Halifax, Nova Scotia
19 07 2012 Posted by Daniel
It isn’t every day that the sun shines brightly over the town of Halifax, Nova Scotia, but it sure seems like it since I have been here. The locals talk about the unusually good weather as they head every night to one swimming hole or another. I’m told that if Canada so wished, every citizen could have their own lake, there are so many. I believe them and it is difficult not to just cast aside all else and enjoy the great outdoors all day and late into the evening. Most days in fact I have done so with great fervor, embracing my friends’ enthusiasm for the weather and the season with as much joy as they have and bounding down newly-trod paths to remote inland lakes. We sun ourselves on the warm rocks, splash around in the tea-coloured water, reddened by the tannins and the rich iron deposits in the soil and, refreshed, arrive back on the same rocks for a post-swim picnic and some lazy banter. The girls take pleasure in the opportunity to show off their physiques long hidden by rainy day clothing and cooler weather, and though I come from a warmer climate, their enthusiasm has the same effect as though I were seeing the first sundress of the year all over again.
Halifax, at least from the angle I’ve had the chance to explore so far, is a town of idealistic, energetic wandering hearts. It’s a town of soul searching creation, a music borne of the lost and found, the desired and the accidental mingling together and sharing dreams. It’s young minstrels from Toronto, French freshmen from Montreal, small-town runaways from Cape Breton. I’ve attended intimate and talented musical performances held in local homes, the largely hipster crowd drinking homemade moonshine from hip flasks and whispered discussions in the hallways between musical pieces. A beautiful young lady from Newfoundland, her dark eyes flashing, sashays up to me in suede boots and a pleasantly revealing sundress made of some invitingly soft-looking material. She’s a year from graduating with her D.M.D, she says, and we discuss employment opportunities in the States versus Canada briefly before a segue into hiking in Newfoundland. Her boyfriend isn’t too happy with the attention I’m getting and in another song or two he’s escorted her out the door into the night. She leaves me with a long, gentle stare and an invitation to return to the open mic night next week. He shuts the door a little too firmly. I grin and head to the kitchen to refill my glass with the French Rosé I’ve brought - being someone’s home, the party is BYO. In the hallway after I return is an enchanting redhead, rubbing her belly in a rather deliberate fashion. I make a small joke, and her smile is reward itself, though she explains she’s not her best due to someone putting milk in her coffee earlier in the day rather than the usual soy. I can appreciate this, and wonder what she’s like at her best. Later, she shares some slam poetry and a lovely song she’d written the day before on a ukelele, her first piece for that instrument. As far as anyone in the audience can tell, she’s been a uke’ virtuoso for years. The music all night has been enchantingly excellent, though the highlight may have been a young man’s superb violin rendition of a key theme from Amélie - a soaring solo performance that left even the hardest-to-impress audience members appreciatively silent and entranced. After the party, I talk at length with Karsten and Jacques, the latter of whom is a violinist for a few local groups and possesses a prodigious talent. We discuss traveling as a musician, and Jacques mentions he’s been through Atlanta. We reminisce a bit, and the conversation swerves to all the bands out of nearby Athens, before coming back to a discussion of the evening’s featured artists. Someone looks at a watch and we realize it’s already well past 3 AM.
The next day, Sarah and Hayley and I set off on bicycles to picnic in the park along the waterfront - one of my favorite pasttimes during this lovely summer. We snack on Ranier cherries, double-cream Chevalier, and another glass of that Rosé I’d brought. Hayley has made a lovely feta and chickpea salad, which we enthuse over while musing on relationships, discussing Sarah’s growing business, and celebrating Hayley’s hopefully-successful application to film school. She’s put a bold foot forward and is actively pursuing what she loves to do. I know that feeling, and our toasts are genuine and full of all the possibilities the future holds. Towards evening, we repack the remains of the picnic and head further into the park for a local Shakespeare production of the Merry Wives of Windsor. The performance is hilarious, vivacious, and pitch perfect - the cast clearly enjoy what they do and take their fun seriously. A group of four young university girls, arrayed on a picnic blanket in front of us, twitter quietly as they share jokes between each other about the various actors and actresses, some of whom they appear to know personally. The gentle teasing and banter drift towards us and occasionally they smile in our direction as we share a laugh at poor Falstaff, increasing the sense of communal enjoyment. After all, that’s what Shakespeare in the Park is all about. Near the end of the performance, the sun sets fiery behind the trees, its colorful salute to the day stretching towards us from behind the natural theatre.
