Travelogue, Maritime provinces

We boogied from Wolfville into Halifax for two nights in a one-bedroom flat in the Hydrostone District. Our lodgings were a tiny flat in a modern structure perhaps built from a shipping container.

It was on the first floor, with a small living room, and a kitchen off to the side and a bedroom partitioned by a faux-industrial heavy sliding door.

We unloaded our Hyundai Tuna Can and tried to figure out where the hip place with the Bohemian vibe was hiding. Around the corner on Isleville Street was a cute little bakery. We went inside and asked directions. The woman behind the counter knew about baking, not the neighborhood. She sent us in the wrong direction.

Eventually, after a 10-block stroll through a very nice neighborhood, we found our way one-block in the other direction and realized there were a few restaurants and a couple streets with unremarkable businesses, trying but struggling, a tea shop, a couple bookstores, a meat market, even a distillery.

Joe’s Meats had nice looking farm to table stuff but we weren’t dinner shopping yet so we didn’t buy anything. I did ask why the meat was priced in pounds, not kilos.

The proprietor gave an elaborate explanation.

“Lets just say when we were setting up, someone order the wrong scales, they measure pounds not kilos and it’s been that way since,” he said.

It sounded plausible, but in hindsight I thinks he was pulling me stocking.

There was no real ambiance to Hydrostone. I never got a sense of place. I expected Ithaca or Elmwood Village. Instead, it was more Olean.

Part of our reason for staying in Halifax was to have a chance to visit a Community Market. No matter where we travel, we like to find real people and support small businesses. Know your farmer, know your food.

Downtown Halifax had a massive, indoor market filled with exactly the right vibe at Alexander Keith Brewing. Multiple rooms, multiple difference cultures represented, fresh produce, meats, seafood, cheese and ready-to-eat meals.

I purchased a meat-bean-and-cheese Areppo from a Venezuelan stand for $12 Canadian, ($8 US). It was fantastic.

As I waited, the Nigerian woman who had just served us rice samples came over to order her lunch. You know when the vendors eat it, it is good.

We also encountered an unforgettable cheesemaker named Ciro. His hardest offering was an asiago. If I purchased something it had to be hard so it could travel at room temperature.

“Would it be good in carbonara?” I asked.

“Oh the best,” he said. “Your wife tells you she had a bad day, you make her carbonara and everything is better.”

Another guy was selling homemade yogurt. I wasn’t sure about refrigeration so we skipped it. The place had ambiance, critical mass and a certain legit feel.

We doubled back late in the day hoping for late-day deals but found none. We did find Ciro packing out his coolers, saying “ciao” to everyone he passed and singing opera filled with joy.

The only thing that sucked was parking. We couldn’t buy much that needed refrigeration so we skipped along and decided we would shop for dinner later.

Back at our apartment, I looked up the street to see 4 young men selling lemonade. I walked over and bought one (it is bad karma not to.) They said they were raising money to dress up for graduation. It seemed so noble, believable and innocent. They may have been pulling me stocking. (OK, I admit it. “Pulling me stocking is a Newfoundlander phrase but hey, it works.”)

The meat market one block from our lodging closed at 4. The door was open and they were there. It was 4:02 p.m. and they would not serve us.

We wandered on to a smokehouse. They were still open. We tasted Hungarian sausage and smoked kielbasa and bought the Kielbasa from a woman who reminded me a bit of one of the slightly grumpy but kind Falls chicks at DiCamillo’s Bakery in Niagara Falls.

She cashed us out without saying much. We returned to our lodgings and decided to go to the fish-and-chips place across the street rather than cooking.

In the morning, we took that sausage for trail food. When I looked inside the bag I saw she gave us 6-inches of the Hungarian as well. The people at DiCamillo’s do that stuff all the time.

The intention was to cook but given the relative uncomfortableness of the place, we opted to fish and chips from the place across the street and hit the road early in the morning.