I said in my last post that I’m selling the RV at the end of this trip, and that the first trigger point had been driving in the mountains.  But that is far from the only reason.  I mean, I was stressed driving in Scotland too, but I absolutely LOVED living there.  No, there’s more to it than that.

I’m depressed.  My doctor and I don’t believe I’m clinically or severely depressed because I completed a couple of medical questionnaires which she agrees indicate mild depression at most. (Although, it is hard for her to diagnose me over the phone – I do have an appointment with her as soon as I get back to properly assess this.)  I have none of the more worrying symptoms like thoughts of self-harm, or feelings of low self-esteem and failure.

I’m really only showing two of the most common symptoms of depression: lack of interest in doing anything, and lack of appetite.

It’s the latter of those two that is shocking.  I love to eat.  I eat when I’m happy, sad, bored, excited.  I go to sleep thinking about my next day’s meals; I read recipe books the way most people read novels; my social media feed is full of food bloggers.

In the past, if I was unhappy, I still ate.  Miserable at work?  Still ate.  Losing Mum & Dad?  Still ate.  Fighting cancer?  Still ate.  And it was the same when I was happy.  Falling in love?  Still ate.  Getting a big promotion?  Still ate.  So the fact that I have to force myself to eat something before the end of the day is insane.  Michele saw it in PEI – I couldn’t finish a salad in Charlottetown.  A salad.  Her friends had us over for dinner and I barely made a dent in the fish, and ate maybe two forkfuls of dessert (that could also have been because I can’t stand blueberry pie ☹).  I get grossed out just looking at a large plate of food.  Michele did come up with an excellent recommendation: if I can’t face a full meal, at least eat a little something every hour.  Very sensible, and easy to follow. (But even so, I’m still significantly under-eating)

The upside of my loss of appetite is my weight loss.  Yippee!  While I’m worried about what the lack of appetite is saying about my mental health, I’m rather enjoying having gone down one full dress size.  Lookin’ good, Lainey . . . .  I know, I know, this is neither funny, nor a good way to lose weight.  But at least I’ve kept my sense of humour?!?

When it comes to lack of interest in activities, here’s another confession: I’m not really doing anything.  Unless I’m in a town or city where I can check out museums, or galleries, or boutiques, I really don’t do anything.  I sit in the RV and read.  A lot.  Or crosswords.  Or social media. (I know that last one can add to an unhealthy mental state, so I limit the times I can be on Instagram or Threads or BlueSky.)  I do walk a lot each morning – at least an hour most days.  But did I really take advantage of exploring Cape Breton?  Nope.  The Annapolis peninsula?  Stayed in and read books.  Even my choice of books is telling.  I’ve bought a lot of books from independent book stores this past summer, but they just sit there in a drawer because all I seem to be able to face reading is chick lit and cosy murder mysteries. 

Anyhow, I don’t want people worrying unduly about me.  I’m getting through each day just fine; I’m monitoring my behaviours; I know this will pass the moment I get home; I’m taking action with a medical professional; and, in two days’ time, I will be travelling with a friend again for the last two weeks of my trip, and my issues seem to be primarily when I’m alone – I’m much better with company.

Okay, I’ve been holding back for the last month or so.  I’m not happy.  I’m not really enjoying this solo RVing lifestyle. There, I’ve said it.

Last year I knew I wasn’t falling in love with the whole motorhome adventure the way I did with Scotland, but I put that down to teething pains.  How I explained it to my sister: I 98% loved my move to and life in Scotland, but at the end of last summer I would have said I 70% liked RVing.  At most.

It really started to dawn on me the days I was driving in the Laurentians – even though Lori was with me, she was in the car behind me, and I was driving up and down those mountains alone, white knuckling it all the time.  If this was how I felt in these mountains, how was I going to feel in the Rockies next year?  I asked about her experiences (as she had crossed the Appalachians, the Rockies, and the Sierra Nevada ranges in an even bigger RV) and she assured me that, apart from one truly harrowing experience in BC, she & Barb had managed okay.  Yes, I thought, but you had each other as a co-pilot at all times.  But I tucked it away and resolved to persevere.

She & I had a GREAT time in Saguenay and Charlevoix, which made me feel better.  Then she went home and I headed to New Brunswick.  Alone.  And each day, as I looked for things to do in the NB countryside, I found myself thinking, if this is how you feel in a province with a cute little town every 30 minutes or so apart, how on earth are you going to be in Newfoundland, which, while absolutely beautiful, is made up of nothing but countryside?  That’s when I cancelled the ferries, and extended my stays in PEI & Halifax.  And, that same question applies to next summer’s Northern Ontario, the Prairies, and a lot of British Columbia.

Then Michele joined me in PEI and her friend lent us her car – we had a fantastic time!  But again, she went home and I was solo.  As I headed onward to Cape Breton, my feelings of both stress and unhappiness continued to mount.  That’s when I decided, this is silly.  You’re not happy, why on earth would you do this to yourself next year out west?

So, all that to say, I’m selling the RV.

(There’s more to this than just the driving up & down hills, but this is enough doom and gloom for one post.)

