Antigonish, Nova Scotia – Canadian quicksand or captured in a mudslide

Right after breakfast we move on to a wine tasting since the staff arrived. Unfortunately we have to pour away most of it since we still have to drive. But one or the other bottle finds its way to our limited storage room.

We pass Wolfville, a prosperous town with elegant (wood) villas and well-groomed gardens. I can nearly feel how one neighbour watches what the other does and if everything runs its usual and well-ordered course.

We cross the country from the west to the east coast of Nova Scotia. We buy at J. Willy Krauch & Sons in Tangier delicious smoked salmon and mackerel. Krauch emigrated from Denmark, but his forefathers are Germans, the kind saleswoman tells us. Even the British Queen Elisabeth II had already ordered Smoked Salmon from Krauch.

This morning we had 26°C and bought wine wearing a t-shirt, now it’s raining cats and dogs with 11°C. Along the Trans-Canada-Highway we go via Antigonish to the north shore. The landscape here reminds me of the Allgäu, the German Alpine region. In the background a mountain chain shows up, in front a road leads over smooth hills with forests and meadows where cows graze for a change. The apparent lack of cows may explain the high dairy product prizes. Two litres milk cost 4 to 5 c$, for one litre we have to pay 3 to 4 c$. Not to mention yoghurt and cheese. On the other hand, beef isn’t too expensive.

We find a lonely beach to spend the night, a dreamlike place. At sunset we go for a walk. A sign at one of the trees at the edge of the beach attracts my attention. Often you find rules of conduct on them, and so I approach to read it. At a first glance the ground here doesn’t look different to the rest, so I approach unsuspectingly. In the next moment I get stuck in the mud to above my ankles. I can’t even pull out one foot; on the contrary, I sink deeper and deeper. To crown it all I went up a small ascent, and now I overturn backwards in slow motion. Just before my bottom touches the mud, Joerg comes running to support me. He thinks all that is funny and wants to take pictures first. I do not really acquire a taste for this idea, and we agree on first rescuing me and taking photos after. With a lot of effort and Joerg’s help I can pull out both feet, one after the other, including the boots fixed on them. Fortunately I had tied them up tightly before. However, the shoes, my socks and pants are completely coated with red loam, and the mud gushed into my boots. I ask myself how a sign can be posted at such an intelligent site, but probably the preceded strong rain has flushed the mudslide right out of the forest.

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