You may need Anne of Green Gables as a reference
Trip Start
Sep 12, 2007
1
7
10
Trip End
Sep 11, 2008
Charlottetown,
Prince Edward Island,
Canada
Monday, September 17, 2007
The guy on reception looked like he'd wandered in off the street and was minding the place while the real staff had a kip - fortunately I'd paid on check in so I didn't have to hand over my credit card to him. I endured 10 minutes of him lecturing me on where to get the airport bus (surely I don't look stupid enough to go for an airport bus in the middle of the night without having found out previously where to get it from?), and the best places to eat in the UK before leaving 30 minutes early for a 10 minute walk. Frankly at 5 in the morning even I'm not that friendly.
At the airport, which was BRAND new and super shiny and clean (and practically deserted which was un-nerving
Charlottetown Backpackers Hostel
. This was Toronto and not Bristol mind), I played with the check-in machines but came unstuck when I couldn't pick my seat - it would 'be allocated at the gate'. Hmmm. The nice lady at the desk kindly told me the flight was overbooked so I might have to wait for the next flight. Which was at 9.15pm. But it was ok as I'd probably be able to go via Montreal and there were flights there all the time. After an initial 'aargh' type thought flit through my head, I got a bit excited at a new city to look at, for free, which would also get me $200 compensation. I had all day after all - it was only 7am.Unfortunately I got on the flight. Ho hum, never mind. I'd just have to pay to visit Montreal later on instead. I sat next to two gentlemen who were going home to 'the island' for a few days of golf. They gave me a running commentary of what we were flying over and we all had a jolly time indeed. They got giddy when we started the descent onto Prince Edward Island and pointed out the red soil and the lighthouses. It was nice to see people genuinely excited about going somewhere and it was fun listening to them enthuse about the family barbecue they were having on the beach later. Flying over it, the island looked much like I imagined from the Anne books - VERY rural with the houses spaced very far apart.
I have to say the outlook did go downhill towards industrial Swindon as we got over the airport locality and as we wandered across the tarmac to Charlottetown Shed I was feeling distinctly uneasy about the whole thing and decided the likelihood of the local taxi company being a pony and trap driven by Matthew Cuthbert was not high
Boys CAN make beds
.I felt slightly more charmed on entering the one room which made up the whole airport - baggage carousel on the right, customs/taxi desk in the middle and HUGE shiny tourism area on the left. Clearly Prince Edward Island got electricity only last week and the concept of flying was a new fangled hobby and the locals would provide a building for it but weren't sure what to do next. Excellent. They knew what to do with tourists though. I'm so loving how the tourist information was the place which had had most money spent on it in the whole place. The nice lady phoned the hostel for me and confirmed my reservation (top marks) and pointed me to a taxi. Hilariously - the protocol for getting a taxi from the airport (the only way to travel - no public transport or airport shuttles) is to head for the queue of taxis at the exit, be stopped by man behind taxi desk, ask for a taxi to city centre and be pointed to the queue of taxis outside.
The taxi driver dipped the experience again somewhat by being from the London school of cabbies (not jolly or welcoming in the slightest and fluent in the obviously universal cabbie language of whinging) but I bravely kept my end up by cooing over the scenery all the way into Charlottetown. It was only the airport vicinity that was grim - the rest of the city was made up of tree-lined streets and clapboard houses, VERY picturesque and exactly like I imagined it would be
Alexis in the hostel kitchen
. Which is cool as normally places are nothing like you'd think. I say city but it was the size of Shepton Mallet probably. Or Castleford/Settle - depending on which end of the country you're reading this from. They could give Wells and it's smallest city title a run for it's money I can tell you.I hefted my bag up the steps into a sunny porch with an even sunnier girl sitting behind a desk. Glimpses of a farmhouse kitchen and a living room filled with leather squashy sofas and student types watching tv caught my eye and I stepped over a pile of pairs of shoes at the bottom of the (polished wood) stairs. The whole place was filled with cheerful people and was decorated by an early 19th century Cath Kidston. Full marks on ambience. The sunny girl checked me in and managed to remove my only two misgivings about the public transport on the island by asking if I'd like to book myself on the DIRECT shuttle to Cavendish the next morning, and then mentioning the shuttle to Halifax that would drop me at my new house, thereby saving me about $150 in taxi fares in one sentence.
