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The Westin Nova Scotian in Halifax is the oppo-
            site of dingy. I feel rich and pampered in my sun-
            light-filled room filled with sleek modern furniture
            and windows overlooking the Waterfront Board-
            walk where two giant cruise ships are docked.
            They’re so close I can make out passengers on the
            decks. While today visitors come to Halifax by plane
            or ship, in 1930 they arrived by train. Then called
            the Nova Scotian, this was the only Grand Railway
            hotel in Eastern Canada.
               The hotel changed owners a few times, was
            renovated, and re-opened in 1996 as The Westin
            Nova Scotian. Amenities such as an indoor heated
            pool, Jacuzzi, and fitness center were added, but
            happily, the huge closets, built for the early guests
            who would arrive with their steamer trunks, remain
            intact, helping me feel a link with the hotel’s grand
            past.
               One thing I love about visiting new places as a
            writer is that I’m often joined by a hotel staff mem-
            ber who can fill me in on what’s worth seeing. Area
            Director of Sales and Marketing Glenn Bowie joins
            Lea and me at the hotel’s lobby restaurant. While
            we gorge on lobster croquettes, Cajun-blackened
            tuna, and blueberry cream custard with vanilla-
            torched Acadian Maple Sugar, Bowie, who is also a
            bass player and has his own band, tells me about the









                                                                 band I’m about to join and accompanies us to
                                                                 Bearlie’s, just a block away. I’m feeling very confi-
                                                                 dent on my first International Music Tour.
                                                                     So here we are. The musicians are terrific,
                                                                 especially the four horn players. It’s not as
                                                                 though they need a blues harmonicist to slay the
                                                                 crowd –- they’re doing just fine. But I am called
                                                                 up to play and the only thing I can hear is my
                                                                 pounding heart. The stage is tiny, especially with
                                                                 nine men crowding it, but I squeeze in between a
                                                                 horn player and the bassist. They begin a slow
                                                                 soulful instrumental with which I am not familiar,
                                                                 but blues is blues. You don’t memorize it. You
                                                                 play from the soul.
                                                                     I close my eyes and play my heart out: long


            154   WINE DINE & TRAVEL MAGAZINE 2020
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