There’s a Ship Lying Waiting in the Harbour……..

July 5 – 7, 2006

So long! Farewell! Goodbye Newfoundland – forever in our hearts.The ferry left right on time at 8am and we immediately adjusted our watches that silly half hour. Sunny when we left, the fog descended so we stayed inside most of the journey, snoozing and reading.

We were on the road by 1:30 wanting to make a bit of distance. It’s amazing what a difference two weeks makes when summer holidays start in the middle of it. The RV traffic had increased ten fold heading north as we aimed south. It reinforced that we made the right decision in timing. Not able to find a rest area or pullout for over a hundred miles, we finally pulled in to a trucking company lot with the intention of a little lunch and a rest. But Fernie was exhausted and I took a walk back through the gravel yard full of tractors and trailers, up to the work bays where I could see some workmen tinkering with truck tires.

It was very difficult for me to encroach on to such an area and I felt nervous and out of my realm but fought it and confidently said “Hi guys!” (I tossed up using Hi fellas – nah, too old-fashioned; or Hello gentlemen but that was ludicrous) They looked up at me blankly, dirty and sweaty in their big blue overalls and skullcaps.
“Do you think it would be ok if we parked our motorhome in your lot overnight?” I croaked.
The older of the two answered “Can’t say there’d be a problem, but we’d better ask the boss man”. He beckoned me to follow him through the shop and into the office where he called over the owner and said “The lady has a question for you”.
Once more I nervously choked out the request.
“Sure, why not. You can pull in anywhere you want but around the back of the building, you could even plug in to electricity”. I was overwhelmed and thanked him profusely, excited to tell Fernie that he didn’t have to move on. But Fernie wasn’t happy. He said it wasn’t’ safe with all the gravel and trucks in and out all night. They’d spin gravel up and chip Maggie. He appeared to have found some new energy because he said “We’re moving out of here”. I was a trifle aggravated to say the least.

I phoned the Walmart in Amherst, Nova Scotia near the New Brunswick border and they said it was ok to park overnight. It turned out to be a five star Walmart – large, level lot with grassy verges, trees and a herd of llama across the road.

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We’d picked up another chip in our windshield along the way, so the first order of the day was to get that fixed. Speedy Glass took us in right away and only charged $40. While it was being repaired, we looked around Amherst, a Victorian town with many heritage buildings and some of the most beautiful old mansions restored to their original beauty.

Fernie discovered that his gas cap was missing when we fuelled up. Déjà vu! That meant a stop at the local Ford dealer. They didn’t have the part in stock, but they called Moncton (40 miles down the road) and asked them to hold one for us. I was a bit ‘cranky’ that he’d left the cap behind and compounded things by dropping my Visa card at the gas pump – that’s what happens when you let your emotions loose. It was 24 hours later that I discovered it missing and luckily, a stranger picked it up and phoned Visa who immediately cancelled the card.

Hopewell Rocks, are tide eroded cliffs situated at the top end of the Bay of Fundy. Over time, they’ve been fashioned into strange shapes and when the tide is out you can ‘walk on the ocean floor’. It is eerie with the seaweed-encrusted rocks, the red mud of the tidal basin and the fairy story shapes of the towering rocks. It was low tide and I asked a young park ranger if we could walk the length of the beach and not have to retrace our steps. She said ‘It’s possible but there’s a piece in the middle with a lot of rocks. When you get past them it’s just beach until you reach another trail back up to the top. We’d left Caesar in the motorhome, which left us free to really explore the area. We ambled along, picking up stones and inspecting little crabs passing through rocks that were fashioned into tunnels.

When we started, there were hordes of people, but it got quieter further on. We reached the rocky area the ranger had mentioned and there was what looked like an impassable mass of boulders but we thought we’d try and get over them. There was a lot of huffing and puffing and hanging on as we clambered over the immense rocks and I got quite afraid that I’d never make it. We were surprised that nobody else was climbing over the boulders but figured we’d see a bunch of people the other side but we saw no one the remaining hike along the beach or along the long trail back up to the top. I guess not too many try it. Exhaustion set in half way up the hill and we were so relieved to get back to Maggie and Caesar.