As I was being organised, a chirpy Steven Hyde from That 70s Show bounced down the stairs, expressing dismay at the huge pile of bed linen waiting for him. This turned out to be Levi, one of the owners
Charlottetown suberbia
. He chirpily hauled my bag up the stairs despite my protests and the sunny girl proceeded to show me round the house. Everyone we came across seemed most pleased to see me and introduced themselves with 'Hi,howareyou?' which was welcoming. It was a very cosy atmosphere - everyone was genuinely interested in the other guests and their travel plans. While I was there 4 people decided to travel on to Newfoundland (which IS pronounced NEWfunLAND - thanks Gill!) and the plans took shape in about 15 minutes over breakfast (which was croissants and muffins and exotic fruit - free and served by one of the guests who work for their board - fabulous!).In my dorm none of the beds were made up but no-one had mentioned where I might find sheets and a pillow case. As I was surveying the disaster area of the inside of my bag, that I'd only been living out of for 4 days but looked like it had been 3 months (how is it possible to collect so many receipts and leaflets and information books and plastic bags and STUFF in 4 days?), Levi and another guy, Tyrone bounded in and starting making all the beds. Quite frankly - I am loving this kind of hostel. If there was more to do in Charlottetown I might have been persuaded to stay for a lot longer.
After being a good girl and tidying my bag, I walked down to the waterfront (3 blocks away - I LOVE that the cheapest area of town is only 3 blocks from the richest) and headed straight to the tourist information
My lobster roll and vile water....
. WELL - Anne of Green Gables featured fairly heavily in the 'twee stuff that you'll buy and file at the back of a drawer' section of the gift shop bit. Free internet though - yippee! I bought a few postcards of tractors - nice to see that I've come somewhere completely different from home - and learnt something new. Prince Edward Island is apparently where a large proportion of potatoes come from. That and Anne of Green Gables seem to be the main selling point.Across the street a large marquee looked intriguing so I wandered over and found that the Maritimes Shellfish Festival was going on. Or some such important sounding name. I forget what it was exactly - but that's the trouble when you fall behind with your homework.
After baulking slightly at the price of entry I peered in and decided it looked much like the inside of the food bit of the Bath & West show and therefore probably involved lots of free samples. Lobster is a shellfish right? I've never had it and the place that's famous for the best lobster in the world might be a good place to start. $8 entry fee lighter and a few random vouchers heavier, 5 minutes wander proved me wrong. There did seem to be some kind of demonstration involving chefs and big pots of soup going on but there were so many people I couldn't get near
Funnel cake
. Around the edges of the tent a few half-hearted stands were set up , mainly advertising potato farms and mussels. Which I've never quite fancied. In the next tent I found a stand doing a roaring trade in chowder and they had something called a lobster roll on the menu. $11. Imagining some kind of elaborate butterflied lobster rolled up with something complicated, I asked what it was and it turned out to be a sandwich. Of course. What a fool I am. I ordered one and it was a fairly major let-down. It was a hot-dog bun brushed with butter and charred, so it tasted burnt - not fun - and filled with a mix of lobster, mayo and celery. The coleslaw on the side was pretty nice but I wasn't that impressed. It just seemed a bit boring really.It was accompanied by the world's worst tasting water (Gill will vouch for that I'm sure), and I ate it all watching the National Chowder Championships. People kept coming up and asking me where I'd got lobster and I didn't like to insult anyone by telling them not to bother. For all I knew it could have been the local delicacy - but I wouldn't bother if I were you. Have your lobster sans celery and burnt cheap bread and you'll probably be much happier. And bring your own drink.
After lunch I kept wandering, straight out of the tent
Funnel cakes
. I tried hard to be interested in the farming methods of potato people, but it was all a bit geography lesson. Further along the waterfront I found the tourist trap shops which were all looking a bit quiet. There was a big water-tray set-up in front of one of the stores with live lobsters in so I went over and had a look but soon got distracted by the pirate shop behind. Pirates seem to be a big theme in the tourist gubbins shops on Prince Edward Island. I found Christmas presents for many people several times over and happily, as it's the end of the season, everything was on sale - hurrah! Trouble is - that meant that there were only two sizes of each t-shirt available. 'Teeny weeny' and 'bigger than a house'. Oh dear. never mind - saved me some cash...Next door to the pirate shop a large fibre glass cow sureveyed the proceedings. This is the symbol of Cows Icecream. Which is FABULOUS. Comes in lots of hilarious flavours, the names of which escape me but google Cows Icecream and have a look at their website. They do a nice line in clothing too with cow related film/TV names. Grey's Moonatomy being the only one springing to mind at this moment. Oh and Pirates of the Cowibbean. Harhar.
