). They are working on the one that is accessed via the master bedroom first. Fortunately, I can close the door to my office, put on my headphones and work away.

I’ve put a call into Nova Scotia power about removal of a tree branch that is on the power line from the street to the house. Good thing we didn’t get any high winds in Bridgewater during the last hurricane. Hopefully they can come and get that fix soon.

As we are moving into a new house, we also need to get our locks retumbled. I’ve found a locksmith who will come and do it later today. It is pretty awesome that I can call and people seem to be available pretty quickly.

We also have an arborist that will come either later today or tomorrow to do an assessment of the trees on our lot. We have quite a few big trees that need trimming. I also want to get a sense of which of the smaller saplings are invasive and clear those out in all my spare time! LOL.

And of course, the other piece of business for the day was to book a haircut! Scott has been doing a pretty good job cutting my hair since Covid, but I would really like a proper cut. It is also a chance for me to meet some more locals. Everytime we hire a local company to do some work, we are doing our part to help the local economy.

Today’s checklist:

• Wake up to loud knock by the folks removing the vermiculite in the attic – we had a little miscommunication about start time.
• Called (then emailed) Nova Scotia Power about the tree over the powerline
• Contacted the locksmith about tumbling locks
• Contacted arborist about doing an evaluation of our trees
• Booked an appointment for a haircut tomorrow

And now, I need to get back to work!

The day began with us packing up, leaving Hubley and heading to Bridgewater to meet our real estate agent to do the final inspection.

By the time we got to Bridgewater, the car batteries were really low – down to 20km range, so we needed to plug it in. Fortunately the Lunenburg Community Lifestyle Centre (LCLC) has free Level 2 chargers. We headed over there for our hour break and plugged the car in to charge. By break here, I mean we had an hour between the pre-closing inspection with our real estate agent and the meeting with our lawyer and we both had conference calls and work to do in the interim. Hectic!

Next it was off to the lawyer. That went pretty smoothly. We handed over a bank draft and signed a few documents. Then it was time to wait.

We headed out to Eastlink to get our cable modem then over to Fancy Pants Cafe to pick up lunch. Fancy Pants is one of the few places in town that I can safely eat, as they understand Gluten Free and Celiac. Plus their food is local and organic and delicious.

Waiting for the call from the Lawyer, we went back to the LCLC to enjoy our lunch.

At 1pm, we had to bring the vehicles over to Canadian Tire to get them safetied. This was needed in order to get Nova Scotia licence plates. We succeeded in getting the car safetied but it turns out the could not do the van . We need to find a place that can do safeties for commercial vehicles or RVs as they need a heavy duty lift that Canadian Tire doesn’t have.

When the call came, I took the car to the lawyer to get keys, and Scott took the van to the real estate agent to pick up the keys she had. By 2pm we were in our very empty home.

Shortly after we got to the house our Pods arrived. We have now been reunited with our stuff – we just need to get it unloaded. When we had a 5 minute break, Scott headed over to Service Nova Scotia and get the new plates for the car. We no longer need to worry about getting dirty looks from people when they see our California license plates.

Thursday between meetings (and even during meetings) we had an energy audit done. This audit will allow us to access provincial rebates on home updates – but the auditor also told us what made sense and helped us better understand what we should consider in the way of heating for the winter.

Now we are slowly unpacking – and balancing our time between working, unpacking, and figuring out where to begin!

Why Bridgewater? The simple answer is that is where Treehouse Village is being built. We had originally thought we would buy something in Sackville or Tantallon, but nothing felt right, plus, the most of the people we know in Nova Scotia are associated with Treehouse Village, and even if they don’t live in Bridgewater, they spend a fair amount of time visiting Bridgewater. Since our new place is huge, we may end up being “the common house” until Treehouse Village is built. I love the idea of people coming to visit and me being able to share my house with friends.

We have already discovered the Bridgewater Farmers market. For a small town farmers market it is pretty impressive. We have enjoyed ordering various things in advance, but also going to the market and hanging out. There are definitely some great finds, like amazingly sweet cherry tomatoes!

After we close tomorrow morning, at some point Pods will deliver the two pods with all of our stuff. It will be nice to be reunited with our stuff, even it it takes a while to actually unpack it all!

