A Halifax Moment
First off, let me warn you. I may get a little carried away in describing my visit to Halifax. But, I dare you to visit this historic city and not get swept up by the nostalgia and romance of its past. And just try and resist singing along - at the top of your lungs, I might add - with the boisterous locals to the live music in one of its many, many, pubs. And good luck not feeling moved by a people who truly make you feel welcome.
Ah, the Haligonians. Yes, that's really what the residents of Halifax are called and friendly is what they truly are. But, they're more than that. They're genuine. When they ask "Where're you from?" (and they will ask) they aren't just making small talk. They really are interested. And when they ask "How do you like Halifax?" (and they will ask) they beam with pride when you tell them how much you're enjoying their city.
But there's one thing in particular that continues to amaze me. It's a small thing but it speaks volumes about this city. Motorists stop for pedestrians. And I don't just mean at crosswalks. If you so much as look like you're thinking about crossing the street, busy traffic will come to a halt and you'll be motioned across with a wave and a smile. It's a friendliness that, coming from a big city, I initially found a little unnerving. But now, after a few days, I find myself wondering why people can't be more like that where I'm from and thinking how much I'm going to miss it when I leave.
And the cinnamon rolls at the Saturday Farmer's Market. I'm really going to miss those. I'm devouring one right now as I sit watching the bustle of the market and enjoying the string quartet playing beside me. I heard about the market (housed in the original Alexander Keith's Brewery), from a woman I met in a cozy little downtown bookshop/café, called The Trident. She insisted I make the market part of my visit and the cinnamon rolls part of my diet. I'm not exaggerating when I say I was assaulted (in a good way) by their smell as soon as I walked through the door. Finding them was as easy as following my nose. They are melt-in-your-mouth delicious and served still warm from the oven (a treat for my tastebuds as well as my hands, slightly chilled from the crisp winter air).
Warmed on the outside, I proceed to get warmed on the inside by a single-malt whiskey that I sample in another corner of the market. Through an old stone archway, past a bearded man playing the guitar and singing songs of the sea, I find the wine and spirits producers of Nova Scotia. As I sip the whiskey, I chat with the proprietor of Glennora, the only single-malt distillery in North America. He tells me he makes the four-hour drive to the market every Saturday, from the distillery located on Cape Breton Island. Lucky me. I move on to taste an ice wine and an apple cider from Domaine de Grand Pre winery. Again, lucky me.
I wander through the rest of the market, which is a treasure trove of unique items crafted by local artisans. There's a blacksmith, dressed in a tartan kilt and wool socks, displaying his wrought iron wine racks, hooks and other ornate masterpieces. Tucked in another corner is a jewelry designer who makes rings and necklaces out of beads and wires so organically twisted, they look like delicate branches and buds on a plant.
But, back to the food. There's a myriad of home made baked goods from Mennonite communities, Dutch cheeses, fresh made sushi, Middle Eastern cuisine, a Portuguese man selling Italian chestnuts and every other delicacy imaginable. It really feels like not much has changed since the 1700s when merchant ships from around the world pulled into port loaded with exotic items from their native lands.
I decide it's time to explore another famous Nova Scotian taste and sign up for a tour of the historic Alexander Keith's brewery. Immediately, I find myself in the .days of yore. being escorted by a guide in 19th century dress and with an Old English accent. I am lead through stone passageways and shown where Mr. Keith first brewed his famous India Pale Ale in 1830. In fact, I learn that Keith's is the oldest working brewery in North America. I am served a pint in a ceramic mug, sung to by a barmaid and regaled with history and legend by a young chap in a tweed cap. This delightful stroll back in time makes me want to learn more about this city's interesting history so I head off towards the Maritime Museum.
Appropriately located on the waterfront, this museum provides a fascinating glimpse into the city's unique, and often tragic, past. There's a Titanic exhibit where actual items from the ship, recovered from the sea by fisherman, are on display. But by far, my favourite exhibit is one that tells the most devastating story in Halifax's history. In 1917, an explosion in the harbour shattered the city when two ships collided . 2,000 dead, 9,000 wounded. The Halifax Explosion exhibit is a powerful tribute to the lives lost in that tragic event. One item in particular . a small, easily overlooked item . has not lost its impact or poignancy, even after all these years. It's a simple pocket watch, its hands melted to its face at the exact time of the explosion: 9:12 a'm.
