Our first stop after crossing the border was in St. Stephen — at a New Brunswick visitor's center. Canadians know how to do these — we picked up books, brochures, maps, and they had PCs set up with public e-mail access. Neat-o. We both sent messages to family & friends. I like to leave the computer (and thoughts thereof) behind on vacation, and can do it cold turkey. However, when it's right there (a la dessert at a buffet), I can't resist.

We decided to head down to St. Andrews first, one of the oldest towns in the province. It's on the tip of the peninsula that we had just seen across the channel from Maine. Many Loyalists had settled there after the American Revolution, not feeling too comfortable in America after siding with the British. They broke down their homes and shipped the pieces by boat to St. Andrews where they rebuilt them. Late in the 19th century the town became a popular summer resort area for the rich —the Algonquin Hotel (1889) and lots of elegant homes went up.

It was easy to see the appeal: a beautiful waterfront with great views across the Bay, a quaint village center and quiet tree-lined streets. We stopped at the water and found a blockhouse, something new to us. It was a wooden guardhouse that was built during the War of 1812 — the British thought an attack might come from the US (it didn't). This was the last surviving structure from that time. There were cannons and earth fortifications — mounds built up in the ground to create trenches for protection. (We'd see more of these neat earthen creations later in the trip.) This was now a park and national historic site, and a nice blue, green, and red (mud) place to hang out. The Fundy tide was low and we walked out on a sand/rock bar. It was a warm, perfect late afternoon.

But enough relaxation. We did a quick look around town then headed back up the peninsula. And without further ado, it was on to Saint John. We figured we'd find a place to stay there for the night.

Approaching, we could tell it was a real city, but not an overwhelming one. We breezed over the Saint John River and were on the other side of town very quickly. Whoops, no lodging that looked inviting there, so we backtracked and ended up in a "high-rise" motel overlooking the city. Very nice, new, and unbelievably cheap. (Why don't more Americans vacation in Canada? So close, so spectacular and great exchange rate.)

Though we were tired (this was still our first full day) we got a second wind after checking in and headed downtown to explore while there was still light. I was so glad we did. Saint John was a revelation with different faces. It was another, larger Loyalist haven and had the historic buildings, churches, parks, and cemeteries to reflect those times. There were wonderful, inviting parks and treed streets with beautiful architecture. Closer to the waterfront the city became something else, a bit more seedy around the shipping/paper mill industrial areas. But we like those contrasts, don't we?

We also went to the highest vantage point in the city, Fort Howe park, to take in the whole panorama as the sun set. There was another blockhouse there, this one a reproduction, as well as a monument, some cannons and stockades.

Then food, please. We dined on the top floor of the hotel, and I had a mussel feast. Have you ever had mussel chowder? I was expecting it to be like clam chowder with the meat already in the soup. But no, the huge bowl was full of open bivalves with the largest, most delicious mussels and a sumptuous broth underneath. Great start to another seafood-fest in Canada.

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The next morning we were off to the east, on the way to the shore. This was where we would really appreciate the Bay of Fundy and its claim to fame: The Highest Tides in the World. Our destination: St. Martins, a small coastal town that used to be the hub of the wooden ship building business. Hard to believe now — it was in a remote, quiet area. The harbor and Old Pejepscot wharf were impressive. A long, wide channel led out into the Bay, and several fishing boats were sitting in the mud, waiting for the tide to lift them. There were two covered bridges (c. 1935) and around a hillside, a beautiful rocky beach.

Not just any beach — this was bordered by sculpted, tree-topped red cliffs with caves carved by the tide. Since the tide was low we were able to walk out on the rocks, mud, and seaweed to get to the caves. It was a dramatic place, and the feeling of walking on the sea bottom was exciting — we'd be doing more of that later.

A few miles beyond St. Martins was the start of the Fundy Trail — a new parkway and parallel hiking trail of about 11K along the cliffs above the Bay. It opened just a few years ago and the plan is to extend it all the way to Fundy National Park, another 50K or so. Now that stretch is supposedly the only coastal wilderness (read undeveloped) area remaining, from Florida to Newfoundland. They've done a nice job so far; the hiking trail had paths from the cliffs to the water, and the parkway had many stops with scenic overlooks. At the end was a low-key visitor's center at the Big Salmon River — in the water were the remnants of an old sawmill. The whole area was still rugged, pristine, beautiful.

I guess if the region has to be "civilized" this is the way to do it. But it would be nice to think that there's still some untouched coastline ...

New Brunswick cont. »