We have also applied for the PACE Clean Energy program. It took a bit of looking but I found out what the acronym stands for – Property Assessed Clean Energy Financing. On Thursday we will have an energy audit. This is the first step needed to access various provincial and federal programs to help cover the cost of some of the necessary renovations. We are very interested to see what the energy audit folks have to say.

I mentioned the house is a diamond in the rough – it was built as a high quality “executive” home, so the structure is good – or as the saying goes “it has good bones”. However, it looks like it was last decorated or updated in the early 70s. The appliances look like they might be early 80s – one of the first ever models of built-in dishwasher, and the oven clock has numbers on a role rather than digital numbers. We will definitely need to do a lot of before and after photos!

My plan now is to write more about the different things we discover about Bridgewater as we settle into town and relearn (or in Scott’s case learn) what is means to live in a small town. This is quite a shift from Silicon Valley!

It is an area where people are respectful of one another – and yet there is still some concern. A concerned citizen called the local police to report our car with California plates. I had a nice conversation with the constable that called as I explained that, yes, we had quarantined for 14-days and now we were in the process of buying a house in Bridgewater. He was super friendly and clearly taking down some notes for the file.

It feels like we are in a bubble looking out on the world. Everything inside is clear, but everything outside is fuzzy and warped. The world outside the bubble is unbelievable – had I not been living in it a month ago I would not have believed it. The fires in California and the politics across the US are unbelievable and scary. I worry for my friends. I wish they all could join me in this bubble. I feel remarkably privileged to be able to be in it.

Like a bubble the layer of protection is very fragile. We are holding our breath waiting for the next spike and the next lockdown – the next time we go back into the world of physical isolation.

But for now, we are living in the bubble. We are taking deep breaths of fresh air. We are relaxing to the sound of ripples on the lack, wind in the trees, birds in the distance, and the occasional squirrel who is unhappy that we are invading its space – that or it wants us to leave some treats out for it. I will never look at bubbles the same way again.

Feature image by Lanju Fotografie on Unsplash

We talked about moving to Nova Scotia for years. When we moved to California, we decided that when we moved back to Canada, it would be to Nova Scotia. Ever since my first visit to Peggy’s Cove, the province has been calling me.

Last year, we came to Nova Scotia on vacation primarily to figure out where in Nova Scotia we were going to live. Our trip started with a family visit – all of us sharing a rental house near Wolfville. My sister-in-law and family lived in Windsor for years. They knew a lot of people, several of whom we visited.

One of the things that I personally was most concerned about was leaving my friends in California. The first year or two in California was a challenge, because we really didn’t know a lot of people. Trying to find a home in a new place when you don’t know anyone is really hard. It takes a lot of effort to meet new people. It takes a lot of time to “find your tribe”.

Fortunately, Scott had been following cohousing Canada and discovered that the Bridgewater Cohousing had made a big step forward. They rebranded as Treehouse Village and started taking equity members. They had a great way to try out the community to see if we were a fit – a small fee allowed us to join the community and immediately we felt at home.

At first we met Cate, Leon, and Dylan. They welcomed us to their home following a hurricane that knocked out power to a lot of Nova Scotia. Our AirBnB had no power and we had no way to make coffee or breakfast or anything. We certainly missed having our adventure van as a backup power source!

We felt like we would really enjoy their company and could visualize ourselves sharing coffee in the morning or a beverage after dinner.

Fast forward a month and we were all in. We joined equity and committed to this wonderful community – we were going to be building a village in Bridgewater Nova Scotia – at the heart of the South Shore.

We had planned on moving in June this year, but then Covid hit. We decided to delay our move for a year. Then things got worse. I did not have a good feeling about where things were headed. On July 3rd – while hiking up Mount Umunhum – that it was time for us to pack up and head back to Canada.

