Travel Journal: Promises Kept

**Ok, ok, I know this post is SUPER late, but you know, life happens. Enjoy!**

There were some times in the Travel Journal that I wanted to go into more detail but didn't have the time or space. Here is the post that fleshes out some details and fulfills some promises for stories.

My two promises from Wednesday:

• finding Maud's gravesite
• the character we met at the Bideford Parish
• Bonus Story! Directions to Bideford!

Alright, first things first. While at Avonlea, our tourguide had instructed us that the cemetery was up at the first light, and since there are only 2 lights in the whole town of Cavendish, we found it pretty easily.

Now, if you go back to Wednesday's pictures, you will see the archway indicating the place of Maud's burial. However, in our sleep-deprived, high-on-Green-Gables, caffeinated-but-thankfully-not-alcoholic-Raspberry-Cordial, we drove past that arch. The road was pretty empty, both of cars and buildings. But hark! A group of people in the far corner of the cemetery! That must be it. So we parked and walked as quickly as we could down a grassy hill while still being respectful of the memorials under our feet.

By the time we parked and got down the hill, the group was gone...In fact, they were leaving the fenced-in area of the cemetery and going deeper into the woods. Strange...

Well, we wondered, how are we going to find Maud's burial site now? You'd think they'd put a marker or something... Oh, how we'd kick ourselves!

We wandered up and down the cemetery, admiring the age of some of the gravestones, and still wondering how on earth people found Maud's site without some sort of large indicator. 

Eventually we found this little sign:

We then noticed that there seemed to be a path around these headstones...lo and behold, there was Maud's grave!

A couple other tourists found the grave just before we did, but they came in from the opposite end of the cemetery. That's odd, I thought, how are people supposed to read the sign about her mother's grave when it's written on the wrong side of the path...oh. Found the path. Found the archway that marks the entrance of the cemetery. Oops. We definitely laughed at ourselves; feel free to join.

Secondly: the character we met at the parsonage. It was just about 4:30pm when we arrived. There were two young guys {way too young, Paige!} raking grass, and they did not stop when we parked. We went inside and were directed to give ourselves a tour, since we were coming later for the readings. 

After giving ourselves the tour, we decided to inquire about a nearby grocery store for some dinner. One of the guys gave us some half-hearted directions to the store {"just down this road" turns into 3 intersections. we made it by sheer luck}, where we spent a good portion of our time entertaining the teeny-bopper cashiers. Just as we were checking out, this same dude who gave us directions walked into the store! Awkward...

So we went and had dinner on the "wharf," still following the directions of this guy. We later dubbed him "the young buck" and if you ask Dahlia about it, she'll laugh just at the mention :)

After our lovely dinner, we went back to the parsonage, still a bit early. The Young Buck was still raking grass, but this time he stopped and came over to our car. Apparently he didn't remember us, because he asked, "Are you lost?"

"No," we replied, "just early."

"Oh," he said, pausing. "Where are you from?"

Now, let me paint the picture here. We are sitting in our car with the driver's door open, and he is leaning between the door and the car, hunched over so he can see us. Not the most conducive to conversation or anything else other than awkwardness.

"Seattle," we informed him, not unkindly.

"Did you drive?"

"No, we flew. That would be a loooong drive."

{Quick look behind him} "Then why do your plates say 'Novia Scotia'?"

What is this, 20 Questions!?

"It's a rental car. Those are the plates it came with."

"Oh. Have you had the tour?"

"Not really. Wanna give us a tour?"

"Oh, sure. Anything to stop raking grass."

Seriously, the rest of our conversation was this awkward and stiff. He'd ask a question and we'd answer, or he would tell us something about the house, and we would glance at each other to determine if he was pulling our legs. The other guy was inside, downstairs, and The Young Buck would tell us some fact about Maud or Canada, and we'd hear a snort or a laugh from downstairs, so we never knew if we could believe him. What a character.

 Bonus story: directions to Bideford.

First, you should know that Dahlia has a passionate love affair with gelato. Yes, it's true. So when we drove past a sign for gelato, what could we do but turn around and go get gelato? Two scoops, please.

These nice ladies handed us our gelato, and as we enjoyed it, Dahlia told me the story of how she and gelato began their relationship. {You know I love you, Dahls! And now everyone knows that you love gelato...}

After we finished, I wanted to confirm the directions to Bideford Parsonage Museum, just to be sure. So I asked one of the ladies, "How long does it take to get to Bideford {pronounced "bid-ford"}?"

The lady responded, "Bedford?"

I nodded, not knowing any different.

The lady turned and called to the other gal, "How long does it take to get to Bedford?"

The gal came over. "Bedford? Bedford, Novia Scotia?"

Dahlia and I nodded, thinking how funny it is that Canadians have all these provinces but don't know any of the towns in them.

"Oh, it takes almost three hours! You have to take the ferry. It's almost to Halifax!"

Dahlia and I looked at each other. We may not have been Canadian, but we can read a map, and Bideford was definitely on the Island.

Dahlia was the genius who solved the mystery. "It's spelled B-I-D-E-F-"

The ladies' shrieks interrupted her spelling.

"OH!!! 'Bid-eh-ford'!!!" they exclaimed. "Well, that's just 30 minutes away!"

Aha. Now we're talking about the same place.

They kindly wrote down directions, which were basically the same from our map, and off we went. I cannot speak harshly about them, because they gave us directions to the ceilidh the next day, and they made gelato. What I can say is that Dahlia and I will not be teaching "How to Speak Canadian English" anytime soon.