Stunning or Stunned?

A recent journey to Nova Scotia revealed how much I rely on CAA and the infamous 'trip-tik'. I, a standard Type-A ENTJ issue, was armed for cavorting around an unknown province in a rental with unlimited kilometers. The unlimited kilometers being an important point as in I'm also Ukrainian and therefore am determined to squeeze the most possible value out of every dollar I spend...hence, unlimited kilometers translates in my language to 'drive until you drop, and stop only to pee in a ditch when absolutely necessary" (incidentally, Nova Scotia apparently subscribes to the same pee-in-the-ditch theory as they don't appear to believe that tourists actually desire to stop in at a tourist centre to use the facilities, buy dust-collecting souveniers or simply pick up a map, not that the map would do you any good).

Back to trip-tiks...so the whole trip became the quest for the map. Or, more in point, quest for the points indicated on a map, but not reflected by any bloody signage anywhere. One beach (according to the guidebook, a pristine beach not to be missed) was only found due to my sheer lack of caring what kind of road I drove the rental over, and bumped and humped my way down some god-forsaken back road (turn left, the map says...newsflash, there's no road - good thing I wasn't blindly following a GPS. Two cheers for the cheap rental with no perks) figuring that eventually two things would happen: A) I'd miraculously return to the main road unscathed, or B) I'd end up a dried husk in the backwoods, living off small animals I could run over with the car for food while hoping my super-power beacon ring I was wearing out of the Fruit Loops box that morning actually worked.

This lack of signage was not an anomaly - I kept the faithful CAA map and everywhere I couldn't get to because there were no friggin' signs, I labelled with highlighter and my own unique interpretation of colourful language (I imagine it may vaguely resemble written Klingon).

There was one spot I was determined not to miss. The guidebook screamed its importance with passion: NOT TO MISS, STUNNING LIGHTHOUSE EXAMPLE, SOARING CLIFFS...etc, etc. Besides, it was close to a rock-hounding beach that semi-precious gems were supposed to wash up on shore already polished - who could resist that? Determined, I clung to the wheel, faithful map on the passenger seat staring at me. I think I heard it mutter "it's no use, just find a good pub and settle in", but NO! I would find what the guidebook promised and, gods be praised, according to my calculations, I should be there in good time for perfect light and a sunset.

I jostled my way through town on what was supposed to be a main highway. Personally, rally driving between potholes a cow could lay in comfortably, with suburban residences five feet from the road, I'd be scared to have children. Mind you, if the potholes lined up just right, all the neighbourhood kids could play 'whack a mole' by bobbing up & down out of potholes...just a thought.

So, not one soul in sight to even think about asking for directions. Had I been in Ireland or Scotland, I would have stopped at any old house and banged on the door, but how do you excuse yourself as a tourist when you're from the same bloody country? I think that would look fishy (pun fully intended). So I kept on driving this road, even when it when from flat to a forty percent incline, I stolidly continued. Look! The end of the road! I can see a mini-sized car park and what looks like a sadly abandoned ice cream wagon. Foreboding indeed - who could abandon ice-cream? Did the owner retire? Die from exposure? Go blind from the stunning view?

I parked the car, carefully locking the doors (I hadn't seen another person, or vehicle, for over an hour in either direction, who was going to steal the rental anyway?) and carefully made my way to the edge of the cliff. The camera was ready to capture perfection. Look to your left to see what I saw. I was stunned, then outraged. What complete imbecile had been inspired to record this lighthouse as 'stunning'? It was a garage with a playhouse on top of it painted red. Even this I could tell from looking down fifty feet. I think he was stunned to even think that word had any right to belong to this location. Even the cliffs were non-stunning, not to mention collapsing into the ocean, so 'walk the path at your own risk'. This bloody place was so isolated, if I went over I'd be back in the second coming before anyone even knew where to start looking for me.

It started to rain. I left. Good thing it's an island, because with no road signs, all I could do was veer left, knowing that eventually I'd come full circle.