Our move has been a logistical challenge. We keep wondering what phase we are in. Let’s see:

1. List house in California.
2. Pack house in California, into uHaul uBox shipping crates.
3. Ship stuff to Bangor Maine.
4. Arrange to ship our electric car to Bangor Maine.
5. Arrange an AirBnB in Maine while we waited for our stuff to arrive.
6. Drive our adventure van from California to Maine (7 days)
7. Get a Covid test somewhere before we arrive in Maine (no more than 72 hours prior to arrival). We did this in Connecticut on our way through.
8. Wait in Maine for our stuff to arrive.
9. Pick up our car at an alpaca farm.
10. Move all our stuff from the uBox containers into a uHaul truck, which also would tow a trailer with the car.
11. Drive to the town at the border and sleep for the night.
12. Get up and head to the border, first stopping at US export control to officially export our car and van.
13. Go through Canadian customs importing our car and van, as well as all of our worldly possessions – which where catalogued while packing.
14. Drive to quarantine location in Nova Scotia.
15. Wait 14 days.
16. Drive to a Pods facility to unload our stuff from the uHaul and load it into Pods for storage.
17. Return the uHaul and rent an AirBnB.
18. Find a place to live before winter sets in.

All this while also working – good thing we can both work remotely. Thankfully the week in Maine and two weeks in quarantine allowed us to catch up on at least some of the work we were missing while driving.

When we arrived in Nova Scotia we were immediately welcomed by our new village – the members of Treehouse Village. We spent our quarantine in a lovely cottage in Lockaber Nova Scotia – where we could swim each day. This lovely location was the home of one of the members of our Treehouse family, Katherine. We had been working together over the last year on various Treehouse related projects, it was such a delight to meet Katherine in person. Her cottage is been dubbed “the common house” – where guests can stay and there is a shared kitchen and various places to work – you can be alone with your thoughts or together sharing conversation or an evening beverage. It is a great space to be in quarantine and still having a sense of community. What a lovely welcome to Nova Scotia.

Then we headed to the Pods location where other members of our Treehouse family helped with unloading the uHaul and loading up the Pod. Finally out of isolation we were able to enjoy some social time with other members of our Treehouse family – and it was so fun seeing the kids for the first time, but also having other random conversations. It confirmed that we had found our tribe.

We still have others to meet, visit with, and get advice from. Everyone has been so welcoming, but also we could share some laughs together and enjoy some conversations.

Treehouse Village has welcomed us to Nova Scotia. The physical houses aren’t built yet, but the community has a pretty solid foundation. We are so privileged and overjoyed to be here and to be welcomed to our new home in Nova Scotia.

On Wednesday morning we awoke to discover that the place we had parked for the night must be an employee parking lot as it was pretty much full, except for the area we were occupying. Becky stepped outside to get a quick photo of the caravan before we hopped in and made our way to the border.

Fortunately, Scott having demonstrated his prowess for parking the giant moving truck with trailer set us up for an easy exit from the parking lot!

The border was not far – maybe a 10 minute drive. We first had to stop at the US export control in order to officially export our vehicles. Again, Scott was prepared. The officer in charge at export control was a little grumpy, but otherwise pleasant enough. The whole process didn’t take 10 minutes.

Then we were off to the Canadian border. This one took a little longer as we had to import not just our vehicles but also all our worldly possessions. Fortunately, again, Scott was organized and had completed all the necessary paperwork in advance – to the surprise of the Canadian customs officer.

While they were going through various forms, we took advantage of the flags, and with permission took our pictures next to the Canadian and New Brunswick flags.

It wasn’t an hour and we were off – surprised at how smoothly that went. I had to snap a quick photo that showed us arriving in New Brunswick and the speed limit signs in km. After six weeks of craziness, we could take a deep breath.

That being said, we still had a fair drive ahead of us. Although Google said it was a 6 hour drive, it was going to take us longer because the speed limit was faster than we could travel with the truck with trailer in tow. We would also need to stop and get gas and stop for lunch. Fortunately, we had everything we needed in our van, so we didn’t need to interact with anyone on the way.

As we approached the Nova Scotia border, we again had to stop for Covid screening. Somehow we missed that Nova Scotia also had an app to fill in to identify where you were staying for quarantine (we filled in the one for Canada but not the one for Nova Scotia). Fortunately it was one per family and they had paper versions, so Scott quickly filled it in.

While Scott was filling in the paperwork, one of the agents came over to chat with me. He explained that we might get calls from either (or both) the federal government or the Nova Scotia government. Both governments were doing compliance checks and they were not the same people. They would call up to three times, and if you missed all three calls they would send someone to your location to validate that you were in quarantine as required by law.

With that over, we rolled on into Nova Scotia.

