Let me tell you about Canada’s best-kept secret. While everyone’s taking photos of the snow-capped Rockies and the thundering Niagara Falls, there’s a corner of the country that’s been quietly stealing hearts, and it’s far closer to home than you might think.
I believe that there is something about watching the sun rise over the Atlantic, from a high lighthouse perch, that makes you understand why people fall for this far eastern part of Canada. The salt air, the cry of gulls, the rhythm of waves against the rocks. Atlantic Canada gets under your skin before you’ve even had your first lobster roll.
Made up of Nova Scotia, New Brunswick and Prince Edward Island, as well as Newfoundland and Labrador, this is a corner of Canada that feels genuinely different. And it’s surprisingly easy to reach. A six-and-a-half-hour flight from the UK to Halifax or St. John’s, and you’re there. No endless connections, no jet lag nightmares. Just you and Canada’s beautiful, unhurried Atlantic coast.
What makes this region so special? It’s probably the perfect combination of dramatic scenery, genuine warmth, and a pace of travel that actually lets you breathe. You can pack in memorable experiences without feeling like you’re racing from one highlight to the next. Driving is enjoyable, the food is phenomenal, the welcome is local.
I spent some time winding along coastal roads, hiking in National Parks, eating lobster, and encountering the local wildlife (more on that later). What struck me most wasn’t any single sight, but how easily everything flowed together. You can plan a definitive route that ticks off all the highlights, but still leave room for spontaneity, which, let’s face it, is when the memories are usually made.
These are the highlights of my journey through Atlantic Canada. Four provinces, countless “stop the car!” moments, and more than a few reasons why you should start planning your trip.
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For most visitors, Halifax is the natural starting point for an Atlantic Canada holiday. The airport is refreshingly straightforward to navigate, and within an hour you’re in the city itself. I’d recommend spending at least a night or two here before heading out, if only to get your bearings and soak up the maritime atmosphere.
Halifax feels like a modern working port, rather than somewhere that’s been polished up for tourists, and that’s definitely part of its charm. The waterfront has been developed to be home to trendy bars, restaurants, and various entertainment venues, but as you drink your locally brewed beer, and tuck into your freshly caught seafood, you’ll be able to watch ferries crossing the harbour, cargo ships at anchor, and the occasional cruise ship docking along the quayside. It’s a city that wears its history proudly, but is very much in the present.
The Halifax Citadel National Historic Site is worth the climb up the hill, not just for the history but for the views. Standing up there, looking out over the harbour, you start to understand why this spot has been strategically important for centuries. The whole city spreads out below you, with the harbour and the Atlantic beyond. If you make the climb before midday, you can witness the firing of the noon cannon, a tradition that has taken place every day since 1857.
Heading southwest from Halifax along Nova Scotia’s South Shore, the landscape shifts almost immediately. The coastline becomes more rugged, the villages smaller, and you get that wonderful feeling of leaving the city behind.
Peggy’s Cove is probably Nova Scotia’s most photographed spot, and yes, it does attract visitors. But here’s my top travel tip: go early. I arrived around 8am and had the place nearly to myself. Standing on those granite rocks with the lighthouse behind me and waves crashing below, I understood why people keep coming back. It’s raw and exposed and absolutely beautiful. Just watch your footing, the spray makes everything slippery and those waves are stronger than they look.
Further along the coast, Lunenburg deserves much more time than most people give it. Sure, the colourful houses climbing the hillside are gorgeous, and the harbourfront is lovely for a wander. But take an hour to explore the streets away from the harbourfront. This UNESCO World Heritage town feels genuinely lived in, with a working shipyard and fishing boats that actually go out to sea. I grabbed lunch at a harbourside cafe and spent a happy hour watching boats come and go, chatting to a local people. That’s the kind of moment you can’t plan for.
After all that coastline, heading inland to Kejimkujik National Park felt like stepping into a completely different province. Suddenly you’re surrounded by forests and lakes, with the Atlantic replaced by still freshwater reflecting pine trees.
