"Not all those who wander are lost"

                                                  “Not all those who wander are lost”

Milford Sound

                                                    
                                                         

What has roots as nobody sees,

Is taller than trees,

Up, up it goes,

And yet never Grows??

“Easy” said Bilbo, “Mountain I suppose”

We followed the small footsteps of Bilbo Baggins- the Hobbit and set out for our camping trip to the Fiord Land National Park, to visit the famed picture perfect Milford Sound located in the southern island of New Zealand.  As per the Lord of the Rings Trilogy – Middle Earth found much of it’s home around this fiord region.  Our multigenerational group of eight had two five year olds and my father in law pushing seventy was the senior most.

The pivot of the National park was the town of Te Anau, on the bank of Eponymous lake. The 117-km drive from there to the National park, hedged in by sea and mountains was an Alpine driving nirvana. The subtropical rain forests growing at the feet of glistening glaciers was nature’s wonder. We filled our tank as there were no gas stations on the way. This drive of a life time turned our fantasy into reality. We got lost along a roller coaster road on the South Island of New Zealand. Every turn brought fresh rewards, constantly changing vistas, rolling meadows, water falls spilling down rock faces, tantalizing forest tracks and remote settlements where life moves to its own rhythm.

We would soon be at the sound but it was quite impossible to predict who- knows-what weather would greet us upon arrival. Despite the complicated logistics, things seemed to be going well for Dad. Although he rarely bothered to record his moods (aside from an occasional announcement that he needed to use the restroom), he appeared to be a man well pleased with the world.

Road sheer- Rock wall near Homer tunnel

Everywhere we paused we stared in disbelief. Finally, we arrived the Road sheer- Rock wall near Homer tunnel, surrounded by towering mountains and vertical rocks. The rain produced several long streams of water, most of which spilled over the edges of rock face in a free fall. Some flows were heavy enough to reach the valley floor as a steady torrent, while others of less volume, turned into mist and vapour.

I had kept a studious silence about the approaching rain and cloud that we would inevitably encounter. On arriving at the camp site, we downed our backpacks and pouches and pitched the tents. The heavy sky soon sent down a constant drizzle which later turned into a torrential downpour. The wind picked up and we found ourselves amidst a tempest of sorts.

Our tents collapsed when the pegs blew off and we were out running around late evening in our pyjamas trying to re-stake and prop them up. While Dad, Subha and I held them down from inside, Arnab and Balaji placed our bags at the corners of the tents to prevent them from blowing away. It was quite a task to stake down the tents in such high winds. The children were a confused lot; much too surprised to make a fuss.

We were well soaked and quite miserable. Even the umpteen shots of vodka had failed to brighten our spirits. Rain continued to fall as we zipped our jackets and huddled together for warmth. What’s the alternative? What does that solve? This is Dad- ex principal of a hill school Darjeeling. He makes all value judgements and argues for outcome. The restaurant in the camp was closed, kids were starving and all we had were a few small packs of snacks. At this moment, Dad produced as if by magic a large pack of Moori (puffed rice), an Indian savoury snack. It is still a mystery as to how he had managed to smuggle that pack of Moori into New Zealand right under the noses of the rather sullen looking customs officials. Be that as it may, that bag of puffed rice was a savior as at least the kids had something to munch.

As the sun came shouting over the hills, the troubled night when “all Nature seemed to frown” was soon forgotten. The weather report read “A very fine day”. Our spirits regained a bit of warmth after being dampened by the wind and showers of the previous evening. The sun rose over the beautiful green valley. It was warm enough that I only wore a shirt and sweater. After having breakfast of cereals, yogurt and exotic fruits, we headed out for the boat cruise.

We were sailing on a lake created by a glacier that pushed the ground several feet deep before melting away.  The water in the lake was so clear that I could tell where the air ended and the water began.  As the mist disappeared, we sailed across the lake. The trees on both sides were overgrown with moss and, creeping vegetation and lianas like those in the tropical forest

Cold stinging meltwater from old snowfield plummets over a cliff, scouring clean whatever lies beneath. Deep inside the Sound, the Mitre peak stands as a sentinel to the lake. Soaked in the spray of waterfall, we enjoyed the ethereal view of the Mitre peak. String of waterfall cocooned inside rain forest. Most of these waterfalls had no names. Many of these falls appear suddenly, as the ponds higher up the mountain slopes overflow with meltwater or sudden rain and spill over the cliffs edges. I nearly disappeared as I stood next to the peaks.