With two more hours of driving ahead of us and the light fading we got back on the road. It turned out that we cleared the Nova Scotia border just before one of our Treehouse Village meetings was due to start. Amazingly, we both managed to get onto the meeting – both from our mobile devices while driving. Listening on the meeting proved to be exactly what we needed to stay awake while driving. Unfortunately, just before we joined the meeting both our walkie talkies ran out of power – which was unfortunate – as we still had to navigate finding our quarantine location.

At about 9:30pm, well after dark and completely exhausted we pulled into Katherine’s cottage on Lochaber Lake in Lochaber Nova Scotia. (Yes, I know Loch means lake).

We were so happy to arrive. We had a glass of wine and a short outdoor socially distant visit with our host – who up until this point we had only met virtually. It was incredible to finally be here.

It didn’t take long for us to collapse. We awoke to a beautiful day and a beautiful view.

If you are wondering why it has taken me so long to write this blog post – well – look at this view. The weather has been amazing since we arrived and the lake is a perfect temperature for a nice swim – not too warm and not too cold, perfect for getting a little exercise. We have had a lot of work to catch up on, having not been online for several days. Our days are mostly working, swimming, relaxing. This is what quarantine should be!

Now, don’t ask me yet what is to come next. Our plans pretty much ended at the point of getting here. We are in Nova Scotia. We officially residents of Nova Scotia. Once we recover a little more energy we’ll need to figure out where we go from here!

After 8 days staying at an AirBnB in Augusta Maine, we had confirmed the arrival of our car and our stuff. It was time to move onto the next phase of our journey. We packed up most of the van the night before (Monday night) and set our alarms. We needed to be out of the apartment and back on the road by 7:30am to make our various appointed start times.

Making matters a challenge, we awoke Tuesday morning to some light rain. This didn’t seem too bad, however, as we were preparing our last trip to load up the van the heavens unleashed. This is the first rain we had seen since back in early May – and it was more of a typical humid thunderstorm kind of rain, rather than the drizzly west coast rain we had become accustomed to. Fortunately, we don’t melt!

Our first stop of the day was to Bag End Suri Alpaca farm. Why an Alpaca farm you ask? One of our future neighbours from Treehouse Village has an Alpaca Farm that happened to be right off the highway about half way between Augusta and Bangor. She was willing to receive our car, as we were not sure we would be arriving in Maine before the car did. She was willing to receive it and park it for our until we were ready to pick it up. She also received some last minute mail for Becky. Thank you Jill for making this part of our trip go smoothly.

As an added bonus, Becky spend a few minutes visiting with Jill and the Alpacas.

I learned that Alpaca’s don’t like to be touched. They were rather shy and moved away when I entered into their space.

I also learned that Alpacas are naturally litter trained. If you put their litter were they like to go, they will continue to use that same place – which certainly makes it easier to clean up after them! One of the big challenges that Jill was current facing is a shortage of hay – and an ability to get the type of hay that the Alpacas need to maintain a healthy digestive system.

After visiting with the Alpacas it was time to move on to UHaul, where we needed to supervise the moving of all our stuff from the UBox containers into the UHaul truck. That is, Becky supervised while Scott and a couple of hired movers found a way to fit all our stuff into the truck. Fortunately, they had a coverage space for us to load the truck, so the on-and-off raining didn’t impact our plans. We had hoped it would take less than 3 hours, but in the end it was more like 5 hours without a break! Becky was exhausted from all that supervising!

Once the truck was loaded, we used the car to run some last errands – mostly getting groceries and printing out the documents we needed for the border. As we were headed to Staples to do the printing, we drove by Chipotle and decided that it would be a good idea to pick up one last Chipotle meal for dinner (turned out to be a wise decision).

After our errands, we went back to UHaul to load the car up. We had to wait a few minutes while they got the licence plates figured out for the trailer, which worked out perfectly as it meant we could eat before we had to drive to our overnight destination.

All loaded up, our next stop was the Walmart in Houlton Maine – just over a 2 hour drive. Scott drove the UHaul and Becky drove the our van. We found that the drive took longer than the Google maps estimate. This is in part because the truck plus trailer had a 55 m.p.h speed limit, and Google maps uses the 70 or 75 m.p.h official limit. Becky let Scott set the pace, as she tucked in behind the truck and followed along.