The Walmart in St. John turned us down when I phoned them, so we headed for Fredericton – they said ‘Sure thing’. It wasn’t the best though because the lot was full of paving equipment and where they suggested we park was right beside the main road. It was extremely noisy overnight with trucks using their engine brakes all night long.

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We awoke to bedlam! The construction crew had started and it was noisy and dusty. We had intended on staying an extra night but Fernie found a notice on our windshield from the shopping centre management asking that we not stay overnight again – a direct contradiction from the Walmart staff. However, we were quite happy to vacate – it wasn’t up to our five star standards.

We mooched around Fredericton in the morning. It’s the capital of New Brunswick, a historical area, and there was seemingly no industry, which made for an attractive city. Then we tootled on down to St. John – an hour south on the Bay of Fundy. We parked Maggie in an abandoned gas station on the outskirts so we could have a look around in the Honda. It’s famous for the ‘Reversing Falls’ caused by the sudden high tide that swoops up the narrow channel but it’s now become a paying tourist attraction. When I was there in 1970, it was free and I was totally unimpressed. We stopped at a shady park in the centre of town and lounged and strolled around with Caesar who totally enjoyed meeting the local dogs in person or in scent. A statue of Samuel Champlain puzzled us – it was inscribed with the dates 1604 – 1904. He really lived to be an old chap!

This was it – the last day of our Cross Canada sojourn. Sixty-nine days packed with culture, history, geography, wildlife, family visits, bad weather and good weather. We were always stimulated and never bored. We found we could live together 24/7 in a small area without killing each other – actually seldom aggravating each other. We love our country more than ever before. In its vastness, Canada is still full of patriotism, bonding us from Newfoundland to British Columbia and almost all in between.

Hooterville!

July 4, 2006
Our boondocking pad in Stephenville was the best ever. We woke lazily to the pounding of the surf and the distant shrieking of the gulls on their early morning fishing foray. Caesar, in his new short fur coat, slept soundly – the night was much cooler too beside the ocean with the windows wide open.

It was Maggie maintenance day. Fernie lubes the jacks and slides every couple of weeks and today was the day. The fog of yesterday had diminished to a thin mist that the sun easily pierced through. While Fernie worked, Caesar and I went walking (well part walking and part my carrying him) along the shore. Small airplanes took off over our heads, circled and banked and roared out over the bay, like huge seabirds revelling in the freedom of flying.

We were in no hurry to leave Stephenville, as we couldn't line up until midnight for our 8am ferry the next day and Port aux Basques was only 100 miles south. The Port au Port Peninsula, due west of Stephenville is reached by the French Ancestors' Route. The further along the peninsula we got, the more French it became and when we reached Cap Ste. Georges, at the tip, it was 100% Francais. The golden rays of warm sunshine bathed us as we lounged around the cape. Miraculously, there was no wind. Red rock cliffs, crashing surf, swirling sea birds, azure pools, sun glinted ocean, whales spouting just offshore, the tuckamore (trees permanently windswept) on the cliff tops – all the ingredients to make us thrilled to be alive. Some may find the Caribbean islands or Hawaii to be their Utopia, but a day such as this in a place such as this and I've reached my Nirvana.

Leaving Cap Ste. George to circle the peninsula, the highway climbs high to the top of the tabletop mountain, glides along the plateau and then swoops down towards the north coast. A sudden panorama enfolded way down below, the ocean Kelly green, white sand beaches and towns scattered haphazardly along the coast, their white houses glowing in the sunshine.