I caught the play of the sunlight and shadow on the broad blue lake, as I walked along the deck taking photos, each new composition inspired by the last. It had been pleasantly hard work for over an hour and was adjusting the focus for one last brilliant shot of the fall, when I heard footsteps. At some stage, it was too loud to ignore, I turned and saw a group of seals basking on the huge rock in the fjord. How they climbed that big rock is still a mystery to me.

When I had read about middle earth of J.R.Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, I was not aware of the basic laws of science and had accepted the written word for truth, thus there was still room for imagination. I felt that I had entered the book when I came upon this unearthly scene at the sound. I could hear the dull roar of distant waterfalls through the surrounding haze. Suddenly a very vocal flock of birds flying low, flew piercing the fog with confidence. Moments like these set the pace for the day and made the trip worthwhile and memorable.

A 2-hour ride on the ferry brought us back to the head of the lake.  The sea was unusually tranquil. Moments like these are sometimes bittersweet. I wanted to linger but deep down knew that I had to continue my journey.

The owner of the restaurant opened a bottle of local Obsidian red and we drank it on the deck. Shortly after, he emerged regally from the kitchen to report on his work in progress and served a plate of chicken fingers to tide us over. Halfway through the meal, ten-year-old Rishab leant over to me and whispered with trepidation, “Are we again sleeping in a tent tonight”?

It was time to enjoy the luxury of just lazing about and enjoying the feeling of being there, amidst the slowly setting sun playing hide and seek with the clouds, changing their colours. The planet Venus appeared and so did the stars, details on the hills were getting hazy, and the horizon had giant sleeping shapes.

Milford Sound- the eighth wonder of the world!

Mitre peak

Idle on an Idyllic Island

Prince Edward Island

                                                         

                                                                 Idle on an Idyllic Island

Most humans are entranced by islands and we are no different; the notion of being cut off somehow appeals to the child in all of us. Thus a vacation to Prince Edward Island (PEI), the smallest province of Canada, also known as “The garden of the gulf” appeared to be the best pick. The island is also known as the story book world of Lucy Maud Montgomery’s novel- Anne of Green Gables. Sreeja and I had enjoyed feeling Anne Shirley’s vivid imagination and it filled us with her delights of anticipation – The Idle wild! The Lake of shining water! The Lover’s lane! And the ice cream

After a rather uneventful 24 hour train ride from Toronto through Montreal, we got off at Moncton , New Brunswick, rented a car, turned on the GPS and were all set to leave the mainland for “that land over there”-  PEI.

The Confederation bridge

Soon we were on the 12.9 km confederation bridge that stretches from Cape Jourimain New Brunswick, across the Northumberland Strait to Carleton in PEI. We drove with the glistening blue harbor below us. A large fishing boat dwarfed by the confederation bridge, made its way between the large piers of the bridge, on its way to the wharf. As the bridge came to an end, the island revealed its soul through the gentleness of the land rolling down to the sea under the maritime light. The two lane highway circumnavigating the region with rich farmland laid out on the red earth on one side and the sea and sapphire blue sky on the other. There were farms with potatoes planted in perfectly straight rows, vibrant yellow corn fields speckled with strawberry plantations; round hay bales dotted the fields. The aesthetic blend of meandering brooks, mill ponds, well maintained frame houses, backyard garden, and white church steeples all combined to create a breath taking canvas.

Malpeque oysters

On our way to the Rustico resort which was to be our home for the next three days, we saw the fishing boats lined up along the dock in the harbor, mussel buoys bobbing up and down with the gentle blue tide, lush green fields rolling down the water’s edge while the red clay banks painted a border around the edge of the shoreline. A visit to the Charlottetown followed later in the afternoon. It’s a small city with shaded streets and squares, stately Victorian houses and monumental churches. In 1864 it became the birthplace of Canada when delegates from Britain North American colonies convened in the province island and signed the articles that led to the Canadian Federation.