We arrived at Walmart after dark just before closing (just before 10pm). The parking lot was mostly empty. We found a corner in the back, and set ourselves up for the night – and promptly collapsed.

Tomorrow (Wednesday) would be the day we had been planning for – the day we cross back into Canada.

Since arriving in Maine we have been in quarantine. We had Covid testing done in Connecticut and were awaiting test results. The rule in Maine is that you are in quarantine for either 14-days or unless you have a negative test result within 72 hours before arriving in Maine. We got tested the same day we arrived (just in Connecticut not Maine – but that is allowed).

Oddly, Scott’s results came in first, and mine followed either later in the day or next morning – Scott got a phone call and I called in. We had been warned that they can get backlogged on making the phone calls for negative test results.

What does this mean? It means that we can plan a day trip to go mountain biking or swimming in a lake – and maybe even pick up our car. It means that we can do the transfer of our stuff once it arrives. It means that by this time next week we might actually be in Nova Scotia – in quarantine but in Nova Scotia.

That being said, we are both still getting caught up on work that didn’t get done while we were on the road. We slept a lot during our first couple of days in quarantine. This last few weeks has been insane. I foolishly visualized marking papers at the end of each day. I didn’t anticipate that I’d be so tired that all I wanted to do was collapse!

Feature image by Nick Youngson via Picpedia.org

We were right on the border of Pennsylvania and Connecticut, so it was only 10 minutes before we entered our second state.

Our big excitement for the day was a stop over in Danbury Connecticut to get a Covid test. After much searching, I used our insurance website to find a place that does Covid testing. It is an urgent care clinic that is setup for drive up testing. Unfortunately, we arrived at lunch so ended up with about a 90 minute wait to have the test administered. Now we wait a few days and call to get the results. They will call us, but she commented that they have a backlog of calls for people who are negative, so if want results sooner we can call them directly and ask for the results.

After the Covid test, the rest of the states seem to fly by. It wasn’t long before we were in Massachusetts. It was neat driving by some of the cities that my students live in. I finally got a little sense of where things where. You could tell it was still Covid shutdown, as we drove through in which should have been rush hour and didn’t hit any traffic.

After Massachusetts came New Hampshire (just a short distance) and then onto Maine. We were so happy to finally get to Maine. It was dusk by the time we arrived. I threw together a quick dinner and we collapsed.

We are happy to be here and even happier to let the van rest for a couple of days. We will take this opportunity to clean some things out, do laundry, and frankly relax – and not drive anywhere.

Even lovie bear is happy to be out of the van for a few days!

Yesterday, our drive started in Iowa, and went through Indiana, Illinois, and then onto Ohio. Not much to report about the drive. It was pretty flat and pretty straight.

Today we are driving through Pennsylvania – we decided that since we had driving the New York highway many times that driving through Pennsylvania would be much more interesting. So far it has been much more interesting. In the fall it must be truly amazing, with all the trees showing their fall colours. It is definitely not flat and straight. The road has regular curves and goes up and over many hills – and the hills are covered in trees. It is such a nice change after all the straight flat driving.

We are definitely getting tired of being on the road. Tonight we opted for a hotel room in Matamoras Pennsylvania. Tomorrow will be rapid pass through of states – starting in Pennsylvania and passing through New York, Connecticut, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire on our way to Maine.

Of interest was all the windmills we passed. At one rest stop we got a chance to see one of the blades close up – our van looks so tiny in comparison.

We drove a bit after dinner. At one point we were driving towards fields of flashing red lights – but unlike in California, these lights were all synced to blink at the same time, which created a really interesting effect. At first we wondered if it was an airport, but then realized it was a field of windmills. It was so dark that it was hard see the windmills, but if you looked carefully you could catch a glimpse of a blade when the red lights flashed.

We stopped for the night at a rest stop – so not particularly exciting. From a Covid perspective, Iowa was by far the least aware place we travelled through. There were no signs and the staff cleaning the rest stop were not wearing masks.

Part of the reason we pushed with extra driving yesterday is so that we could make it to our friends place in Cleveland for dinner. We will have a socially distant visit and park in their driveway for the night.

We are on track for arriving in Maine sometime on Monday.