CHAPTER 130

First written (Published in Evergreen News): 2011-09-04

Rewritten: 2026-02-18

Having seen Halifax, the capital of Nova Scotia, I felt that its municipal government had been guilty of benign neglect, squandering its natural beauty.

In 2006, half a year after Lun reached adulthood and moved into his residence, the three of us set off to tour the central provinces of eastern Canada. That trip later gave rise to the idea of continuing farther east to explore the four Maritime provinces.

Five years later, we finally fulfilled part of that wish, visiting Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island. As for New Brunswick, we merely passed through part of it—hardly even enough to call it a fleeting glance.

Compared with the vast provinces of central and western Canada, the four Atlantic provinces are small in both area and population. Yet trying to cover them all within ten days is no easy task—transportation alone poses a major challenge.

In 2011, there were no direct flights between the provincial capitals at Canada’s two far ends—Vancouver and St. John’s, Newfoundland and Labrador. The distances were too great, and passenger demand insufficient to make such routes profitable. One had to first reach Nova Scotia, and from its easternmost city, Sydney, take a 14-hour ferry ride to arrive in Newfoundland.

Not to mention Labrador—the vast, desolate region belonging to Newfoundland and Labrador and adjoining northern Quebec. Its area is nearly one-third that of British Columbia, yet its population numbers only in the tens of thousands.

Limited by finances, stamina, and vacation time, we had to let go of part of our plan. We visited only Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island, and also revisited Old Quebec City, which we had not seen for five years.

Canada is simply enormous. After transferring flights in Calgary, it took us nine hours to reach Nova Scotia. We rented a car equipped with a GPS system, but none of the three of us could figure it out. So we relied on intuition and old-fashioned road signs to make our way to Halifax.

It was early Sunday morning. As we crossed the toll-paying MacKay Bridge and tossed a one-dollar coin into the funnel-like collection box, we drove forward—and all three of us exclaimed in surprise at what we saw.

Halifax’s appearance, style, atmosphere, road scale, infrastructure, industrial facilities, and residential neighborhoods all reminded us uncannily of New Westminster in Greater Vancouver—like twin brothers, equally old and worn.

Why had we traveled thousands of miles only to arrive at a place that looked like “Second City,” a mere fifteen-minute drive from home? Our spirits sank. But since we were already there, we had no choice but to press on.

We went straight to the downtown hotel where we were staying. Its exterior looked decent enough. The three of us had an expensive breakfast in the hotel restaurant—the taste and portions both somewhat underwhelming—then returned to our room and slept for four hours. Time was precious; no matter what, we had to go out and see the world.

Traveling light, we stepped out toward the waterfront tourist district. Just as we turned left at a street corner and headed downhill, a thunderous boom rang out. Startled, the three of us turned to look up the hill. It was exactly 2:30 p.m.—the daily ceremonial cannon firing at the hilltop fortress had begun, a performance for visitors. The fortress had been built between 1825 and 1856.

Our younger son had once been in the Army Cadet Corps—this was right up his alley. Instead of heading down to the sea, we climbed up the hill and spent the entire afternoon happily at the fortress, watching military drills, touring the facilities, enjoying panoramic views of the city from above, imagining the smoke-filled battle scenes of the past, and taking countless photographs. That part of the trip was well worth it.

The waterfront district’s layout resembled a small-scale San Francisco, centered on the piers and filled with sightseeing vessels. We boarded a warship museum and listened as a guide recounted the Battle of the Atlantic during World War II. Nova Scotia had served as a base for Canada’s shipbuilding, food transport, and war supplies. Countless soldiers and transport ships were sacrificed in the relentless effort to resupply Allied forces across the Atlantic—until victory was achieved.

Along the shore were fast-food stalls, souvenir shops, gardens in the bustling downtown area, and narrow red-brick buildings that reminded me of Boston.

The shortcoming of this trip lay in Halifax’s poor cityscape. Its infrastructure appeared old and unrepaired. The downtown lacked vibrancy and ornamentation. Along the roads, there were few flowers or decorative touches. Even the traffic lane markings on the asphalt were faded and unclear. The government seemed daringly lax and inactive—though I have not revisited since, so I do not know its current state.