At the Bear on the Lake Guesthouse, we’re all in this together – some more so than others. Julie and her son, somewhere in the region of 7 to 8 years old, are touring the Cape Breton Highlands together, camping in places.
For this adventure, I donate a large bag of crinkle-cut potato chips and a map of the area (my map of the area), the one marked up with my personal recommendations (the recommendations everyone gets if they stop at the Welcome Centre).
Now mapless, leaving Cape Breton Island, turning off the Trans Canada Highway towards Bayfield Beach and promptly getting lost in endless roads which all look the same and have the same grassy surroundings. No trees! And no landmarks presenting themselves, no other traffic or people around … barely any houses, in fact.
The novelty and thrill of going missing wears off after half an hour, forcing me to embrace technology in a bid to find out where the hell I am.
Naturally, I’m round the corner from the beach.
I park up and take the boardwalk over the dunes and into the bay, to stumble into an unexpectedly dazzling scene, in the bright warm sunshine. If only the strong gusts of wind weren’t blowing me away.
There are a few hardy people dotted across the beach, hiding behind windbreaks, bookended by lifeguard posts.
The water is freezing, the breeze is stiff, yet the sun is high and it all makes for a bracing morning ramble around the bay.
An hour later, I’m following the Sunrise Trail to Ballantyne’s Cove, a ridiculously picturesque fishing harbour and ice cream shack with a steady stream of tourists, and onwards to Cape George.
With less of a wind, I set up camp on a picnic bench, beside the pristine white lighthouse, watching tourists come and go, jumping out of their cars to snap a few photos before zooming off again.
Occasionally couples and small family groups stopping for longer, taking in lunch with a widescreen view out to the Gulf of St Lawrence.
The motorcyclist from Alabama on the off-road Kawasaki drops by, momentarily takes in the scene, and quickly drops out.
Further along the Sunrise Trail, stacks of fishing creels and an ice cream parlour in a tiny lighthouse, built in 2000 to serve the tourists rather than guide any boats or ships, by the looks of it.
Although those rocks are more unforgiving than they look, as I nearly lose my ice cream cone several times over, hopping across them.
By late afternoon I’m heading into the city – back to university, to take a masters in laundry.
StFX / St Francis Xavier / smile you’re at X.
Staying in the Governors Hall, being a student again.
To celebrate, I cook up a bowl of pasta and eat it in the empty refectory, slurping down a tin of beer on the side.
Shortly afterwards, meandering through the deserted campus, over to the cathedral, and around the warm evening streets to the green pub.
On the way, I stumble across a walk in progress.
Stopped in my tracks, I stand there wondering if this is perhaps an art installation, or maybe a philosophical study.
Which gives me a very good reason to head to the pub, to consider this further over a fresh beer or three, stroking my chin and staring into space.
The Townhouse in the middle of downtown provides the perfect environment for this, and a selection of craft beers which convince me to stay longer than I was planning to.
Not that much persuasion is needed.
An Outside World 