We devoured on tastiest Malpeque oysters, shellfish, and finfish, local wine and then watched the legendary Anne of Green Gables show at the Confederation centre.

Round hay bales dotted the field

The sculpted green and fairness of the golf course inspired us to tee off in the morning at the Rustico golf course. The golden light pouring through the treetops bathed the fairways, the blue sky and the lapis blue water of St Lawrence was a perfect backdrop for some great golf swings. After playing 18 holes and a sumptuous brunch, we were on our way to Avonlea village located in the heart of the play town Cavendish. The Green Gable heritage site is located in the same house that Lucy Maud Montgomery had used as main setting for her famous novel - Anne of Green Gable. We walked down the Lover’s lane, Lake of shining water and suddenly I realized, we had landed in the Idlewild ! This classic story was indeed inspired by Montgomery’s deep attachment to natural beauty.

Anne of Green Gables House

No part of the island is more than few hours walk from salt and water. We had turned off the GPS, got out the map and took a note of all little roads feathering off the main coastal roads. It was a great spot to idly meander-to hurry is not a PEI thing. The lobster traps and colorful buoys were stacked neatly on the wharf. The sun sculpted long shadow through the sand dunes at the Brackley beach, showcasing the finest coastal scenery. Arnab is not a big sun lover, so he dropped us at the beach and drove back to the resort for an afternoon snooze. Sreeja and I enjoyed the afternoon sun, built sand castles, swam in the warmish sea water and waited for the Piping plover to show up on the marshes. Brackley marsh is a stopover for migrating birds. Brackley was indeed a stunning spectacle as red sands set in a turquoise sea.

For the longest time the islanders could not own land. In 1767 the British Crown parceled out the island in 67 lots to about 100 British Noblemen, merchants and army officers in a lottery. It took over a century of appeals and arguments and even a bit of rebellion for the island to get recognized as a province of Canada and own a piece of land.

The history of the island evoked the nostalgia in me. In between the sea and the plains of Bengal, in the eastern part of India, lies this vast tract of red soil land, part of which has lasted through recorded history, while a part just washed into being. The river Mayurakshi flows wide amidst spreads of green countryside and the red soil interwoven with dreams of many poets. I was born on this riparian land. It was here Robert Clive defeated Sirajudaulah, the Nawab of Bengal in the famed battle of Palasi in 1757 which led to complete control over all trade activities in India and the British ruled India for the next 200 years.

Food is like a religion in Prince Edward Island. No-frills lobster supper is a classic dining experience. We had dinner at restaurant overlooking the Charlottetown marina and yacht club. The blossoming crab apple trees framed the view of the picturesque harbor. The lobsters were served with sides of accomplishments like chowder, mussels, PEI’s famed potatoes. A trip to PEI would be incomplete without tasting the fabled Cows creamery ice cream. It’s locally produced and definitely fit for the Gods. We tried the “Freckle Frenzy” a takeoff of Anne Shirley and Sreeja, our toy town girl was super excited when papa bought her a Cows T shirt.

Next day we drove through a web of side trails and quiet back roads to the ferry from Wood Island. After an hour of driving through the Acadian forest of Spruce, Pine, Birch, Oak, Fir, Elm and Maple, the sight of the light house and the red sanded cliffs of Wood Island carrying out their centuries old vigil of the sea lifted our moods. Soon we queued up the ram to board the Northumberland ferry to Caribou Nova Scotia. 

PEI affectionately known as Canada’s “million acre” farm is very different from the rest of Canada. It gives rise to a sort of geographic identity which is quite different from social identity experienced on the island. PEI- has no physical contact with the mainland which in its own way allows life to go on its course by itself, to develop separate patterns and foster uncommon relationships amongst humans and nature.

There is an island way of surviving!

