House martins and swallows are our constant companions, whether snapping up fluttering mayflies in the car park of Glencar Waterfall during a downpour or swooping from the eaves of The Shandon Hotel that overlooks Marble Hill Strand beach in Donegal, where linen-coloured sand slips into grey-green ocean.

It might only have celebrated its 10th official birthday in 2024 but Ireland’s 2,500km (1,550-mile) Wild Atlantic Highway has been used by generations of these nippy little migratory birds, who fly from the Sahara to spend their summers in the UK and Ireland.

The clever things know about Northern Ireland’s Causeway Coastal Route too.

Aside from the 60-million-year-old natural geometrical marvel that is Giant’s Causeway, this 193km stretch of raggedy, bewitching coastline, which starts in Belfast and ends in Derry, often gets lopped off road trips. But no more.

As part of the Shared Island initiative, which “aims to harness the full potential of the Good Friday Agreement to enhance cooperation, connection and mutual understanding on the island”, Tourism Northern Ireland and Fáilte Ireland have teamed up to remind visitors that once you hit the end of the Wild Atlantic Way, the sea has not run its course, the cliffs do not peter out and the Guinness really does not dry up.

I love the office view I have,” said Kinnon, smiling beneath his baseball cap as he squished in beside me to guide his rigid inflatable boat out of Ingonish Harbour and into the chilly waters off Nova Scotia.

It was definitely better than my office view in London on a glorious June day in eastern Canada. A majestic sea eagle wheeled above our heads, a puffin bobbed about beside the boat and – in the distance – sleek gannets plunged down in search of fish.

Lobster fishermen methodically pulled up pots, an action repeated up to 275 times a day during their short season. I watched one crew take seven of the crustaceans from a single pot, throwing back another 13 that were too small or carrying eggs.

Looming behind them were the pine-covered cliffs of a finger-like peninsula that juts out between two sweeping bays, where the previous day we had hiked a woodland trail.

Now we were searching for whales. “Can you smell that: stinky minke?” asked Kinnon as a stench like rotting fish and cabbage wafted over the water.

Grey backs arced through the waves to gasps of delight from my fellow passengers. The mammals disappeared into the deep, before popping back up in different ­places around our little boat.

Kinnon told us about spotting killer whales. “I love seeing them. But they eat these guys, so I’m a bit torn over their appearances.”

We saw a few more minke before powering back to the harbour. My wife and I had chosen Nova Scotia for a road trip on something of a whim, lured by its relative proximity to the UK, compared with most of North America (a less than seven-hour flight) and its Celtic heritage. It has the largest Gaelic-speaking community outside Scotland.

Our trip began in Halifax, the province’s fast-growing – but chilled out – capital. Its bustling boardwalk, stretching almost three miles along the city’s waterfront, is studded with bars, restaurants and ice-cream parlours.

The Maritime Museum of the Atlantic grabs attention with its Titanic artefacts – reflecting how 150 of the victims recovered from the disaster were laid to rest in three of the city’s cemeteries.

Yet I found myself unexpectedly moved at the other end of the boardwalk, by the Canadian Museum of Immigration.

It is located at Pier 21, where more than 1.5 million people landed during the past century in search of new lives. The exhibits gave a glimpse into the huge challenges – and discrimination, at times – facing the waves of refugees, orphans and war brides flowing through.

The impact was underlined by handwritten notes from visitors. One woman stated she was there on her 50th birthday to honour her Italian father, adding that he never forgot his life-changing journey and would proudly tell her of his arrival at Pier 21.

Canada’s modern role as a nation built on migration was underlined. “I thank my parents for their love and sacrifices for me,” wrote one Asian man. “Also Canadians for their welcoming generosity.”

A Ukrainian family who arrived two years ago thanked Halifax for embracing them with its “ocean life” and “green lawns”, declaring that the region “took our hearts” by reminding them of the Black Sea and Carpathian mountains they fled due to war.

Nova Scotia has 8,300 miles of coastline and you’re never more than 50 miles from the sea, so this is a land of lighthouses and seafood. As we headed north to Advocate Harbour, we found its roads to be uncrowded (and Canadians must be among the planet’s politest drivers).

This drive took us past the Bay of Fundy, with tidal bore rafting that is like a muddy and wet rollercoaster, and weird “Flower Pot Rocks” – pillars of sandstone carved by fiercely-churning tides, topped with clumps of trees.

We stayed at Wild Caraway, a restaurant with rooms run by a friendly young couple called Andrew and Fiona. The vibe was informal. But the food, often foraged locally, was inventive: fiddleheads – furled fronds of ferns – with balsam fir and lemon were followed by halibut and asparagus in chive sauce.

A superb breakfast, delivered to our cabin, needed to be walked off on nearby beaches fringed with driftwood and devoid of people. Later, a “seacuterie” platter arrived with potted prawns and rollmop herring, which we washed down with beers sitting by the fire pit in the yard as dusk descended.

We drove hundreds of miles, snaking through a forested wilderness landscape filled with bears, moose and raccoons in this underpopulated slice of Canada that sits on similar latitude to southern France (and Nova Scotia can also boast of producing some fine wines).

We took a detour to Arisaig – a lobster port named after the Scottish highland village that neighbours my wife’s home town of Mallaig.

The Cabot Trail – a highway loop around Cape Breton, famed for its hilly twists and steep turns – was gentler than anticipated, despite often-impressive views.
Chéticamp was a fun stop with its folk-art feel and French speakers, a reminder of how the French and English tussled over Nova Scotia for more than a century on terrain originally inhabited by the Mi’kmaq people.

I feared the historic port of Lunenburg, a World Heritage Site, might be a tourist trap – but it turned out to be delightful.

Finally, we drove back to Halifax for a blowout at Drift, a striking harbour-side restaurant, before bedding down in the casual luxury of the Muir Hotel ahead of our hop home over swirling Atlantic seas that define this laid-back corner of Canada.

Getting there
Air Canada flies to Halifax from Heathrow, while WestJet flies from Edinburgh.

Staying there
The Muir Hotel in Halifax has doubles from C$600/£329 per night.

Wild Caraway Restaurant & Rooms, Advocate Harbour, has doubles from C$188/£103 and cottages from C$313/£171.

More information
The writer travelled as a guest of Tourism Nova Scotia.
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