When someone asks if you are going anywhere nice for the weekend, you can't just say Halifax in the nonchalant way that you might say Paris or Barcelona.
First, people will wonder what it is you find so appealing about this former textile town in the north of England. You will then have to explain that you are going not to Halifax, West Yorkshire, but to Halifax, Nova Scotia. Depending on your friend's grasp of geography you might even have to add 'eastern Canada'. Then you will have to explain why and will find yourself mumbling something about lobster and maritime heritage.
Once you arrive in Halifax and are driving in a taxi from the airport along the rain-lashed waterfront, past unlovely grey office blocks and a McDonald's advertising 'McLobster Meals $3.95!', the 'why?' question will rear its ugly head again. Only this time it'll be you who's asking it.
Studying my guidebook on my first morning in Halifax over a bagel and skinny latte at a pavement table outside Steve-o-Reno's cafe on Brunswick Road, I roll the options around. The sun is shining now and there's a crisp breeze coming in off the Atlantic, scudding the clouds across a blue sky, and this coffee is very good. Kids in baseball caps and skateboarding gear mooch past and dog-walkers call out jolly greetings to people in the cafe as they pass by.
Like the cinnamon sprinkles on my coffee, the 'why' question gently dissolves and is replaced by a 'where?'. Do I head up to the star-shaped Citadel Fortress for the daily cannon firing or visit the Titanic display at the Maritime Museum of the Atlantic? (It was from here that the rescue operation for the doomed vessel was launched). As I pore over my map, a friendly voice chirps from the next table: 'Do you need some help?'
As I will later learn, no self-respecting resident of this fair city can resist the sight of a tourist frowning over a map and, before you can say 'Aren't Canadians a friendly bunch?', I am being whisked off for a guided tour by Jason, a lawyer, who figures I'll get to see 'the real Halifax' this way and, hey, he wasn't doing much today anyway.
We stroll down to the waterfront and take a wander around the farmers' market housed in an old brewery building and fill our cheeks with samples of wild blueberries, fresh-baked maple syrup cookies and slugs of cranberry juice, while on a small stage, a red-haired youth and his tartan-clad sisterplay Nova Scotian reels on fiddles as though their lives depend on it.
It's turning into a beautiful day and Jason suggests heading for the beach. As we drive through wide streets of tree-lined comfort, expansive porches and twinkling sea views, Jason explains that he is a CFA - a 'come from away' - the name the locals give to those not born in Nova Scotia. Buddhism brought him from Florida to this eastern outpost - Halifax has the largest Buddhist community in North America outside Colorado - and Jason won't go back.
The car pulls up at Crystal Crescent, a curve of white sand backed by fir trees. The only manmade landmark on the horizon is a distant lighthouse. As the sun sparkles off the waves, I have to remind myself that this is Canada and not the Caribbean - until I step into the water and the Atlantic cold bites. I emerge shivering. I don't have a towel, but it's fine because a woman sitting a bit further along the beach has noticed and comes running over to offer me one of hers, and I think: 'That wouldn't happen back home.'
The sea air has put an edge on our appetite, so we head back into town for lunch and grab a table outside the Economy Shoe Shop on Argyle Street, which isn't a shoe shop at all but one of the town's hippest hang-outs. Over a Labatt's and a steaming bowl of mussels, we watch the world go by. A 'frog', a giant, open-top vehicle that gives amphibian sightseeing tours of the town and harbour, trundles past. The guide tells the tourists to wave at everyone in the restaurant. We wave back.
After lunch, I take my leave of my unofficial tour guide and go window-shopping. Past the gift shops selling carved wooden seagulls, lighthouses and teddy bears wearing sou'westers, past the wholefood cafes and skate and snowboard shops on Blowers Street and into Kung Fu T-shirts, where I browse through a book of iron-on transfers. The young guy in baggy shorts behind the counter asks where I am from, and when I tell him Britain he cries: 'Cool!' and shuts the shop and invites me into the yard for a smoke. Half an hour later, I am having a 'Princess of Power' superhero transfer ironed on to my T-shirt and swapping phone numbers with my new-found friends.
As I leave the shop, I hesitate, trying to get my bearings. After a few moments, I realise that the traffic on both sides of the road has come to a standstill, and everyone is looking expectantly at me. Jason had warned me about this. Drivers in Halifax are so polite you only have to look as though you might be thinking of crossing the road and they will stop. So I cross, as this seems the right thing to do, and follow the sound of music down to the waterfront where I find myself in the middle of the city's annual International Busker Festival.
The wooden sail lofts and ships' chandlers along the boardwalk have been converted into gift shops and seafood restaurants with names like Salty's and Crawdad's Crab Shack, serving seafood chowder and lobster. I buy a blueberry-flavoured ice cream and join the crowds squinting into the late afternoon sunshine to watch Daniel the Rubber Boy fold himself into a small box while seagulls circle overhead. Eight different stages are set up along the boardwalk with acts, ranging from mime artists to comedians. A couple of women in their fifties, laden down with shopping bags, spin each other round to the sounds of Peruvian folk group Colores Andinos, laughing self-consciously.
Halifax has been called the Seattle of the East: like that coastal city, the inhabitants here have coffee instead of blood running through their veins and there's a dynamic live music scene. I wander back to my hotel wondering whether to opt for an open mike evening with the Harbour Folk Society at the Great Canadian Bagel Bakery or some jazz at Grabba Yabba Coffee (in Halifax everywhere doubles up as a music venue). But once again the dilemma is solved for me.
There are two phone messages waiting. The kung fu kids want to know whether I am coming out clubbing and Jason is wondering whether I'd like to go to the Lower Deck pub where there's a local band playing; after all, 'you might want some company in a strange town'. But, strangely, it doesn't feel that strange at all.
Factfile
Flights to Halifax from Heathrow with Air Canada (08705 247226) available from £633 plus taxes until 8 September. Rooms at the Lord Nelson Hotel (00 1 902 423 6331) in Halifax from £50 a night.
Halifax International Busker Festival, 8-18 August 2002. International performers on the waterfront from noon to 11pm. (00 1 902 429 3910)
Halifax is the gateway to Nova Scotia. Day trip options include the scenic fishing village of Peggy's Cove and Tidal Bore Rafting in the Bay of Fundy (the bay has the highest tides in the world). Or take a scenic drive, such as the 300km Cabot Trail, which winds through Cape Breton National Park, or the Lighthouse Route which takes in the best of maritime Nova Scotia. For further information see www.halifaxinfo.com or contact the Canadian Tourism Commission on 0906 871 5000.