This was one of my quieter days, and I really appreciated it. The hiking here isn’t about conquering peaks or reaching dramatic viewpoints. It’s gentler than that, more about being present in the forest. The Mi’kmaq cultural significance of this area adds a real depth to the experience. If you have time, look for the petroglyphs, some dating back hundreds of years, carved into rocks along the lakeshore.
If you’re into kayaking or canoeing, this is your spot. Paddling across a glassy lake in the late afternoon sun, with birds calling in the distance, ranks up there with some of my favourite Atlantic Canada moments.
From Halifax, Cape Breton Island is roughly a four-hour drive north, connected to the mainland by the Canso Causeway. This is where Nova Scotia really begins to show off. The landscape becomes more dramatic as you head north, with hills rising up and the roads feeling increasingly remote. Most people come to Cape Breton for one reason: the Cabot Trail. And they’re absolutely right to do so.
Let me be clear about this. Driving the Cabot Trail is one of the best things I’ve done in Canada. Full stop.
This circular route follows the edge of the Cape Breton Highlands National Park, and for long stretches you’re driving high above the Atlantic with nothing between you and the horizon. The road twists and climbs, drops down to sea level, then climbs again. Around every bend there’s another reason to pull over with your camera.
And you will want to stop. Often. Not because there’s a marked viewpoint (although there are plenty of those), but because the sun has come out, or the view has suddenly opened up, or you’ve just spotted a whale breaching offshore. Give yourself at least two days for the Cabot Trail. Better yet, make it three. Rushing this would be criminal.
I stayed overnight in a small guesthouse near Chéticamp, run by a couple who’d moved to Cape Breton from Montreal thirty years ago and never looked back. Over breakfast, they gave me tips on the best spots for wildlife and which trails to prioritise. That kind of local knowledge is gold, and readily available in Atlantic Canada.
The Skyline Trail is probably the most popular walk in Cape Breton Highlands National Park, and for good reason. It’s not a particularly difficult hike, maybe an hour and a half return, but the views are spectacular. The trail follows a headland out above the Gulf of St Lawrence, with the ocean on three sides, and the road hugging the coast, visible far below.
I was returning from the viewpoint, catching my breath and trying to take it all in, when I heard something large moving through the brush behind me. I turned around slowly (you learn to move carefully around wildlife), and there was a moose. A proper, massive bull moose, maybe thirty metres away, completely unconcerned by my presence. Moose are bigger than you think, particularly when they are this close.
We watched each other for what felt like ages, but was probably only a couple of minutes, then he simply crossed the trail and disappeared into the woodland on the other side. My heart was absolutely hammering, but it was one of those perfect wildlife moments; unexpected, unhurried, and entirely on the animal’s terms.
From driving that dramatic coastline, sailing on Bras d’Or Lake offered a completely different perspective on Cape Breton. This isn’t the open Atlantic; it’s a massive inland sea, sheltered and calm, surrounded by low hills. From the town of Baddeck, I spent an fabulous afternoon on the water with a local guide who’d been navigating these waters for forty years. The peace out on the water was wonderful.
The Fortress of Louisbourg National Historic Site, near the eastern tip of Cape Breton, brought me firmly back reality, when a soldier decided to cuff me and put me in jail for “speaking with a foreign accent!”. This reconstructed 18th century French fortress is massive, and walking through it feels surprisingly authentic, especially when the costumed interpreters interact with you; whether it is baking bread, repairing fishing nets, or arresting foreign spies! You get a real sense of what life was like here. It’s living history done properly, and I can confirm that the jail was cold and damp. Fortunately, I was found to be friendly, so I didn’t have to stay there long.
I will be honest, I wasn’t expecting much from Nova Scotia’s wine region. But visiting a couple of wineries in the Annapolis Valley turned out to be a genuine highlight. These are small, family run operations, perched on rolling hills north of Halifax. I am not a wine connoisseur, but the tastings felt relaxed, fun and unpretentious.
The wines themselves were better than I’d anticipated, particularly the white wines. One winemaker explained how the maritime climate and mineral-rich soil create unique conditions. I must have liked it, because I left with a couple of bottles and a newfound respect for Nova Scotia’s wine industry.