At dinner last night the lovely waitress, Esther, asked me about the book I was reading (a Peter Wimsey novel).  That led to a whole conversation about British crime shows and books.  She mentioned the Shetland series by Ann Cleeves which got us on to the Scottish islands and I said I’d lived in Orkney.  At that point a woman at another table leaned over and said, “Orkney?  I love Orkney.  I did some work there.”  Well that got us chatting and when she explained that she was there working with tidal energy (using the ocean to generate power is big in Orkney), the man at another table leaned in and said, “Tidal energy? I work with Power Canada.” (or something like that – I just remember it had the word ‘power’ in it) – and that started a whole three-table conversation, plus  the waitress.  That in turn led to my east coast travels (table 3 was from Cape Breton).

We must have all chatted amongst ourselves for a good 20 minutes, sharing photos, comparing notes, making recommendations.  It was an absolutely delightful way to end my stay at Oceanstone.

Oh, and the couple at table 2? – both the husband and the wife are named Robin.  Not their last name, they’re Robin & Robin Smith, or Jones, or whatever.  Statistically surprising.

When I cancelled the Nfld ferries, I got a full refund.  Working with what is known in social media as ‘girl math’ (LL & I call it Montreal Math), that meant I had just ‘made’ several hundred dollars.  So I did the obvious, I turned around and booked myself in for two nights at a luxury resort and spa just outside Peggy’s Cove.  The staff confirmed that there was room for my RV in the parking lot, and two days ago I pulled in, hauled out a little suitcase, walked down the hill, and checked into my oceanfront room. 

Dinners were at their restaurant, The Watermark and were delicious.  I spent all day yesterday in a bathing suit and robe at their Hydrotherapy Garden: using the hamman and the sauna, then the warm pool, then the cold plunge pool.  Then I sat by a firepit and sipped a mimosa, nibbled on appies, and read a murder mystery.  Then I repeated the ‘Hydro Journey’ a couple more times.  In between all that I had a massage and something called a Grounding Foot Ritual (dear God, that was amazing), all in a fenced-in stone garden set in the woods.  Even the weather cooperated: 17 degrees and sunny. 

This is the life I was born to have, dammit.  (Note to self, must start buying lottery tickets)

I’ve figured out what my favourite campgrounds are (it’s only taken me 10 months of travel and 15,000 km). 

The prettiest campgrounds are the provincial parks – often their sites are bigger and more secluded, nestled in woods, near streams or beaches, with great views.

The ‘funnest’ campgrounds are the larger, privately owned parks – they will have a lot of amenities both for kids and adults and will be more active and busy.

The most consistent campgrounds are the KOAs – you know what you’re getting, the staff are helpful, and the whole process of booking, arriving, setting up, etc is just easier.

But, the ones it seems I like best are the in-town campgrounds.  They’re often the dullest looking, with sites that are flat, open, near one another, and generally uninspiring.  BUT, they are in town.  You can walk everywhere.  As someone who has discovered she prefers towns & cities to wilderness, manmade to Mother Nature, historical to botanical, and people-watching to bird-watching, setting up in a park right in-town and then walking to the nearest gallery, café, waterfront, or museum beats the heck out of all the others.  Hands down.  Oh, and it means I can go out for dinner, have a glass of wine, and walk back to my RV, all safe and sound.

And, it is still possible to get pretty vistas, even if the site itself is dull and flat.  Below is the view from my Lunenburg Municipal RV Park.  (shoulda taken one of the field I was parked in for comparison – not exactly Algonquin Park 😊)

I loved Lunenburg!  I only had two days here (and I do know you can’t just base your opinion of what a town is like by visiting it in nice weather – ya gotta see all sides: fog, storms, snow for the real picture) but I could have spent a week there easily.

Everyone is so friendly, the restaurants are all different, and interesting (although a bunch of them seem to be owned by the same company – the day I was there at least 5 restaurants and bistros were closed ‘for a staff appreciation event’).  A lot of different crafts and art galleries, plus a few museums.  The houses were beautiful (even the old BMO branch was cool looking) and the streets were very very hilly. I just enjoyed walking up and down all through town. Much preferred it to Peggy’s Cove, although to be fair, I think it was the crowds at Peggy’s Cove that put me off – I bet I’d like it a lot more on a blustery October day with no tourists, just locals, wind, and rain.

OMG – Has the social media frenzy that is the Four Sweaters made it to Ontario?  Nova Scotia is going wild.

It seems that this delightful woman from Michigan is travelling with her husband and another couple, and at the airport on the way to Halifax, they took a photo of themselves in these sweaters, and posted it with the caption: “Like our sweat shirts? Not sure Canadians will!”.  On their way to Canada.

Well, the internet went mad. They’ve dubbed them ‘The Four Sweaters’ on social media.  Haligonians are all on the lookout for them – supposedly their photo has been sent around to all the hotels & restaurants.  One woman sent it to her brother, who is the manager at the tourism office at The Citadel.  Someone claims to have seen them at Peggy’s Cove – all of the Maritimes are posting: asking for sightings, or speculating on their travel.  I have to admit, I did stare very hard at every blonde woman in Lunenburg this week, to see if it was them.  The internet figured out where she works and notified her company (although I do think that’s unfair – she’s not promoting her employer on this post, and it’s not hate speech, just a tacky joke).  She’s been forced to shut down her social media.

