Dalhousie - Miramichi

Today is one of those days when you would just stay in bed on any other occasion. It's pouring rain. So I putter around for a long time, book a few accommodations for the next few days, and take my time before saying goodbye to Jason. He's been working for 14 days straight, he says. As I bid him farewell, I ask him what it's like here in the winter, and he shows me pictures on his phone of a snow-covered landscape and his snowmobile. He tells me that if people die at the beginning of winter, it can take up to 5 months for a burial to be possible. They stay in the morgue until then. He laughs when I suggest keeping them at home in the garage. 'Against the law.' And most people would choose cremations for this reason as well.

When I leave, it's still raining, and it continues to rain the whole way down Highway 134 until I turn onto the Acadian Peninsula. Countless simple little houses line practically the entire shoreline of the nearly 100 km route, and I wonder who lives here. Because I don't really see any jobs here. Hardly any larger settlements, hardly any industry, and tourism doesn't seem to be the main source of income either. I see a few campgrounds and a few small motels on the drive. Even though the houses are small, they are still very well-maintained, and the properties are huge. Maybe older residents settle here, the prices shouldn't be too high. But here you live in the middle of nowhere.

The Acadian Peninsula is once again French-influenced, which I take in stride. I read about it before. In Shippagan, there is an aquarium, and even though it wasn't on my itinerary, it's on the way so I check it out. In terms of size, it can only be described as tiny, but lovingly done. And the entrance fee of 6 euros is definitely on the lower end. The most interesting thing to me was the lobsters and their different colors. There are genetic variations, and in addition to the normal brown color, 1 out of 2 million is blue, 1 out of 10 million is orange, and 1 out of 30 million is yellow or calico (orange-black). The white albino lobsters are very rare, 1 out of 100 million - but they don't have one there. They have specimens of the others. Damn, and I wanted to eat one of those creatures, now I feel sorry for them.

The furthest point on the peninsula is Miscou Island, the Misco Lighthouse. And when I arrive there, the rain has stopped. I love places like this. Far away from everything, hardly visited, and you stand at the point where there is no further. So to speak, Lands End. I thoroughly enjoy these moments with a strong wind and get some energy for the drive to the next motel. It's another 150 km, and just as I start driving, it starts raining again. What luck. I got to experience the magical place dry for 90 minutes.

Until Miramichi, where the next Days Inn is located, the weather doesn't change. But as I enter the town, it becomes dramatic. It's not raining anymore, it's not even pouring, it's pouring in an intensity I have never experienced before. The water accumulates on the road in minutes, and in the convoy I'm driving in, fountains rise from every car. I just hope the motel is not in a dip. After 20 minutes at a speed of 20, I arrive and ask the girl at the reception if this is normal. She denies it. It has never been this bad before. But just as quickly, the spell is broken. And tomorrow it's supposed to be better again. Tomorrow - that's when my trip really begins. I will drive to Nova Scotia. For many, the most beautiful province in eastern Canada.