All over Newfoundland, we'd noticed the predilection for making the plain – ornate. As if the terrain, the wildflowers, and the seascapes weren't beautiful enough, the village people decorated and gilded their yards with everything imaginable – way beyond the usual 'garden gnome décor'. There were:
· Tires sliced in half and filled with artificial flowers
· A row of wooden curly-haired girls with parasols, bonnets and baskets of flowers
· Little black boys in straw hat holding fishing poles
· Rows of flags
· Airplanes with spinning propellers and other whirligigs
· Animals of all kinds' some wooden, some wrought iron, some ceramic, some plush. In front of one home was a giant plush white polar bear held up with wires as if he soared over the scores of other little creatures below
· Waterfalls and ponds with wooden caricatures and more little fishing black boys – they were the favourite.
· Golden shiny lions with broad grins
· A score of wooden lighthouses from 6 inches to 20 feet tall
This bric-a-brac amused and entertained us as we toured Newfoundland but the award for the epitome of tacky décor has to go the folks in Mainland on the Port-au-Port Peninsula. A mass of white painted rocks structured into abstract lighthouses with some rocks painted scarlet, interspersed with truly abstract designs in the same colour scheme. It would probably glow in the dark because on a sunny day, it's blinding.

We did a double take when we noticed a huge new house overlooking the spectacular St. Georges Bay and it had 'NO' windows. We pondered whether they couldn't afford to add windows and if in the future they'd cut them out as they could afford them. I can't imagine living in a house without windows. Many of the houses had unaligned, mismatched windows – some square, some octagonal as if they put them in as the acquired them.

Most of the houses in Newfoundland are painted white other than the pastel row houses in St. John. So when a colourful house appears, it really stands out as did the stark black structure just around the corner; it had no trim to break up the black and it had antlers across the front of it – gloomy and ominous. I believe the windows were even painted black.

Arriving back in Stephenville, we decided to see if our Newfoundland amis, George and Madeline who had welcomed us two weeks previously, were at home. We wanted to say goodbye. Madeline squealed with delight and called out to George in the back yard "Go on back" she said to Fernie.
"Yuh came back?" George slapped Fernie on the shoulder "Yuh came back!" as if he couldn't believe it.
"I said I would" Fernie answered.
"Jeez, I gotta show you my strawberries – come on"
As I approached, he grabbed me in a huge bear hug "Now youse had a Newfoundland hug" and he picked me a big red juicy strawberry.
The two of them pranced gleefully around us like little elves, chattering away on top of each other.
"I gotta show you pictures of Stephenville years ago," said George dragging us into the house. It was a humble abode, floors slanting, and furniture old and shabby but it was a clean and happy environment. They proudly showed us photos on the walls of their parents, grandparents, children, grandchildren and of themselves as a young couple. Then they pulled out the albums to show us how their house, now across from the Walmart shopping centre in the middle of town, used to be surrounded by fields.
"Next time yuh come, I'm gonna take you and your rig up in the mountains behind Hooterville and I'm gonna show you how many mooses we have here" said George " I'll take my rig (pointing to his old motorhome) and we'll have a time".
We finally extricated ourselves knowing it was time to head down to Port aux Basques. I can still see their smiling faces, as they waved us off – still there as we rounded the corner.

Fernie was craving seafood ever since lunchtime so we looked for a fish café in Port aux Basques with no luck. However, while touring east along the south coast on Highway 470, we found "The Seashore Bar & Restaurant" in the little town of Margaree – population 610. An old-fashioned establishment with oilcloths on the tables, it was run by a young couple – husband the cook; wife the server. It was very busy – full of locals. Fernie said, "That's a good sign". I replied, "There isn't anywhere else to choose from".

The menu astounded us – prices from thirty years ago. The Tuesday special was two pieces of chicken and fries for $2.50. Beer by the bottle $2.75 so was a glass of wine or a liquor. Our dinner, fish of course, was delicious and we were persuaded to have rhubarb cobbler and ice cream for dessert. The bill including wine and beer and tax was $23.31. Fernie told them "You're not charging enough". I hope the locals didn't hear him.

We weren't permitted to park in the ferry terminal until the midnight boat left but we found a pull-off beside the road overlooking the ferry dock where we stayed in the interim, catching a couple of hours sleep there before transferring to the dock.

Oh Canada………Glorious and Free!

