The May Princess, our unweildy ferry. You'd think a ride in this thing would be enough to turn the stomach - but the worse for my insides was the work of award-winning fish and chips consumed on the rocky Stagecoach back to the city. Twenty-four hours later, I still have the bucket by my bed just in case.
The main lighthouse, though not the oldest. It reminded me of many things, not the least among them were some tales of L. M. Montgomery's and some eastern meeting houses of colonial fathers in white wigs and buckled shoes.
Having no idea what this archy thing was, Courtney and I did our usual photographic duty and took turns posing beneath it. We had seen others doing the same thing only moments before, and figured that was the point of its presence. Far be it from me to rebel against the elements of touristy sites.