Love Haiku : Trust

 

All we must believe

is that the way will open

when we take the steps.

 

Love Haiku : Drifting

 

Why are we drifting

when nothing has changed? Perhaps

because we have?

On the Road in New Brunswick

New Brunswick was a revelation for me. I wasn’t a stranger to Canada’s east coast, what with being a Newfoundlander with many family connections in Nova Scotia, but I’d never spent much time in the only officially bilingual province in Canada. So, Cuz K (a Newfoundlander who’d grown up in New Brunswick) made sure my summer visit was going to change all that.

But first, we had a fabulous cousins’ party to attend to when our cousin Beergirl arrived from Halifax, well supplied with coolers of beer and other alcoholic delights. Oh, did I mention that Cuz K has the most amazing view from her house over the St John River in Nackawic?

Other the the beautful countryside, Nackawic is reknowned world over (according to local signage) for being the location of the world’s biggest axe (only to be rivalled, I think by the world’s large hockey stick in Duncan, BC — I’ve got a picture of that too).

Shaking off the vestiges of our jolly evening, it being August and holiday time, we packed up our swim gear and headed to the beach the next day.  The sun was hot and glorious, the ocean fresh and reviving, and there was lots and lots of space. And it was a Saturday in August. Am I going to tell you the name of the beach? Would you tell me? (Okay, okay — it’s the New River Beach Provincial Park).

  

  

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After the beach we headed into the pretty seaside town of St. Andrews for an early supper of fish and chips washed down with mouth-watering Bloody Caesars (and a Virgin Mary for the driver) on the outside terrace at The Gables. We finished off our day with a walk along the pier as the sun began to set.

  

            

  

  

  

  

  

  

A Few Days in Eastport, Newfoundland

After our delicious dinner at the Bonavista Social Club, Queenie and I drove along the coast to our destination — the seaside hamlet of Eastport — where I’d be staying with Queenie and her husband, Wizard Rob, in one of their cottages by the sea for a few days. The last time I’d been there was many eons ago when I’d been a little girl of five, and Queenie and her friend Mickey (I call her Minnie because in my memory she has two pony tails sticking out over her ears and freckles across her nose, reminding me of Minnie Mouse) had kidnapped me (with my parents’ permission) to stay the weekend with them at the cottage. I remembered it perfectly, even to seeing an iceberg in the bay while we played on the sandy beach in July that year. I’d loved the place then, and it was like stepping back into a lovely memory.

We spent the next few days attending a small literary festival called Winterset, http://www.wintersetinsummer.ca , and in between the talks and festivities, I spent some enjoyable time meandering around the community with my camera.

Dusk at Sandgate

We drove to Sandgate on the Kent coast to catch the last of the day before heading out to dinner at a pub in the Kent countryside. We had the pebble beach to ourselves and watched the distant rain front slowly approach as we wandered along the beach.

There was a lone jogger, getting in a quick run before the rain hit…

…and I was briefly distracted by the colours and textures of the pebbles…

…but the luminous blue sky and the song of the water lapping against the beach drew me back to the sea.

The Golden Hour in Brighton

I have been on Brighton Pier for an hour on a bright, blue-skied, chilly December afternoon. But now the sun begins to wane and and clouds roll in. Suddenly the sea and sky turn green and gold and the sunlight glints off the white buildings of the city. It is like I’ve stepped into the middle of a Turner painting. Magic.

The Beach at El Jadida

Another day driving along the west coat of Morocco, and another beach. This time just outside of the city of El Jadida. There’s something to be said about visiting beaches in the off season, when the sea, the sky and the sand belong to no one but you.

The Beach at Oualidia

While Berberman caught up with his phone calls, I wandered along the beach at Oualidia on the Atlantic coast of Morocco and played photographer. It wasn’t hard.

Lunch on the Beach at Oualidia

It was lunchtime (again!) and Berberman turned off the main coast road down an unmarked road to the seaside village of Oualidia. “Lots of waves here,” he says. “Lots of surfers in the summertime.” We parked and head to the beach. The wind was brisk and a little chilly. But the mood on the beach was festive. There were no tourists in Oualidia now. Just some in-the-know Moroccans enjoying the day’s catch grilled to perfection on the beach.

An old fisherman comes up to us to show us his buckets of shellfish and sea urchins.

Then we choose our fish – sardines for Berberman, and a fat fish for me.

This is what food is all about.

The Boardwalk at Safi

En route on the coast road to El Jadida, we stopped at Safi to stretch our legs on the boardwalk (well, concrete walk actually) at the small town of Safi. I was struck by the vivid blue paint and the horizontal lines.