It is, perhaps, the town’s way of flirtation, putting her best foot forward and wearing her best smile and favorite hat. If so, she’s put a fresh flower in it for me, and I think I’m crushing a bit for her. Even knowing that she’s not all sunshine and swimming pools isn’t putting a huge dent in my desire, and I can tell that this is one summer fling I’m really going to miss when it’s over.
_____/)____
Categories : Personal UpdatesHalifax, at least from the angle I’ve had the chance to explore so far, is a town of idealistic, energetic wandering hearts. It’s a town of soul searching creation, a music borne of the lost and found, the desired and the accidental mingling together and sharing dreams. It’s young minstrels from Toronto, French freshmen from Montreal, small-town runaways from Cape Breton. I’ve attended intimate and talented musical performances held in local homes, the largely hipster crowd drinking homemade moonshine from hip flasks and whispered discussions in the hallways between musical pieces. A beautiful young lady from Newfoundland, her dark eyes flashing, sashays up to me in suede boots and a pleasantly revealing sundress made of some invitingly soft-looking material. She’s a year from graduating with her D.M.D, she says, and we discuss employment opportunities in the States versus Canada briefly before a segue into hiking in Newfoundland. Her boyfriend isn’t too happy with the attention I’m getting and in another song or two he’s escorted her out the door into the night. She leaves me with a long, gentle stare and an invitation to return to the open mic night next week. He shuts the door a little too firmly. I grin and head to the kitchen to refill my glass with the French Rosé I’ve brought - being someone’s home, the party is BYO. In the hallway after I return is an enchanting redhead, rubbing her belly in a rather deliberate fashion. I make a small joke, and her smile is reward itself, though she explains she’s not her best due to someone putting milk in her coffee earlier in the day rather than the usual soy. I can appreciate this, and wonder what she’s like at her best. Later, she shares some slam poetry and a lovely song she’d written the day before on a ukelele, her first piece for that instrument. As far as anyone in the audience can tell, she’s been a uke’ virtuoso for years. The music all night has been enchantingly excellent, though the highlight may have been a young man’s superb violin rendition of a key theme from Amélie - a soaring solo performance that left even the hardest-to-impress audience members appreciatively silent and entranced. After the party, I talk at length with Karsten and Jacques, the latter of whom is a violinist for a few local groups and possesses a prodigious talent. We discuss traveling as a musician, and Jacques mentions he’s been through Atlanta. We reminisce a bit, and the conversation swerves to all the bands out of nearby Athens, before coming back to a discussion of the evening’s featured artists. Someone looks at a watch and we realize it’s already well past 3 AM.
The next day, Sarah and Hayley and I set off on bicycles to picnic in the park along the waterfront - one of my favorite pasttimes during this lovely summer. We snack on Ranier cherries, double-cream Chevalier, and another glass of that Rosé I’d brought. Hayley has made a lovely feta and chickpea salad, which we enthuse over while musing on relationships, discussing Sarah’s growing business, and celebrating Hayley’s hopefully-successful application to film school. She’s put a bold foot forward and is actively pursuing what she loves to do. I know that feeling, and our toasts are genuine and full of all the possibilities the future holds. Towards evening, we repack the remains of the picnic and head further into the park for a local Shakespeare production of the Merry Wives of Windsor. The performance is hilarious, vivacious, and pitch perfect - the cast clearly enjoy what they do and take their fun seriously. A group of four young university girls, arrayed on a picnic blanket in front of us, twitter quietly as they share jokes between each other about the various actors and actresses, some of whom they appear to know personally. The gentle teasing and banter drift towards us and occasionally they smile in our direction as we share a laugh at poor Falstaff, increasing the sense of communal enjoyment. After all, that’s what Shakespeare in the Park is all about. Near the end of the performance, the sun sets fiery behind the trees, its colorful salute to the day stretching towards us from behind the natural theatre.
It is, perhaps, the town’s way of flirtation, putting her best foot forward and wearing her best smile and favorite hat. If so, she’s put a fresh flower in it for me, and I think I’m crushing a bit for her. Even knowing that she’s not all sunshine and swimming pools isn’t putting a huge dent in my desire, and I can tell that this is one summer fling I’m really going to miss when it’s over.
_____/)____