 

 Red sand dunes

 

Lobster traps

Green Gables heritage place

Wood Island

Charlottetown -by the wharf - Cows Ice-cream store

Rustico Golf course

On our way to wood Island

NB:: Special thanks to Martha Van Hee for sharing her pictures

By the Northumberland Shore- Aug 2015

I texted Arnab, “Are we taking backpacks or rolling bags?” Skype ping very next moment- “Rolling bags”- Father and daughter’s voice high with alarm. I reckoned our resume of shared adventures had made them a tad weary. So we decided to skip camping.

 I set fire to my wanderlust, boarded the Northumberland ferry at Woodland, Prince Edward Island. The ferry dropped anchor at Caribou, Nova Scotia after 75 minute ride. A slight breeze brought relief from the heat. We drove down to Pictou and checked into the Braeside Country Inn, set amongst lines of lovely birch trees. Everything was manicured and maintained around the inn. Antique brocades and oriental rugs adorned the lobby; punctuating the hallway were large oriental vases with green foliage. We had a small room upstairs painted in pink and blue, few paintings on the wall; the main attraction being an antique radio on top of the television stand. Arnab turned on the radio and Voila- Adele’s “Let the sky fall” filled out our tired limbs.  I looked out through the skirted window overlooking the strait and felt the whiff of cool breeze on my face.

At the Salt Water Café

Pictou holds symbolic importance in Nova Scotia’s history. This is where the ship Hector carrying the first Scottish settlers to Nova Scotia dropped anchor in 1773. Later in the evening, we walked down the Caladh Ave by the waterfront and had dinner at Saltwater café which opens onto the harbor, right next to Hector Quay museum. The café was full of happy, beautiful, tanned people of all ages, seated on red and white plastic chairs at the verandah, tapping feet to the languid guitar music from the rock band playing at the quay side. We toasted with Uncle Leo’s Red Ale, devoured heaped plates of seafood, finally ending with a “blueberry grunt”. The open walls of the café on the waterfront had a “Samoan fale” feel. Sitting like a massive birthday cake on the horizon was a pulp and paper mill at Abercrombie on the opposite shore of the bay, with white smoke floating out of the chimney. It appeared to Arnab as a burning castle while it reminded me of J.M. Turner’s oil painting – “The Fighting Temeraire”.

Blueberry grunt!

Paper mill at Abercrombie

Next morning we piled into our car, stopped at Grohmann knives factory, explored the world’s renowned handcrafted knives and then headed out towards Cape Breton island. The thrill of being on the road has always been wed for me, to the thrill of never knowing what a day might involve, knowing only that I’d say “yes”. On the way we stopped at Judique beach for a picnic lunch. After a brisk 20 minute walk through the woods, we had a secluded shore all to ourselves, watched only by the tall pine, birch and oak trees whispering to each other in the wind. We spread a blanket, shed layers of clothes down to bathing suits and sat down for a bit. Sreeja and Arnab played catch ball and a little rock pooling. When I remember that day, I cannot help but think about how a place can look so different when we first arrive from the place we later leave. How experience transforms the shape and color of things.

As the sun was sinking down, we pulled up outside a convenience store at Inverness. Charming is an understatement for this special town- Inverness in Cape Breton island, a former coal mining town, with its subtle sophistication, savvy smarts and whimsy. Truly a step back in time, two small grocery stores, few    restaurants, golf courses, couple of bars and number of places to stay. It’s beautiful, restful and unique.

Judique beach

After the Deeside detour, we reached the Glenora distillery, which sits isolated in a high plateau between the mountain ranges. This is a spectacularly beautiful part of Inverness and we were rewarded with  exceptional vista.

We drove past the bespoke casks, resting in the front of the distillery that sits right on Maclellan’s brook. The brook carries soft, crystal, clear water from twenty springs that flow out of red Cape Breton highlands granite and Mabou highlands marble, right through the distillery that is spread over 265 hectares of pristine landscape. The brook bounces rock to rock on its way to Gulf of St Lawrence. A 3785 Kilolitre water holding reservoir in front of the distillery ensures that, regardless of seasonal water levels in the brook, Maclellan water is always available for distillation and for use if ever needed to put out a fire.

