by jonas moody Photos by Páll stefánsson
It’s not until ten seconds before touchdown that the landing strip becomes clear through the milky haze that has enveloped our descent into Halifax, Nova Scotia. But the North Atlantic’s brume has nothing to hide here; the hub for Canada’s Maritime Provinces has gone from schooner to scooter, using its nautical roots and vibrant history to build a harbor-side enclave for the young and young-at-heart.
“G
o on, you’re a growing boy!” Annie says, placing a bacon and egg sandwich in front of a middle-aged policeman regular. The officer, who has clearly enjoyed a few over-easies in his day, grins and accepts. After five years as a civil servant, Anne Joseph found a better way to serve her fellow Haligonians by opening her own café, Annie’s Place, in the living room of an old Victorian in the burgeoning Spring Garden district, amidst trendy shoe shops, a used instrument store, and design showrooms. The community appreciates her gesture, evidenced by the constant stream of locals, all greeted by name, popping in for coffee and cinnamon buns. Most dash out the door after a few kind words are exchanged, but the younger people seem to be in less of a hurry, taking the time to sit down and flip through Halifax’s weekly rag, The Coast. “Sometimes students won’t even order, just tell me they’re starving,” Annie says with a laugh, “so I feed them.” From all the travel literature on Halifax regaling its history as one of the North Atlantic’s most important seaports and military strongholds, I
Out of the Fog, Into the Mod
expect to find a necropolis of bygone maritime glory. But despite the wind, the rain, and the fog of my first days in town, what’s clear is that Halifax is very much alive, propelled by a dynamic city center, a rousing nightlife, and most of all a close-knit community of students and other townspeople who want their seaside city to grow as the vanguard for the singular self-reliance of Nova Scotians. Drop in at Annie’s on any given morning and you’ll find a circle of policemen, dock workers, retirees and students, tight as a knitting clutch, discussing local politics like whether Nova Scotia’s offshore hunting should be for oil or lobster, or rating the best place to pee in public (consensus: the end of Granville street behind the stone lions). When an older gent, Wellington-clad Larry, is asked how Halifax has changed, he smiles and says “although the traffic is worse, most other things have only gotten better.” Most locals would probably agree with him. Although the city is awash with history – from the tall ships in the harbor to the city hall clock frozen at 9:04:35, the moment of the 1917 Halifax explosion killing nearly 2,000 – old Biker on cell phone outside Halifax’s Historical Properties.
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atlantica