The Simplicity of Nova Scotia

Sometimes, the most memorable days of a journey are not the ones filled with famous landmarks or spectacular adventures. They are the quiet days, the ones that slowly reveal the character of a place and the people who call it home.

My first real day in Nova Scotia turned out to be exactly that.

The morning started with a phone call from my friend Jan. I was being introduced to him by my brother. He was going swimming with his friend Munju and asked if I wanted to join them. Munju I met three years ago.

Although swimming isn't exactly my favourite pastime, I didn't hesitate.

An hour later they pulled into the driveway in Jan's Subaru. I shook Jan's hand, and Munju received a warm hug. Three years is a long time, and somehow it felt as though no time had passed at all.

Our destination was Long Pond in nearby Herring Cove.

Hidden just inland from Nova Scotia's rugged Atlantic coastline, Long Pond is a peaceful freshwater lake surrounded by forest. Before European settlers arrived, this area formed part of the traditional territory of the Mi'kmaq people. Today, it is simply a beautiful place where locals come to cool off during warm summer days.

The water was wonderfully refreshing.

We floated, swam a little and spent most of the time standing waist-deep in the lake, talking about life. There was no hurry, no schedule, no need to be anywhere else. It struck me how naturally the conversation flowed.

That relaxed atmosphere would become a recurring theme throughout the day.

On our way back we stopped at Pavia Gallery Espresso Bar & Café, a cosy roadside café filled with the cheerful hum of conversation.

One of the things I appreciate most about Canada is how effortlessly conversations begin with complete strangers. While ordering coffee, we found ourselves chatting with a young man who mentioned it was the final day of his holiday before returning to work. Originally from Ghana, he listened with growing amusement as we tried to explain who we all were.

Jan was born in Canada to Dutch parents.

I was born in the Netherlands and was now a temporary resident of Canada.

Munju has Indian roots, lives in Canada and was temporarily staying in Italy.

The poor guy looked completely confused trying to work out who lived where and who originally came from where.

We all laughed.

It was one of those wonderfully spontaneous travel moments that you could never plan.

After finishing our coffee, Jan showed us one of his favourite places, a quiet lookout where he sometimes sits in the early morning with nothing more than a cup of coffee while overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.

It wasn't listed in any guidebook.

It wasn't marked on any tourist map.

Yet it felt far more special than many famous attractions.

I quietly saved the location in my GPS.

I knew I wanted to return someday.

Later that afternoon Jan had to accompany his mother to a medical appointment. Before leaving, he mentioned something that stayed with me.

He had decided to simplify his life.

Although he still rented an apartment in Toronto, he had moved back in with his mother. Less responsibility. Less maintenance. More freedom.

His words resonated with me.

For years I have gradually reduced the number of possessions I own. Back home in the Netherlands I live in a small wooden cabin that asks very little of me while I'm away. I've come to believe that freedom isn't created by owning more, it comes from needing less.

The fewer possessions I have, the more valuable the ones that remain.

Perhaps that is why I immediately felt at home in Purcell's Cove.

Everything here seems to follow the same philosophy.

Nothing appears excessive.

The houses don't dominate the landscape; they seem to grow out of it.

Back home in the Netherlands we admire precision. Streets are level. Gardens are carefully maintained. Houses are perfectly aligned.

Purcell's Cove couldn't be more different.

Here, granite rises naturally through the ground. Steep hillsides dictate where homes can be built. Instead of forcing the land into straight lines, people simply adapt.

Many houses stand high on wooden posts, their decks floating between the treetops with beautiful views over the bay. Staircases follow the contours of the hillside. Stone retaining walls are built from the very rocks beneath them.

There is a quiet beauty in that simplicity.

When Jan called later that afternoon, I walked over to his house to help him prepare the mast of his sailboat.

His home reflected exactly what I had been noticing all day.

Bright rooms overlooked the bay.

Maritime paintings decorated the walls.

A carefully crafted model ship told the story of his late stepfather, whose love for the sea still lived on inside the house.

Outside on the deck we talked for hours.

The weather performed one of Nova Scotia's familiar magic tricks. Sunshine filled the bay one moment, only to disappear behind drifting fog a few minutes later. The temperature dropped, jackets appeared, and somehow the changing weather only made the surroundings feel even more alive.

Before I left, Jan's mother kindly invited me to stay for dinner.

As the evening came to an end and I walked back through Purcell's Cove, I realised that I hadn't spent the day visiting famous sights.

Instead, I had experienced something much more meaningful.

I had begun to understand why so many people choose this quiet corner of Nova Scotia as the place they call home.