(Message sent Sat, 28 Jun 2008 14:31:49 -0700)
Halifax seems to be famous mostly for blowing up. In 1917 a freighter laden with gunpowder and benzene - materiel bound for the war - blew up in the harbour, killing thousands of people and flattening half the town. It was the largest man-made explosion before the atomic age.
Halifax also had a part to play in the Titanic disaster. In the days after the sinking ships were dispatched from Halifax to collect bodies. About 330 bodies were recovered, about half of which are buried in a cemetery in Halifax. It was incredibly sad to stand by the grave of a two year old boy, the first body pulled from the chilly waters by the Halifax sailors. He was never claimed, and not even identified until recently, as everyone who knew him died with him. His grave has become a shrine, with people leaving toys, matchbox cars, sweets, and coins from all over the world. I left a pen.
Halifax itself is a nice town. A small hill has the town's citadel on it, and roads run straight from the base of the hill down to the harbour. There is an agreeably crinkly promenade along the edge of the harbour.
The town's main tourist attraction is the citadel (N 44 38.856 W 063 34.828). It is dug into the hill, rather than built on top of it. It consists of a wide defensive ditch, the main wall, and a big courtyard, all in the star formation common to forts designed to kill attackers by cross-fire.
The main wall (which is thick enough to contain most of the citadel's rooms within it, and to have cannons on top of it) is surmounted by a grassy turf layer which has chimneys from the garrison rooms below sticking out of it, making the whole place look disturbingly like a militarized Hobbiton.
From the time it was built until the First World War it was manned by a Scottish regiment, and so its current denizens - a group of recreators - all wear kilts and tartan. Except for the artillerymen.
There is a cannon that is fired every day at noon. As I was watching the artillerymen go through a practice firing drill, I was asking myself, "Why are they dressed like hotel bell-hops?" A guide said to the crowd watching, "You may be wondering why they are dressed like bell-hops." Indeed I was. He claimed that it was the other way around - bell-hops dress like artillerymen. He said that at one stage artillerymen were held in very great esteem, and so the hotels dressed their employees in similar garb in the hopes that some of the prestige would rub off. I'm not sure what to make of this story - would the military historians in the audience care to comment?
There were a group of VIPs - the top brass of NATO Atlantic Command or some such - touring the citadel at the time I was there. They were guests of honour at the firing of the noon cannon. It was a slightly odd moment, watching real soldiers exchanging salutes with pretendy ones.
After the firing of the cannon - a satisfyingly hard thump that you felt as much as heard - three bagpipers and a drummer started a tattoo in the courtyard below. They were decked out in the most splendid uniforms and kit. A group of us visitors gathered around to watch - at a distance of 10m or so. At one stage the lead piper encouraged the audience to draw closer. I felt like saying, "Trust us, we can hear you fine from here." I don't like bagpipes as such, but I certainly 'get' them. Their performance made my blood rise, and I wanted to find a war to march off to.
So far getting around has been a breeze, as I have been traveling between main centers an contenting myself with whatever I could see by foot. But everyone has been saying that Nova Scotia would be very hard to see without a car. It turns out they are right - there's very little in the way of public transport. So I have given up on going where I want to go, and adopted a policy instead of going wherever a bus will condescend to take me. Tomorrow this means going to a place called Sydney. What is there to see and do in Sydney? Who knows! Ask me again in a couple of days :-)
Love Joff.
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