As I leave the museum, I literally stumble over what turns out to be my second favourite part of the museum: a cat. Her name, according to her tag, is Clara and she is the resident mouse-catcher on the ship Acadia, permanently anchored in the harbour as part of the Maritime Museum. Clara is just one of the many residents of the city who, despite the few flakes swirling around on the ocean air, are out for a leisurely walk along the boardwalk. Including an elderly man, now giving Clara a good scratch behind the ear. He tells me he's known Clara .going on 8 years now.. I find this truly touching and indeed, when he walks off, she strolls along at his side.
I spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around the city, which seems to decide for me what I should see and do by revealing a piece of its history or charm around every corner. I'm quickly learning that to really experience Halifax you have to dust the cobwebs off your spontaneous side and let the city lead you along. Like now. I spend an unexpected hour in the Old Burial Ground, the city's oldest cemetery, which is now a fascinating outdoor museum. My next discovery'the funkiest pair of shoes in a super hip, independent clothing store called Biscuit. After all this exploring, I decide it's time for dinner and some fresh, East Coast seafood.
Like many shops and businesses in this city, The Five Fisherman Restaurant is housed in a building with an interesting past. A past that still haunts the establishment, if I am to believe the ghost stories told to me by my waiter, Leonard. Originally built in 1816 as the Church of England's National School, this building has also been home to the first Art College in Canada (now The Nova Scotia College of Art and Design). But most interestingly, and most likely source of the ghost stories, the building had a brief incarnation as a funeral home. In fact, some of the wealthier passengers from the Titanic, their bodies recovered by local fishermen, were laid out in its rooms. Today, The Five Fishermen offers a very cozy and intimate atmosphere with its nautical setting of dark timber, brass and stained glass fixtures.
The food is outstanding, starting with the complimentary steamed mussels and salad bar. I have to remind myself to leave room for my dinner of Grilled Atlantic Salmon with little neck clams, pancetta bacon, new potatoes and a bouillabaisse broth. The presentation and the freshness of the seafood are absolutely wonderful. Not a crumb is left on my plate when Leonard comes to retrieve it. I order the Apple Napoleon for dessert and again, leave no trace of its layers of cider spiced apple, phyllo crisps, cinnamon pastry cream and golden caramel sauce.
As I'm leaving, Leonard suggests I head down to a pub called The Split Crow to catch one of the East Coast's best fiddlers, in town tonight from Cape Breton. I roll my full self down to the pub and order a pint of locally brewed, and delightfully named, Propeller Porter. As I sip this smooth, dark beer, I glance around and realize I have found the point in the city, perhaps the universe (it's the porter talking) where the most interesting and diverse groups of people collide. I should say, mingle. At the bar, a group of American sailors in full, crisp uniform are talking to a couple of art students, numerous parts of their faces pierced numerous times. A group of silver-haired tourists sit next to a table of well-dressed business people from the offices of the financial district around the corner.
The band takes to the stage and the fiddler starts peeling off an East Coast jig. The crowd immediately starts clapping and dancing along. In between songs, the lead singer shouts "Sociable", a signal for everyone, friends and strangers, to raise a glass and share a drink.
To me, this gesture perfectly captures what Halifax is: a lively intermingling of eras, attitudes and influences. Where the past meets the present and quaint meets hip. And where it doesn't seem to matter if you're young or old, a student or a sailor, a local or what I've learned I am, a "CFA" (Come From Away). Everyone is looking for the same thing: a nice local pint, lively music and a friendly welcome on a cold day. And The Split Crow is just one of the many places where you can find it in this city on the sea.
I chat with a man beside me who tells me that he moved to Halifax a year ago, after coming out for a holiday. He tells me he made a mistake moving here. He pauses then says ..not doing it 20 years sooner.. I laugh and we raise our glasses as we, once again, hear the cry "Sociable!".