I’m not used to luxury. I don’t buy pants over $30 and I refuse to use dryer sheets. These frugal spending habits are mostly because I’m a tightwad, but you get the point.
Then Doug from the Authentic Sea Coast in Guysborough, Nova Scotia invited me and Cailin to stay at the Des Barres Manor for a night of high class livin’. I thought hey, I’d be okay with that.
We left bright and early on a Tuesday morning and headed along the scenic route towards Guysborough, stopping at Martinique Beach and taking in the coastline. An hour or two in, things got all sorts of crazy as rural Nova Scotia snuck up on us. Among the many roadside attractions were a handcrafted moose and isolated signs randomly exclaiming things like “CLUBHOUSE SANDWICH.”
Wtf?
After being cooped in the car for so many hours, however, we started getting giggly and delusional. At least three times we accidently veered off course due to a lying iPhone. At one point, after taking a sunny stroll along Tor Bay Beach and tossing sand into the air, we proceeded down a dirt road for 20 minutes before we came upon an old house and a van blocking the road.
“You’re in my way,” Cailin accused the van.
We arrived at Guysborough later than intended, and found that a three-course meal would be ready for us at 6 p.m. I found my room, squealed like a schoolgirl and made a mental note to pocket the shampoo. Then I rolled around on the bed, stroked the antique typewriter with love, and struck a pose in the mirror.
Our supper was paired with wine, which suited us perfectly. We had tomato bisque with an old-fashioned dumpling and dry wine, followed by grilled salmon with mango compote, garlic roasted fingerlings and veggies, paired with rose wine. For dessert, there was banana bread pudding…and more wine. Did I ever mention my love for banana bread? I ate mine AND half of Cailin’s. I even ate the flowers garnishing the dishes (it’s okay, I’m told they were edible). By that point, I was beyond satisfied and high on life.
So Cailin and I bought some beers from the bar and played a round of board games in the parlour. The only other people lounging around were couples, which made me reassess my relationship with Cailin. We decided business partners would be the safest route, and then played a series of Tic-Tac-Toe accompanied with oaths and fist shaking. When I showed up at the kitchen with an ice bucket for several more beers, the hostess laughed and gave me a much bigger bucket. That’s what I call service.
Later, a little tipsy, we went for a walk close to the manor and spent an unreasonable amount of time lying on a dock trying to find that goddamned Little Dipper. The sky was perfect and clear, the town was entirely quiet. Unfortunately, I had missed the Rare Bird Pub season, and the place was closed up for the season. Instead, I went back to my room and made a pillow and blanket fort, spread out my limbs in the 600 thread count sheets and considered spending my lifesavings on a set from the gift shop. Anyone who knows me knows my insane attachment to my bed in St. John’s — my one big adult purchase, my baby – but this bed, oh god. I could have carried out a rich and fulfilled life in that bed.
Bahaha!
Alas, I had to be up bright and early for a yummy breakfast and a morning run. Then it was off to the Osprey Shores Golf Resort for some off-roading in golf carts. I had never been to a golf course before, nor driven a cart, but I think I did okay. I’m a natural.
We drove around the perimeter, stopping at the beach to scope out the scenery. The day was gorgeous and warm, the sky blue. Golfers moseyed around the green, while we tried to stay out of their way and be inconspicuous. It wasn’t easy to pull off, two beautiful babes like us joyridin’ around like nobody’s business, creeping up on older men as if lying in ambush. We paused at the Osprey Shores dock in Mussel Cove to soak up some sun, delighting in the remains of summer freedom. Life felt good.
We packed up the car with heavy hearts and set out for Prince Edward Island, a random decision made the night before with the aid of Alexander Keith. From a luxury manor to a sketchy hostel…but us travellers are supposed to be adaptable, right? Thank you for hosting us, Authentic Sea Coast! One night of lavishness was well appreciated by this broke-ass bum.
