But the main thing that made us anxious to return to our homeland was that most of the time we were disconnected from the internet. And as pathetic and superficial as that sounds, it really was a major concern. Our phone service, Verizon, doesn't work in Canada, and with the exception of our stay on Prince Edward Island, campground WiFi was spotty at best and non-existent at worst.
It's interesting to think back forty years or so ago when Nancy and I, young squirts then, had a dinky little motorhome and traveled around quite a bit without the benefit of a GPS. The internet wasn't invented then, and we didn't communicate with email or texting (or tweeting). Somehow we survived very nicely. Now we depend on our electronics and feel deprived without them.
None of that diminishes our appreciation of Canada. The country is gorgeous and the people are amazingly nice and likable. In fact, we might consider moving there, but why would Canada welcome two old people who would inevitably use their medical services without providing any benefit to the country except for our sparkling personalities?
Our final Canadian RV park, on the way back, was in the town of St. Martins, New Brunswick. St. Martins, on the Bay of Fundy, boasts the distinction of having the highest tides in the world. In other words, the difference between high and low tides is the largest anywhere. (Some port in Europe is in second place.) Have a look at the photo below, which shows a cave near our campground at high tide.
I actually entered that cave. Did I swim there? No, I walked. Here is a wider view of the same area at low tide, the cave hard to see because of the lighting.
It was necessary to ford several tiny streams running across the rocky shore in order to reach the cave, stepping on stones laid down by other adventurers. My shoes took on a bit of water. Nancy chickened out. I entered the cave shown above (not much to see there). I was able to scramble over a bunch of large rocks to reach around the corner and walk into a pretty nook containing other small caves. Not bad for such an old dude.
Mainly in the 19th century St. Martins was an important shipbuilding center, with a number of shipyards, each owned by a local family. Over 600 ships were built there during its heyday. The last ship launched from there in 1919. After that the town's economy collapsed and the population fell dramatically, to the cute little village it is today. There is a small maritime museum in town. The most interesting exhibit was a huge photo from early in the 20th century showing the ongoing construction of a large sailing ship.
Nancy was paranoid about the border crossing back into the US. She worried about the wine and hard liquor we carried on board. She threw out large quantities of milk, cheese, bread, and meat. We stopped shortly before we approached the border so she could empty our garbage cans.
The border official at the booth took our passports and said, "Just the two of you? I have to come inside to make sure there's nobody else on board." Luckily, on this particular crossing we were not coyotes smuggling illegal aliens across the border.
The official boarded our motorhome, leaving the door open. Tammy Faye made a break for it. The guy went down to the driveway and picked her up, returning her to our bosoms. He had a quick look around to make sure that there wasn't a family hiding in the bathroom. He didn't open the refrigerator, and the only question he asked was, "Do you have any firearms?" He left, returned our passports, and waved us on our way. What a relief! And suddenly the internet was available again.
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