Yar! Thar be whales!
After driving across the border, through St. Stephen, and getting yelled at to go the f*** home from a passing car (damn our New Jersey license plates), we made it to St. Andrews near sunset. Our one-night stay at the fancy schmancy Algonquin was ahead of us, and the next day we were scheduled to go on a whale watching tour. We reeked of touristy goodness.
As I said, the Algonquin is rumored to be haunted. Everything from a mother and son who fell from the fourth floor to a jilted bride that died of a broken heart to a helpful old bellhop have been spotted in the place. While we didn’t actually see any ghosts, it is curious that only photos from inside the hotel have these mysterious spots on them…
The next day, we bummed around St. Andrews, none the worse for our harrowing night of ghostly visitations. I think it is most likely that any ghosts that peeked in on us after midnight left the room with their ethereal hands over their ectoplasmic ears. Sometimes my snoring comes in handy.
We stopped in every little trinket shop in town.
Look! It’s the Canadian cousin of Boris!
Soon it was time to head out to sea.
We only spotted one baby whale, a couple of porpoise, an eagle and an island full of seals, but it was an enjoyable (if cold) ride.
After our three-and-a-half hours on the briney, we hit the road for Fredericton. For we had an appointment the next day with our special inside agent–a real, live CANADIAN!
[TO BE CONTINUED]…