While I was very proud that Canadians are up in arms and shaming her for her poor taste – you come to another country and taunt them publicly?… you deserve whatever mockery you get for that – but I did hope no one took it too far.  Until. Until I saw another older post from her FB page about the past summer’s wildfires out west – and now?  Now, I hope these people have a truly unpleasant time in Canada and are forced to go home early.

What is wrong with people?

I do like gin.  And when a friend and I were in Newfoundland several years ago, we discovered The Newfoundland Gin Distillery and its Seaweed Gin.  LL is also a gin lover, so once cross-province alcohol rules lifted (before COVID, I believe) we each bought a couple of bottles of their Seaweed Gin.  Mine were gone before I left for Scotland, but LL had hung onto one of hers.  She brought it on our recent Charlevoix trip and left it with me, saying, “I seem to have gone off it, Lainey – you can have it.” What a sweetie.

Well, it turns out I’ve kinda gone off it too.  I don’t mind it every now and then, but it’s no longer really to my taste.  So what’s a girl to do?  I decided to start checking out other regional gins, much like I did in Scotland (God, I still miss my Kirkjuvagr and Kinrara gins).  So I asked at the Nova Scotia liquor store and based on her recommendation, bought a bottle of NS Compass gin.  Umm, no.  Again, not to my taste.  Then I found this quaint little farmer’s market near the Bay of Fundy and, in spite of being annoyed by all the spelling mistakes on several of this one guy’s labels, picked up a bottle of their aptly named ‘Gin’.  But this time I was smart – I only bought a small bottle.  Well, thank goodness for that, because I did not like this gin any better than the first two!  Clearly the east coast of Canada is not the best place to source classic London Dry style gins.

So I now have approximately $100 worth of gin I don’t like, and as the bottles are all opened, I can’t really give them away as gifts.  Oh, and I’ve given up on supporting local and am back to my tried and true British Bombay Sapphire. 

Sigh.

After a day of nursing my bruises and hiding from the rain, I made it into Annapolis Royal yesterday.  It was such a pretty town.  Two independent bookstores and I bought something at each one ☹.  One of my goals on my travels was to support as many indie bookstores as possible, and I now have a drawer full of proof (oh dear).  In fact I’ve been so supportive over the last three months that I think my gas mileage is being impacted due to the additional weight.

A great seafood lunch at The Whimsical Fork, then an afternoon spent wandering around Fort Anne – built by Scots (yay), managed by England, France, Britain, and Canada, and has been attacked or blockaded more than any other North American fortress.  Quite a feat.  It, and the Botanical Gardens down the road, were absolutely beautiful to wander around on a sunny day.

Re the post-fall bruising – no pictures (no one needs to see that) but I am a little concerned.  Not by the pain, that’s mostly subsided, but by the fact that I have a massage booked for six days from now, and my entire left side looks like I was mugged by someone wielding a cricket bat.  Here’s hoping I won’t scare the masseuse too much on the day.

Well, I’m now regretting yesterday’s smug and snarky comment about people who won’t go out on a rainy day.

The plan for today was to ride my bike into Annapolis Royal and spend the morning & early afternoon sightseeing, then come back to the campground and spend the rest of the day emptying all the external storage compartments and giving them a good wipe down.  Oh, and a load of laundry before all of that.

At around 2 a.m. the wind picked up and the rain started.  And I don’t just mean rain.  I mean a wrath-of-God, build-an-Ark, tie-down-the-picnic-table deluge.  It rained and rained and rained all night and is supposed to continue well into the afternoon.  The RV shook, and the exterior ceiling fan covers sounded like they were about to snap off (even though they were closed tight), and I woke up at least twice an hour, every hour, until I finally gave up and got out of bed at 5:30.  So that was today’s plans scuppered.

But that wasn’t the only problem last night.  At around midnight I scooted out of bed (I truly do not remember why) and stepped onto the ‘bedroom’ floor.  Remember the 4″ step up from the ‘living room’ into the ‘bedroom’ and last year’s broken toe?  Well this time, in the pitch dark, I forgot that that step doesn’t run straight to the wall, but angles inward, stepped down onto the lower level, and I fell.  Hard.  I went down on my wrist (bruise only, no sprain – thank goodness), my  shoulder (the one with the torn rotator cuff), my hip, and my knee.  And I cried out – quite loudly.  I think someone must have heard the thump and the cry, as I heard an RV door open, and then close, as if someone was looking out.  So my entire left side hurts.

And, for some reason that I don’t understand, I woke up with what felt like a hangover, which is strange, as the only alcohol I had last night was two mouthfuls of a gin & tonic before pouring it down the drain (all part of the East Coast Gin Disappointment of 2026 – more to come on that later).  Maybe it was the bad night’s sleep in the storm.

All this to say, I won’t be doing any of the things on today’s To Do List.  Instead: tea, soup, and a crossword.  Fingers crossed for tomorrow.