P.E.I.

We crossed the 7 km span of Confederation Bridge in the morning. There was little to see when we were on it. The sides rose above our view, making the whole passage about as interesting as passing through a tunnel. It’s free to cross into Prince Edward Island. It’s a trap! It costs $42.50 to leave. I imagine the price has grown to $50 since then.

Just inside the Island, where the Confederation Bridge makes landfall, is Port Borden (what I called “Gate Village” until I knew better), a postage stamp of a town. There’s not much there on that tiny jut of land, just a tourists’ visitor centre and a sculpture depicting how the bridge was constructed. Maybe it’s not a sculpture, maybe it’s a three-dimensional engineering schematic, showing how the foundations were constructed. Either way, it’s was quite an engineering feat.

The village is a tourist trap dream, with all the souvenirs one could hope for all in one place. Oddly, there’s a lot about pirates there. I have no idea if pirates ever stepped foot on P.E.I.; they probably didn’t, but you never know. But there’s enough pirate stuff there to hint as it. And if that sort of thing sells, you know the shelves will be jammed full of it. And it must have flown off the shelves, because wherever I looked, I saw tri-corner hats, stuffed parrots and eye patches. There may have been one or two flouncy sleeved pirate shirts and a cutlass here and there. I loved the meme I saw everywhere: “The Beatings Will Continue Until Moral Improves.” But I didn’t buy any of it.

There’s lobster and burgers and ice cream at the visitors’ center. Liquor and Subway and an Information Centre. Like I said, everything a tourist could ask for. Just don’t linger there. That’s not P.E.I. That’s just a trap to divest you of your money. We stopped just long enough to browse the pirate wear, pick up some pamphlets and maps and get some ready cash from the ATM and we were back on the road.

We stopped in Charlottetown soon after. It’s a beautiful city, easily the equal of Halifax in every way, so it was too bad we didn’t have long to linger. One of the first things we noticed was how red the soil is. How shockingly red, like rusty blood. Even in the city. We saw the foundation of a building being dug out and the soil was as blood red as anywhere else. Above that were bricked buildings as red as the soil they rose out of, as though the bricks themselves were moulded from that very same soil. We visited Province House, the site of the Charlottetown Conference, weaving here and there to stand atop each of the provincial marks set into the lawn. Others had the same idea as we did. We actually stole the idea from them.

We ate fish and chips at Brits on Great George. Sadly, not on their street terrace; every table was full, so we ate inside, where the ambiance was utilitarian. Not great, comfortable; yet as noisy as you’d expect any working-class eatery to be. And it was. But what was I expecting from a Brits, anyway? It’s a chain, after all.

We spent far too much time in Northern Watters Knitwear. It cost us a small fortune. But every penny spent was worth it. Hand loomed, hand knit together, each article as thick and warm as any you can buy, the type of wool that can last you a lifetime if you take care of it.

But time was short and we wanted to something of the Island. We had to be on our way. We were off to Cavendish, home of potatoes and Anne of Green Gables and the Green Gables Golf Course. Parks Canada actually created a National Heritage Site to the fictional character within a National Park and then allowed a golf course to be set up in it. Go figure. You can walk down from the Historic Site, green gables and all, down the path that sparked Maud’s imagination and evoked the Haunted Woods, Lovers’ Lane, and Balsam Hollow and catch a glimpse through what thin woods remain to see the greens of the grounds of the course inches away.

We did not give P.E.I. its due. All we saw was Port Bordon, Charlottetown and Cavendish, or Green Gables more specifically, while there. The rest of the time was spent driving, first to the Island, then straight across the Island, and then around the western side to Summersville as the sun lost its edge and the clouds rolled in, then back to Port Borden where we paid for our passage back to New Brunswick.
We were too quick rounding P.E.I. There was more to see and we saw none of it. Then again, we never thought we’d set foot on the Island, either, until I asked Bev if she’d like to go. It was just an impulse, and not a bad one at that.

It was getting on in hour, so we stopped in Sackville for supper before driving back to Moncton, arriving after dark.

Looking back, that last stretch was a race to return, because we had more spokes to traverse as we wheeled about New Brunswick, one compass direction at a time.