More Than a Vacation

After several days of learning how everything worked around the house—where to find things, who to call in case of an emergency and how life in Purcell's Cove quietly unfolds, my own routine finally began.

Although I was nearly 5,000 kilometres from home, I wasn't on holiday just yet.

I was still working.

One of the oddest experiences of working remotely is living in two time zones at once. My colleagues in the Netherlands begin their day just as my afternoon starts in Nova Scotia. While they are finishing work and heading home for dinner, I'm still sitting behind my laptop, several hours away and somehow still part of the same workday.

Then, almost magically, silence arrives.

Around 5 p.m. Dutch time, the emails stop. The WhatsApp messages disappear. My phone suddenly becomes quiet.

The Netherlands has gone to sleep, while my Canadian evening is only just beginning.

Later that day I drove my brother and his wife to Halifax Airport for their flight to Greece. After unloading the last suitcase, we hugged goodbye and watched them disappear into the terminal.

Now it was my turn.

I climbed back into the car, entered "Home" into the navigation system and started driving.

It felt strangely liberating.

For the next few weeks I would be completely on my own.

People often ask whether travelling alone feels lonely.

For me, it doesn't.

Being alone gives me something that daily life rarely offers: complete freedom. I can stay somewhere for five minutes or five hours. I can change my plans without discussion. Ironically, I also find that travelling alone makes it easier to meet people. Strangers are far more likely to start a conversation when you're by yourself.

That doesn't mean I don't appreciate good company.

Quite the opposite.

But I've learned that being alone and feeling lonely are two very different things.

Over the next few days, life slowly became surprisingly ordinary.

I woke up.

Made breakfast.

Worked.

Bought groceries.

Learnt where to park.

Figured out how the gas station worked.

Discovered which supermarket I preferred.

Without really noticing, I wasn't behaving like a tourist anymore.

I was simply living here.

My first local weekend arrived, and with it came the opportunity to explore beyond my temporary home.

I had become curious about the Mi'kmaq, the Indigenous people of Nova Scotia. The obvious place to start seemed to be the Millbrook Cultural & Heritage Centre, about an hour's drive away.

There was just one problem.

Google Maps claimed it was closed.

The official website insisted it was open.

I tried calling.

No answer.

There was only one way to find out.

Go anyway.

Even if the museum turned out to be closed, I would still have enjoyed the drive through the Nova Scotian countryside.

And that's exactly what happened.

The landscape surprised me.

Of course there were industrial areas here and there, but somehow they never seemed completely disconnected from nature. Buildings appeared to blend into the forests instead of replacing them.

Then something else caught my attention.

For kilometres, another form of industry started to show. Enormous green structures stretched across the landscape.

Different heights.

Different shapes.

Everywhere.

"What on earth are those?" I wondered.

I pulled into a gas station, grabbed my phone and asked ChatGPT.

The answer was devastating.

"They're called trees. They produce oxygen and absorb carbon dioxide."

Well...

That certainly explained it.

Trying to recover from such shocking news, I put the car back into gear and continued my journey.

Along the way a good friend called me.

Because the windows were open and I hadn't brought my earbuds, I stopped at another gas station to return the call. I parked beside a large pickup truck towing an enormous Airstream trailer.

A few moments later a man knocked on my window.

For a split second I wondered what I'd done wrong.

Instead, he smiled and asked,

"Am I blocking your way?"

That tiny moment stayed with me.

He hadn't assumed I was bothering him.

He was worried that he might be bothering me.

It was such a small gesture, but somehow it perfectly captured the friendliness I kept encountering throughout Nova Scotia.

Eventually I reached Millbrook.

Google Maps had been right.

The centre was closed because of construction work.

The following day I received a kind email explaining that the renovations had unexpectedly continued into the tourist season. They apologised sincerely for the inconvenience.

Oddly enough, I wasn't disappointed.

By then I had already discovered something else.

Sometimes the destination isn't what makes a day worthwhile.

Sometimes it's simply the drive, the unexpected conversations, the wrong turns and the freedom of having nowhere you absolutely need to be.

On my way home I stopped for a pizza at a small local restaurant, rolled down the windows and drove back through the forests towards Purcell's Cove.

It struck me that I still hadn't felt like a tourist.

This wasn't a holiday anymore.

For a little while, I had simply relocated my life.