Round the corner a barn type building advertised funnel cakes and PEI fries
Irish Dancing
. I couldn't for the life of me imagine what that meant but fries sounded like a plan so I mooched on in. Posters advertised all the different types of potatoes one can find on Prince Edward Island, and today's delicacy was the Russet. I asked about the funnel cakes and liking what I heard I dived in. Basically, you have a funnel full of sweet batter and drip it into hot oil in a disc shape. After a few minutes, it's fished out and dredged liberally with icing sugar. Sunds vile but is totally lush. They're quite crispy and taste like hot fresh doughnuts. Mmmm. I could feel my arteries furring up with every bite. While I ate I listened to locals discussing the fact that it was the end of the season on the Island and pretty much everything had already closed until May, or was about to. I was slightly alarmed, but reassured when I remembered the shuttle to Cavendish (AKA Avonlea) must be still running as I was booked on the next day's. Next door I noticed an intriguing looking sign 'No White Dogs' which appeared to be a clothing shop. I quickly discovered the world's most expensive t-shirts. The dirt on PEI is red and stains anything it touches - so enterprising locals make a fortune dying t-shirts and sweatshirts with it and flogging it to tourists. Each item even comes with a little bag of mud to prove it's real. Or something. Needless to say I didn't indulge.Outside a small crowd had gathered and closer inspection revealed 3 little girls on a podium doing Irish dancing. Pushy showbiz Dad was doing the music, and couple with the pink suitcase open invitingly on the side for tips, the effect was mind-boggingly twee. Lots of old Americans stood around remarking how cute it was while I ran screaming from the scene.
Walking through the residential area to the city centre, it all seemed very peaceful. Every few blocks there seemed to be a large open space with trees and grass and most houses had gardens behind. A few of the houses were terraced but most were large and detached. It looked like they might be a bit parky in the winter - all that clapboard looked a bit draughty but the overall effect was very charming. Especially as every single person I met, without fail, smiled and said 'Hi,howareyoutoday?' Clearly this is quite normal. Rounding a corner I eventually came across a wide street with parking bays on either side and a few shops. This appeared to be the main drag but it looked exactly like the street in Grosse Point Blank which Minnie Driver's radio station is on. Very quiet and hardly any cars. Not bad for a city centre on a weekday afternoon.
Then I found the Anne of Green Gables shop. Good grief. And I thought the dancing 8 year olds were twee. Imagine a bookshelf full of Anne of Green Gables dolls, books, mugs, bookmarks, aprons, thimbles, patchwork quilts, figurines, pinafores and aprons, tea-sets, candles, t-shirts, cat beds, photo albums and postcards. Imagine a whole shop full of these bookshelves. Quite a large shop. Throw in a couple of 50 something women dressed as Anne (pinafores and white aprons, meant for Edwardian 10 year olds) and you kind of get the idea. Next door was an Anne of Green Gables chocolate shop which was excellent. Full of fabulous tasting chocolate and they weren't shy with the free samples either which was nice of them. I bought the obligatory comedy straw hat with red plaits and wandered off in search of dinner.
Katie (the other owner of the hostel) had recommended Churchill's Pub which was an English style pub that did excellent curry. Unfortunately it was closed on Sundays (!) which made it fail miserably in an important aspect of English pub-ness, so I went to the Chinese Restaurant next door. I was channelling Bill Bryson as I sat at my little table for one in the corner with a guide book. All I needed was a history of Charlottetown book and I could have been mistaken for the great man himself... The owner of the restaurant presided over proceedings from the till by the door while one waitress effortlessly served the entire place. Full marks to her. And she recommended Alexander Keith's beer to me (which I discovered much later in Halifax is a truly excellent company).
On the way out, the owner asked where I was from on hearing my accent and expressed extreme suprise at my visit ("Why on earth have you come to Charlottetown?"). I tried not to comment that surely a large number of his patrons were tourists... We chatted for a bit about snow and visitor levels (geek alert) and then I disappeared into the night. Emboldened by my Bill Bryson-esque mindset (and a pint of Keith's) I went into the Irish Bar for another drink, but felt like a fool sitting at the bar on my own laughing at the tableful of Chowder championship contendees celebrating someone's win at the Shellfish contest, so I wandered back though the silent streets to bed.
