By Fyllis Hockman
Sure, we are all now accustomed to hotel rooms admonishing us to leave the towels on the rack so they can be reused. And occasionally we come across two waste baskets in the room, one for recycling paper. And we feel so good about ourselves when we do so.
We rarely encounter the European standard of motion-controlled hallway lighting. Or placing the room key into a slot that turns on the lights and AC when we enter and turns them off when we leave. Most Americans, it seems, prefer to have their rooms already chilled when they return.
So the Green Suite at Digby Pines in Nova Scotia, Canada, is an anomaly. OK, so it's not really a U.S. phenomenon, but it's close enough that we can lay claim a little just by leaning over the border. I was virtually jumping up and down on the bamboo-infused bed linens with excitement at my newly discovered eco-friendly accommodations.
Bamboo, it seems, is a natural fabric that is hyper-allergenic, so the fibers are used in the towels and sheets; bamboo shutters adorn the windows. The headboard is made from a recycled door. The cooling and heating system is more energy-efficient than normal AC-heating methods. And a recycling trash bin is divided into four units — one each for paper, plastic, garbage and compost.
Now admittedly, I didn't know whether the Saran-type wrap protecting the plastic cups in the bathroom should be put into garbage, paper or maybe even plastic. But I loved having the choice and only regretted not ordering in pizza so I could at least have SOMETHING to compost. Much of the furniture is refinished or made without carbon footprints, and natural decorations of stone and driftwood add pizzazz to the room. The dual-flush toilet is just an added bonus.
I initially cringed when I saw the 1,200-watt hair dryer, knowing how long it takes my 1,875-watt version at home to dry my hair. Now I'm still at a loss to understand how the tiny implement managed to do the job in record time. And there are several other less obvious and more scientific nods to environmental awareness that cumulatively I know make a huge difference. I was eco-humbled.
And fortunately, the eco-friendly efforts extend beyond the Green Suite. Low-level electricity is used throughout the hotel; the kitchen claims it recycles to such a degree that nothing even goes to a landfill. The chef grows his own herbs, and there's a green roof atop the spa that in addition to providing home to a vast number of plants also impacts sound and heat insulation and improves air quality along with providing other environmental benefits. I wanted to jump up and down on the roof, as well.
In cabins with fireplaces, compressed sawdust replaces wood because it has a zero-percent carbon footprint. Natural gas has replaced oil. There is even a "Green Team" comprised of staff members assigned to come up with new ways to save energy. Of course even the most eco-friendly of rooms is not enough reason to stay in one, so I ventured out to explore the immediate environs of Digby and Annapolis Royal.
Digby is known for two things not usually found on your standard travel itinerary. First it sits on the Bay of Fundy, which has the highest tides in the world, at times approximating a 52-foot drop between high and low tides, the latter resembling literal mud flats at your feet. In Digby, the difference measures a mere 20 to 30 feet of water. Impressive enough. The Changing Tide Diner, Raising Tide Cafe and Tidal Boatyards provide constant reminders of the cosmic peculiarities of the town. The other Digby phenomenon is that it is the Scallop Capital of the World. But more on that later.
The town is a combination of a working fishing village combined with quiet tourist getaway where visitors and locals easily mingle. The Nothing Fancy Furniture Store sets an appropriate tone for the town.
The Evangeline Trail from Digby to Annapolis Royal, its nearby northern neighbor, is still reminiscent of the forest primeval immortalized in Longfellow's poem by the same name. The "murmuring pines and the hemlocks" continue to line the road: greenery so intense as to require a richer, deeper color to describe it.
Annapolis Royal is so steeped in Mi'kmaw (one of the First Nation people who initially inhabited Canada), English and French history that even their gardens are considered historic, with floral arrangements dating back to the 16th century. The official name? Historic Gardens, of course, where horticultural practices of the Mi'kmaw are on display. So, too, are those of the early French settlers who found a way in the mid-17th century to harness those aforementioned tides through the use of dikes in order to make the land arable. The gardens dazzle visitors with diversity of design, variety of blooms and explosions of color that disperse splendor like multihued shrapnel.
Soft mauves spar with demanding purples, subtle yellows complement arrogant fuchsias, perky pinks play against brilliant reds. Some flowers beg to be noticed while others preen and primp without guile, knowing they effortlessly capture your attention.
Across the street lies Fort Anne, a resplendent attraction in its own right, which saw multiple battles between the English and the French as control of the city changed hands between the two seven times over 400 years. I don't particularly like forts, but Fort Anne made me reassess the decades-long aversion. Covering 37 acres of land, every exhibit, sign, plaque and display kept me engrossed in the history and enmeshed in the past.
A visit to the Tidal Power Station brought me back to the eco-friendly present. Created in 1984, it is the first and only tidal plant in North America to generate electricity by harnessing those powerful waters of the Bay of Fundy. Think they learned anything from the Acadians who long ago tamed the tides for agricultural purposes? Seems like nature coming full-circle.
The town places a heavy emphasis on preserving heritage houses, and there's community outrage preventing the development of fast-food restaurants. No McDonald's will reign over Annapolis Royal.
Remember those scallops? Well, they're everywhere — on pasta and pizza, in chowders and salads, in rolls and in wraps. On one dinner menu at Digby Pines they were served breaded, grilled, bacon wrapped, pan seared and as a salad add-on. I didn't see any scallop ice cream, but it's probably only because I didn't look hard enough. Even the local Shell gas station got into the act by renaming itself "The Scallop Shell." By this time my eyes were definitely beginning to roll, and the last thing I wanted to eat was a scallop!
Yes, there are many other areas of interest around, but I chose, like the tides and the scallops, to remain local — and happily returned to my bamboo-laden, hyper-allergenic, compost-craving, energy-saving room. It's sure going to be hard to stay at a regular chain hotel the next time I travel: Where am I going to put my leftover pizza?
WHEN YOU GO
For more information, visit www.digbypines.ca.
Fyllis Hockman is a freelance writer. To read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.
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