Half Way

Day 32

If all goes well, we are at the apex of our adventure. This is the sweet spot, when the adventure is what's normal, there are routines that involve maps, fuel canisters and campfire coffee. These are the days when the weather matters more than the time, day or date. The act of not knowing all three of those at once is a type of nirvana, or zen, or kung fu, or whatever. It's damn hard to do, and I feel great, and expanded, when it happens.

The day after tomorrow we pull up our anchor and set out again, the first time in a very restful two weeks. We'll board the ferry in Wood Islands and float over to Nova Scotia. At least, that's the plan.

After breakfast (where we finished every last piece of food that we bought in our big grocery haul the other day. We are efficient) we headed back over to the Oyster Bed area and tooled around. Now that I know the roads better, I'm comfortable to guide the Pirate down back roads, dirt roads, and anything that's not someone's driveway. Up here, there are also grass roads. I guess the grass is so dense and short and dry that it makes a good road. We drove through a whole neighborhood with grass roads.

The Dunes is a gallery that we've been driving past and hearing about since we got here. It's a huge “80's modern” building that has, in big white cursive letters, “gallery”, “cafe” and “fashion” written hugely and diagonally across the side of the building. How can that not be a good time? By the time we arrive, we're starving, so the cafe part appeals most. Chef Emily has won some awards, it seems, and contributed to cookbooks and all things foodie here on PEI. We're hopeful. We are seated on a beautiful gray weathered deck overlooking an expansive world class garden. From our perch, we can see that this building sprawls, has every shape and sized window you can conjure, has more levels than a Scientologist, and maybe some reasonable art.

We order, and are pleased. We begin with the Grazer's Plate, a platter with tiny portions of spreads, breads, cheeses, chutneys, nuts, pickles and meats. It's wonderful. Next, we have the special pizza of the day with goat cheese, roasted red pepper, pesto and grilled chicken. The crust is thin and crispy, and all of the flavors complement each other without merging. For dessert we have carrot cake, which is classic and perfect. On par with my usual rant, it was affordable. Dunes cafe is a must.

The galleries, on the other had, are a mixed bag. The physical building, the structure, the views, the gardens are quite impressive. Some of the 2D work is really good. The guy that owns this place is a potter, and, had I not ever seen the work of Emily Reason, it might have impressed me. His work is good though, not the usual snotty drippy bluish glazes. He uses a lot of matte finishes, and does some nice hand carving.

After this world of hand made and hand built, the gallery takes a surprising Asian twist. Suddenly, you are in a Peir 1, or the market in Charleston, or the “imports” booth at a festival. It's the usual carved wooden pointed-boobied ladies bent backwards in half, couples in an embrace shaped like a heart, cranes with koi in their mouths, masks with extra long faces narrow eyes, batiks, and all things south Asian. I don't know, it didn't fit. This stuff is obviously local and hand made where it's from, but to tote it all the way across the ocean, and in the mass quantity that only suggests “this stuff was cheap”, and plunk it down beside the local PEI fare seems, well, in bad taste. But that's just me.

By the time we eat, browse, and linger in the gardens, it's cocktail hour. We're still so full that we just pick up a pint of raspberries for dinner. As we write and do our “computering” from the commons room, we are treated to the most beautiful sunset we've seen on this trip (and of course, the camera is back at our site). The sky turns a bright, brilliant, electric cantaloupe and hot pink, and as the sun passes the horizon and sets lower, the clouds deepen in color to shades of watermelon, bubble gum, and the painted desert.

As the evening darkens, we are invited to join Cindy and Trent around their campfire. By the time we get over there, it's after 10 and the crowd, all well into their 60's except our hosts, are full of beers. The campfire is raging, the 100 lb. German Shepard girl, Corona, is dosing, and the stories are already flying around. Everyone is very sweet to ask about our trip, and where we're from, and how in the hell we can manage to take two months off. Once the spotlight is away from us, we get the goods. In the wonderful island lilt, we are told that there are no deer, bears or poisonous snakes on PEI. That even these sweet older folks coming home from a winter in Florida get their cars searched when crossing the borders. That the Canadian government has as many problems as the US government and that socialized health care is a mixed bag. At some point Cindy, a trained chef, brings out some whiskey and maple liquor from Quebec for us to try. The fire and the conversation do not dim until 1 am, when we all finally get up from our lawn chairs and head to our campsites. Our hearts are warm, and we are so grateful to these folks for taking us in around their fire and treating us like old friends. How are we ever going to leave this place?