Nearly New England

It's a beautiful New England night in Saint Andrews, NB. Seriously. You'd think you were somewhere near Kennebunkport. You can, in fact, see Maine from the pier at St. Andrews. Today we learn that many of the stately homes we so admire have been barged here from various ports south. Quaint beach-boardwalk shops: gift wares, a fine clothing store, beach-themed home furnishings, an assortment of ice cream parlours. Families learn to sail here in small fine sloops, downeast in style, Herreshoffs or Sparkman Stephens or some such. They've craftily changed out the sails from the standard white to blaze orange, no doubt to aid the instructor who herds them from his RIB.

The Algonquin, our home for the next few nights was designed by Boston architects and constructed in 1889 as a retreat for those escaping hay fever and seeking the healing properties of its salt water baths and the airs of the Bay of Fundy. I imagine couples in seersucker and straw hats playing shuffleboard in the front lawn just as depicted in the many of the large scale photographs that adorn the halls. So much potential to be transported to another time. Alas, today's Algonquin is just a hotel. A nice one, but except for the building, an otherwise ordinary one.

We have a very nice time, just the same. We've logged quite a few km from NFLD to Halifax to here and it's just past the halfway mark in our trip so we're feeling the need to unwind and do very little. The weather has warmed to a sweaty 27. The pool is popular with us and other guests. We swim and dine. Nancy gets her hair done and a mani-pedi. Frances and Caroline get their first ever massages. I get a sunburn lounging by the pool as the aforementioned goes on. Ah, holiday.