Atlantic Canada Holidays by Freedom Destinations
Halifax | Peggy’s Cove | Baddeck | Louisbourg | Cabot Trail | Wallace | Digby | Bay of Fundy | Lunenburg
Halifax | Lunenburg | Digby | Bay of Fundy | Charlottetown | Lake Ainslie | Cape Breton Highlands National Park
St. Johns | Clarenville | Cape Bonavista | Gander | Gros Morne | St. Anthony | Red Bay | Corner Brook | Deer Lake
Halifax | Peggy’s Cove | Baddeck | Louisbourg | Cabot Trail | Wallace | Digby | Bay of Fundy | Lunenburg
Halifax | Lunenburg | Digby | Bay of Fundy | Charlottetown | Lake Ainslie | Cape Breton Highlands National Park
St. Johns | Clarenville | Cape Bonavista | Gander | Gros Morne | St. Anthony | Red Bay | Corner Brook | Deer Lake
The transition from Nova Scotia into New Brunswick is subtle but noticeable. The province is quieter and more heavily forested. New Brunswick is also Canada’s only officially bilingual province, so you’ll hear both English and French spoken, particularly in the Acadian regions along the coast.
The Bay of Fundy is home to the highest tides in the world, and I’d read about it before arriving. But reading about it and actually experiencing it are two completely different things. At the Hopewell Rocks, you can walk on the ocean floor at low tide, wandering between towering rock formations that look like giant flowerpots. I spent a good hour down there, looking up at the layered sandstone and trying to imagine all that space filled with water.
Then I went for lunch, came back a few hours later, and those same rocks I’d been walking around were almost completely submerged. The scale of it is genuinely mind-blowing. Make sure you check the tide times before you visit (and they’re posted everywhere along the coast) and try to see both high and low tide if you can. It’s worth the wait.
The nutrient-rich waters of the Bay of Fundy attract several whale species, including finbacks, humpbacks, and the endangered North Atlantic right whale. I joined a whale watching tour from St Andrews, and we didn’t have to wait long to see these gentle giants.
Within twenty minutes we had spotted our first blow, then another, then suddenly there were three humpbacks feeding relatively close to the boat. Watching these massive creatures surface, blow, and dive again never gets old. Our guide explained their migration patterns and feeding behaviours, making the whole experience more than just an exercise in photography.
The whale watching tour took about three hours, and we saw minke whales as well as the humpbacks. It felt calm and respectful, with the boat keeping proper distance. This is responsible whale watching done right.
Travelling inland to Mount Carleton Provincial Park showed me yet another side of New Brunswick. At around 820 metres, Mount Carleton is the highest point in the Maritime provinces.
The scenery here is understated but expansive. Forest stretches in every direction, broken only by lakes and the occasional ridge. I hiked to the summit of Mount Carleton on a clear day and could see for miles. It’s not dramatic in the way the Rockies are dramatic, but there’s something ethereal about that endless forest. This area feels genuinely remote. I passed maybe three other hikers all day, so if you’re looking to escape and reset, this is your spot.
Driving across the Confederation Bridge onto Prince Edward Island marks a clear shift. This 13- kilometre bridge is impressive in itself, but it’s what awaits on the other side that really matters.
Prince Edward Island (PEI) is Canada’s smallest province, with a population of around 170,000 people across the entire island. That scale shapes everything about travelling here. Roads are quiet, villages are small, and there’s a gentle pace to life that’s immediately noticeable.
Driving PEI’s coastal roads was one of the simplest pleasures of my entire trip. The roads are well maintained but never busy, views open up constantly, and there’s absolutely no pressure to keep moving.
I found myself stopping frequently at a quiet beach, a fishing harbour, or another lighthouse. The island has more than 60 historic lighthouses, each with its own character, including the Point Prim Lighthouse dating back to 1845. You can’t help but try and stop at them all. The island’s famous red cliffs and sandy beaches also live up to the photos, but it’s the overall island atmosphere that really gets you. It is like everything is in slow motion.