We checked into the adjoining nine-room, six chalet post and beam inn with its fine dining room. The key to the rooms were real and not temperamental pieces of plastic. The décor was upscale but not too fancy. The mahogany furniture, oil paintings and view of the rolling hill sides were all very hard to surpass.

In the tranquil golden haze over the garden along with bird song and the smell of hedges, clear frothy brook water gliding over the rocks, I sat still sipping a dram from Glenora Distillery and for a second was teleported back to an era of a whiskey’s gentlemanly interlude with a raked path and a gleaming Rolls- Royce in the garage. This is a mountainous part of Cape Breton where streams gush over granite, heather hills, and green glens while inducing interesting flavors and aromas to the malt. The rolling hills engulfed in the mountain air under the clear sky made for a beautiful twilight setting. We had our dinner at the elegant dining room; its ceiling to floor windows bringing in the outdoors. We enjoyed a tasting menu, which started with salad, fresh salmon and ended with cheese cake.

The Still-house- Distillation process

The next morning after a hearty breakfast, we signed up for a guided tour of the distillery. Glenora is the first and only single malt brewery not only in Canada but the entire North American continent. The word whiskey originates from the Gaelic phrase “Uisge beatha” which literally means water of life. Malt whiskey is the marriage of water, malted barley and yeast. This apparently simple recipe belies the complexity of a drink made up of different hues, aromas and tastes.

The malted barley is trucked in from Alberta and stored in a forty ton grain silo. Each day, 4 days in a week, a new batch of whisky production begins with barley and yeast being transferred from the silos into a two roller grinder. The distillery now produces 50,000 liters of whisky each year finally settled as a respectable 10 year spirit named Glen Breton Rare in its core expression. The spirits are yet to be available commercially. The distillery is building its inventory since 1993, when production first started and expects its range of fine single malts to be commercially available within next years.

In the afternoon we played 9 holes at the famed Cabot Links golf course. We hit across a rugged slice of land near the Northumberland Strait, with holes laid out along the scenic coast. It is a game of accuracy and one with focus should do well. However if one misses the accuracy and over hits, trouble will be found following all over the golf course. Golf Historians says that the game originated from the ancient stick-whacks-ball pursuits in Rome, Holland and China, but the seaside Scots developed golf into the game we play today. A Link is any rough grassy area between the sea and the land. The sea winds, lumpy fairways, kinked putting surface all added up to the challenge, so that it’s not about knocking the ball over the golf course, but playing through one. There are nice vistas from several spots on the course.  9^th hole adjacent to the coast is a protected plateau, rewarding golfers with a wonderful view but a biting challenge. Sweeping wind with the scenic drama that renders this seaside hole, both a golfers delight and a photographer’s fantasy. Cabot Links encourage golfers to walk thus we did not have any guidance from the GPS, usually installed in the golf carts. I had studied the course map, but somehow at the end of 6 holes, I was all lost. The wispy long grass blocked our view of the hole. All 3 of us used our own golf imagination and hit the ball in 3 different directions. Arnab directed to the left that is to the waterfront, Sreeja was careful and hit straight up, while me to extreme right- farthest away from the hole. Father and daughter burst into fits of giggles. I usually love to see them giggle, but I was disgusted that day.

After a quick shower, we drove down to Red Shoe pub at Mabou.  A trance band was playing their greatest hits. The pub is owned and run by the revolutionary music band - “The Rankin Family”. The food was delicious and sitting down was utopia as we were so tired. We could hardly walk another step. Sreeja finished her seafood Penne with Mussels and Scallops in no time. A fun filled and joyous restaurant with live music! I liked the décor from the moment I walked through the main door. The Rankin Family does successfully bring a cozy creative touch to a Back Road Paradise. As the sun set on the island, we were happy and tired, listening to “Whisky as the sun goes down”

A full sized replica of the ship Hector on the background

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The antique clock in our bedroom at the inn

Braeside Country Inn

Maclellan brook

The Mashhouse-The grist is soaked and stirred here

The holy water

Red Shoe Pub