Distractions, reflections

I hadn’t seen my colleagues in New Jersey in a while, so I suggested that we might convene at someplace different.  Near the university is the Newark Museum.  Parking behind the building leads visitors to a gate with a garden.

The life-sized bronze casting of the Toll Booth Collector by George Segal wasn’t the place for admission to the building.

The front entrance to the museum is on Washington Street.

DLH says that museums remind him of bad dates.  The collection seems to aim for breadth over depth, spread over multiple wings.  I liked the architecture of the building more than the pieces chosen.  Annalenna, Marianne and DLH agreed.

I’ve flown over Winnipeg on the path from Toronto to Vancouver, but I’ve never actually been in the city.  As our first stop on a western road trip, Stephen, Roy, John and I arrived in the morning, checked into the hotel, and then had some time to look around.  One place that I had read about was The Forks.  We drove over, parked, and, as we walked towards the river, found a skate park called the Plaza at the Forks.

As we got oriented, some skateboarders came to the park and warmed up.

On our way towards the river, we passed a large covered stage, with an open field where I could imagine the audience sprawled out in the summer.

The Forks is a National Historical Site of Parks Canada.  A gate formally marks the entrance.

Just inside the gates is an orientation circle, with “The Path of Time” by Marcel Gosselin.   I hadn’t recognize this sculpture as a sundial.

It’s less than a 90-minute drive from Saint John to Fredericton, so we had a mid-morning run on Highway 7 through scenic New Brunswick.  Fredericton is much smaller than Saint John, but has the feature that it’s the capital of New Brunswick.

We again arrived with enough time for lunch and some sightseeing.  By the Saint John River, there’s a park with the Lighthouse Adventure Centre.

We walked around the front side, to see that the lighthouse was completely closed.  On a cool fall weekday, there wouldn’t be too much demand for ice cream on the ground floor.

Looking down, we saw the south section of the Riverfront Trail beside the shore.  The Saint John River curves, with a flow to southeast at this point.

The Riverfront Trail continues to the north, where we could see the Westmorland Street Bridge leading to Nashwaaksis, a neighbourhood now amalgamated with Fredericton.

Having arrived late in the evening at the Digby Pines Resort, we woke up early to be first in line for breakfast in the dining room.  After a sumptuous but quick buffet, we made the short drive to catch the ferry from Nova Scotia to Saint John, New Brunswick.

On this rainy morning, Stephen dashed into the ferry office to buy a ticket.  The other vehicles we already boarding the ferry, so we didn’t have to queue up on land.

Some flagmen guided our vehicle into place, and we parked.

Passengers are not permitted to remain down below in the vehicles.  We took the stairs up.

I took a walk around the ship as it cast off.  From the aft deck, we pulled away from the gangway.

My job and studies have taken me more extensively through the United States than Canada.  Thus, I was excited by the opportunity to see the Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, albeit on a whirlwind 3-day trip.  We flew in to the Halifax airport, which is over 20 miles northeast of the city.  After a long freeway drive, we crossed from Dartmouth westward over the MacDonald Bridge into Halifax.

Across the bridge, we drove south and then nativated around some building towers to find roads down to the waterfront.  We parked the car, and walked out onto Queen’s Wharf Pier.  Looking southwest gave a great view of the city on a cloudy day.

Turning counter-clockwise, and looking south we saw more piers on Halifax Harbour.

Continuing counter-clockwise, Georges Island has a lighthouse as a navigational aid to shipping.

Continuing to pan, almost east, are the refineries at Dartmouth Harbour.

Skipping past the bridge to the northwest, I could see the towers that we had to drive circles around.

On the way to a meeting at the Township of Centre Wellington, Stephen and I got lost.  I hadn’t done the mapping in advance and was relying on Blackberry Maps on Stephen’s handheld device.  Out in the country, street addresses don’t work so well.  We stopped for directions, and were told simply:  go to the main street of Elora.  It’s not a huge metropolis.  As we drove into the village, we saw John parked on the side of main street, on his mobile phone, calling for directions.  We were all late!  There’s a lesson here for big city boys!

After our business was done, John had to head back to Toronto.  Stephen and I took some leisure time to take in the sights.  We walked south on Metcalf Street.

At the foot of Metcalf Street is Mill Street.  Looking west, the road curves around, and the Elora Mill Inn is at the end.

On the east side of Mill Street, there’s an information centre.  The lady there gave us a local map.  She suggested crossing the Metcalf Street bridge south, and following the river west.

As we crossed the bridge, the scenic Grand River revealed itself.