Charlottetown is small enough to explore on foot in an afternoon, which is exactly what I did. This is where the Canadian Confederation began, and you’ll find museums and historic buildings that tell that story.
Province House, where the Charlottetown Conference took place in 1864, is the key site. Even if you’re not a history buff, it’s worth an hour of your time. The guides are passionate and knowledgeable, and they bring the story to life.
I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about the Anne of Green Gables sites. I was worried that I hadn’t read the book, and that they might be overly commercialised. But actually, they’re done thoughtfully. Green Gables Heritage Place and the surrounding area help you understand how deeply connected Lucy Maud Montgomery’s stories are to the island itself.
The landscapes she described, including the red roads, the farmland, and the coastline are all still here. Walking through the Haunted Wood or along Lovers Lane, you can see exactly what inspired her. Even if you’ve never read the books, there’s something touching about seeing how one writer’s vision has shaped an entire island’s identity.
Let’s talk about food, because on Prince Edward Island, you really should. Yes, the lobster is exceptional. It is sweet, fresh, and absolutely everywhere. I think I had lobster rolls, lobster dinners, lobster on salads. You can even go on a lobster tour and try lobster ice-cream! All of it was brilliant.
But PEI cuisine is about so much more than lobster. The other seafood is fantastic too. Mussels and oysters are some of the best that I’ve tasted. The island’s agricultural heritage means there are also incredible vegetables and berries grown locally. One evening I ate at a small restaurant that sourced everything locally. The fish had been caught that morning, the vegetables came from a farm ten minutes away, and the chef knew the fisherman and the farmer by name.
Food on Prince Edward Island isn’t fancy or fussy. It’s just really, really good. And it is served in places that feel like part of island life rather than somewhere designed just for tourists.
Newfoundland feels distinct from the rest of Atlantic Canada. It’s more remote, more rugged, and the locals are fiercely proud of their identity. The culture here is strong. You’ll hear it in the accents, the music, and the humour. People here call themselves Newfoundlanders first, Canadians second, and they’re only half joking.
Getting here requires a bit more planning than the other provinces. You can fly directly into St John’s or take the ferry from Nova Scotia to Port aux Basques.
St John’s announces itself immediately. The downtown streets are lined with brightly painted row houses. ‘Jellybean houses’, as they’re called, present themselves in bright yellows, reds, blues, and greens. It’s joyful and distinctive, and it tells you straight away that this city has personality.
Walking up to Signal Hill helps with the geography. The harbour below, the Atlantic beyond, and the strategic importance of this location becomes obvious. This spot is also where Marconi received the first transatlantic wireless signal in 1901. You feel so close to Europe, that you can almost see it.
St John’s has brilliant pubs, with live music almost every night, and locals who are genuinely welcoming. George Street, despite being only two blocks long, has more bars and clubs per square foot than anywhere else in North America. I spent an excellent evening hopping between venues, listening to traditional Newfoundland music and chatting to locals who insisted on buying a few rounds.
When travelling up Newfoundland’s eastern coast between late spring and early summer, you enter what is known as Iceberg Alley. This is where icebergs that have broken off Greenland’s glaciers drift south on the Labrador Current.
Seeing an iceberg in person gives you a sense of scale that photographs simply can’t capture. These aren’t little chunks of ice; they’re massive, ancient, and otherworldly. The one I saw near Twillingate was easily the size of a house, brilliant white on top and a vivid blue beneath the waves, drifting slowly past the coast.
Timing is everything with icebergs. They typically appear between April and July, depending on conditions. It’s unpredictable, which makes it all the more special when you spot one.
Gros Morne National Park lived up to every expectation. This UNESCO World Heritage site is extraordinary, both for its dramatic landscapes and its geological significance. You’re literally looking at pieces of the Earth’s crust that have been pushed up from the ocean floor.
The boat trip through Western Brook Pond is essential. Despite the name, this is actually a landlocked fjord, surrounded by cliffs that rise 600 metres straight up from the water. The boat winds through, giving you time to absorb the scale and the silence. It’s one of those places that makes you feel wonderfully small.
