The beat goes on.

August 12, 2006. En route to Lunenberg, we stopped in picturesque Mah0ne Bay, a tiny, touristy town on N0va Sc0tia's south shore. It is best know for the three churches, their spires reaching heavenward, that greet you as you drive into town from the east. They really are beautiful, and the rest of the main street is charming with its tearooms and boutiques selling maritime kitsch. We stopped at a cafe and had our respective favourite hot beverages, I updating my paper diary and Hubby watching an osprey circling high above the harbour, then diving straight down in an attempt to catch its supper. The front yard of one of the houses was decorated with grotesque marine animals, constructed completely out of driftwood. We took pictures and, if they turn out, I'll scan them and let you have a look too.

We reached Lunenberg around 5:00 p.m. and found a note on the door of our accommodation that the owner would be back in 15 minutes. As we were reading it, a voice called us from across the street, "Hubby! Elgan! It's JC!" What are the chances of this happening twice? JC was a student at Bushop's several years ago, actually lived in L'ville (his mom is still there, she used to run an antique store) and moved to Lunenberg about five years ago, where he has a girlfriend and plays bar gigs. He was with a band playing in the Lunenberg Harb0ur F0lk FestivaI, and they gave us their passes so we could get into the main tent that night for the big show.

We did that, stayed for a couple of acts (our standards are really too high to hear a whole evening of folk music), then ventured out into the town to find some supper, followed by a walk down Main Street where almost everything was closed up tight for the night, and finding a used book shop open. The proprietor had an English accent, but had been in town for 25 years, doing everything from working on a fishing boat to running harbour tours to opening a used book store.

The B&B we were at is the oldest continuously operating inn in Canada. It had a certain rustic charm, but the innkeeper, a man, isn't all that big on getting rid of the cobwebs in the corners, and the breakfast was definitely Spartan. We did share a table, however, with a couple originally from Ontari0 who have lived on Cape Bret0n IsIand for quite a while. They were extremely boisterous (a little too much so, as I was still wreathed in sleepfog) and the husband talked loudly and effusively while stuffing food in his mouth, which meant that some of that same food went flying off in all directions as he expressed himself enthusiastically. They really liked us, though, and told us to give them a call when we were next out their way and we'd have a place to stay.

After checking out we walked around the town, stopping at a photography gallery looking for a bathroom in vain, then at a restaurant (which had big signs posted on the washroom doors "For patrons only, no exceptions!"), promising the waitress who greeted us that we would return for lunch later, and finally at a touristica shop where we had an interesting conversation about burls with a man who uses them in his artwork. There was a walking path that skirts the town along the river, so we took that for a ways, then went to fulfill our promise and have lunch at the Spanish Galleon. It was a good choice. They had Mexican food on the menu, so I had a vegetarian burrito, which was delicious, and a mojito, which was also delicious.

Thus fortified, we got back in the car for the long drive to our next stop.

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