Island Life. What does that even mean? I’ve seen it on car decals. AI says it means confident, creative, and easy-going. Add to that isolated and taciturn, and I might believe you. On July 5, my friend Kath and I took the ferry over to Grand Manan Island in Canada.
The internet said that there were no accommodations available on the island, since it was the Fourth of July weekend, but at the eleventh hour we managed to book a no frills, no stars motel. The island boasts several iconic lighthouses, awe-inspiring scenic views, whale watching points, a museum that is more accurately an antique-junk shop with explanations, a surprisingly nice local art gallery, one morning coffee house open before 9:30 a.m., one main road, and a few crappy diners that all close by 7:00 p.m. Oh, and let’s not forget Wednesday night bingo.
The ferry docked about 3:00 p.m., and we set off to explore the island. It was six before we started to think about dinner, and it wasn’t until then that we discovered everything closed by seven or earlier. We settled on one restaurant that claimed to serve something other than pizza and tacos. Hoping for a lobster roll since, after all, this is an island of lobstermen and fisheries, I was told, “Our sister restaurant at the other end of the island (a fifteen-minute drive) serves lobster rolls,” the boy helping us said. “They stay open until seven. You can call them and see if they still have some lobster.” It was already 6:15 p.m.
Kathleen called. “Yes, get here by seven and we will serve you.” “Ciao, thanks,” we said as we headed out the door. “Oh,” the boy called out to us. “Did I tell you they only take cash, Canadian cash?” We had about fifteen Canadian dollars between us—not enough for a serving of poutine, much less a lobster roll. “ATMs?” “There are three,” he said, and proceeded to give us directions. We were on the clock.
ATM one: closed. Tick tock.
ATM two: broken. Tick tock.
ATM three: yes! By then it was 6:40. I ran into the store, pushed my Bank of America travel card (no transaction fees) into the machine and, oh no, it required a PIN! This card doesn’t have a PIN. Tick tock.
I pulled out my Chase debit card—screw the fee—it has a PIN. With $60.00 worth of Canadian bills in hand, I jumped back in the car and we got to the lobster shack with five minutes to spare.
Adrenaline spiked our appetites. We wolfed down our sandwiches, chortling with laughter and hyped by our triumphant race to food.
From finding a motel, making it to dinner, getting the last spots on the morning’s sold-out ferry, seeing a finback whale on the trip back, and having fantastic weather, we felt like winners . . . an all too rare feeling since the 2024 elections.