The Tablelands are equally fascinating. A rust-coloured, barren landscape that looks more like Mars than Newfoundland. This is mantle rock, and almost nothing grows on it because the mineral composition is toxic to most plants. Walking across it feels like being on another planet.
Visiting Fogo Island Inn was unlike anywhere else on my trip. This striking piece of modern architecture sits on the edge of Fogo Island, and everything about it has been carefully considered. The design is bold but respectful of the landscape, the interiors showcase local craftsmanship, and there’s a genuine connection to the surrounding community.
The inn works with the Shorefast Foundation to support the local economy and preserve traditional ways of life. You’re not just staying in a beautiful hotel; you’re participating in something meaningful.
The food was outstanding, the rooms were thoughtfully designed with floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Atlantic, and the whole experience felt special. It’s not cheap, but if you can stretch to it, it’s worth every penny.
Most Atlantic Canada holidays take place between May and October, when the weather is warmest and seasonal venues are open.
Late spring and early summer (May to June) bring fresh green landscapes, wildflowers, and fewer crowds. This is also iceberg season in Newfoundland. The weather can be changeable, so pack layers.
July and August are peak season, with the warmest temperatures and the liveliest atmosphere. Everywhere is open, festivals are happening, and you’ll meet plenty of other travellers. This also means that you need to book your accommodation in advance.
September and early October are my personal favourite times to visit. The autumn colours are spectacular, particularly in Cape Breton and New Brunswick. The weather is still pleasant, crowds have thinned, and there’s something magical about the light at this time of year.
Wildlife experiences, including whale watching and iceberg viewing, are seasonal, so factor that into your planning if they’re priorities.
Flying into Halifax is the most straightforward option, with direct flights from London Heathrow taking around six and a half hours. From there, you can easily hire a car and start your Atlantic Canada road trip.
Having a car is essential for exploring the region properly. Public transport exists but is limited, and so much of Atlantic Canada’s appeal is in the freedom to stop when something catches your eye. Having said this, if you don’t want to drive, there are some exceptional escorted tours around Atlantic Canada that give you a different insight into the scenery.
Distances around Atlantic Canada are very manageable. Halifax to Cape Breton is about four hours. Cape Breton to New Brunswick is another four to five hours. Everything feels achievable without spending your entire holiday in the car or coach.
If you’re planning to include Newfoundland, you can either fly into St John’s or take the overnight ferry from North Sydney, Nova Scotia. The ferry is an experience in itself, and gives you time to adjust to the pace of Newfoundland life.
I would recommend two to three weeks to explore Atlantic Canada. Two weeks gives you a solid introduction to Atlantic Canada, covering Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Prince Edward Island comfortably.
Three weeks lets you include Newfoundland and explore at a more relaxed pace.
Even a week focused just on Nova Scotia, particularly Cape Breton and the Cabot Trail, makes for a brilliant holiday. So there is no reason not to visit really is there?
Atlantic Canada isn’t about ticking off famous landmarks or amusement parks. It’s about space, rhythm, and letting the journey unfold naturally. Whether you’re driving a coastal road, hiking a scenic trail, or sitting down to fresh seafood, this region encourages you to slow down and engage with where you are.
The landscapes are spectacular. You can see dramatic cliffs, sheltered harbours, endless forests, and that ever-present Atlantic Ocean. The food is exceptional. The people are genuinely welcoming. And there’s a sense of discovery here that’s increasingly rare.
Having travelled through all four provinces, Atlantic Canada is a part of Canada I recommend without hesitation. It’s somewhere the journey itself becomes part of the memory, where you’ll find yourself pulling over for views you didn’t expect and having conversations with people that you’ve never met before but will remember long after you’ve returned home.
If you’re looking for somewhere different, somewhere beautiful, somewhere that rewards curiosity and unhurried exploration, Atlantic Canada should be at the top of your list.
Richard has more than 25 years of experience working within the travel industry. He has travelled widely in Europe, the USA & Canada, Australia & New Zealand, South East Asia, as well as Southern Africa. He enjoys exploring National Parks and other wilderness areas.