July 1-3, 2006
We hauled out our 6” Maple Leaf flag and stuck it in a cup holder. We’ve had a two-month introduction to so many facets of this fabulous country that we’re feeling more patriotic than ever before. Newfoundland has been the cherry on the top of the sundae – it’s a microcosm of Canadian society thirty years ago

Joey Smallwood, the first premier of Newfoundland who stayed in office from their entry into Confederation in 1949 until 1972 was born in the little town of Gambo just east of Gander. He’s still remembered and there’s a lookout on the highway not far from town called ‘Joey’s Lookout’. A Newfoundland couple that we met along the way, Doug and Mary referred to him with scorn as a charismatic little Hitler.

Gander, a town where our son David was stranded at fourteen years old in1981 (or was it Goose Bay, Labrador?) was developed around the English air base built in the 1930’s. The airport was subsequently used as a refuelling stop for trans-Atlantic flights. This site was chosen because the area gets very little fog. It’s a quiet town with a brand new Walmart that has a freshly paved parking lot, new grass and trees and was closed on Canada Day, so we had it all to ourselves. What more could we want? A wifi signal only a quarter block away was just what I needed to catch up banking and other business. Unfortunately, the town Laundromat was closed – it would have been the perfect time to do the wash.

You’re probably wondering why a 14 year old would be stranded alone in Gander. He was joining his uncle, a seabird biologist with the Canada Wildlife Service on a two-month scientific expedition using Zodiacs to navigate the Labrador coast to Cape Chidley at the top end. His uncle was delayed and David had to stay in barracks for several days waiting for him. Forlorn and lonely, he was also ill with a touch of what might have been food poisoning. I just found out that it wasn’t Gander; it was Goose Bay. So this story is irrelevant.

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Sunday morning on a long weekend and the roads were very quiet. The weather was cooperative as we slid out of Gander but about twenty miles west we encountered a dark ominous sky laying dead ahead. It was like a dark curtain coming down on us as we approached the gloom. Sudden jagged lightning, driving sheets of rain propelled by hurricane force gales his us harshly from the side. Visibility was about zero, so Fernie slowed to about 20mph and fought to keep Maggie on the road. It was really frightening but about five minutes later it was all over. We were shaken at the intensity and so thankful that we could see a patch of blue sky ahead.

An otherwise uneventful journey took us to Corner Brook where we happily found a Laundromat. The Walmart accommodated several RV’s when we arrived and the Canadian Tire alongside had a free RV dump station. Such hospitality!

Corner Brook is the second largest city in Newfoundland with a population of only 25,000. It has a beautiful harbour and in certain positions along the docks, I thought I was in Vancouver with the mountains in the background. We took a drive down Humber Arm to Blow Me Down and the Bay of Islands but it was foggy and therefore not too scenic.

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Caesar had another bad night. These episodes are coming more often now - breathless, panting and restless but with his hip he can’t walk. In the morning, we were exhausted but Caesar settled down to a good sleep. He’s ok for now.

He hadn’t been to a groomer since he left Vancouver and his fur was long and thick. We expected that Newfoundland would be cold so didn’t want to get him trimmed until after we left. We were so wrong – out of twelve days here so far, we’ve only had one or two cool days otherwise it’s been hot. So maybe these panting nights would be relieved if he got rid of his fur coat. We were apprehensive about taking him to a groomer with his painful hip and thought maybe we should buy some clippers and do it ourselves.

We pulled into Stephenville on Monday, which was a stat holiday, and as fate would have it, right on the main street was a little ‘doggie parlour’ and surprisingly, it was open for business. It was a combination pet supply shop and grooming salon. I spoke to Florrie, a tough, heavy-set, heart-of-gold type young woman who loved dogs – she had four of her own and spoke of them with such adoration. When I told her about Caesar and his problems, she was so sympathetic and convinced the owner to fit him in right away. They told me that to keep his ‘Westie cut’ with the skirt and hairy legs would cause him much more discomfort than just shaving his hair down short all over. At this point, his comfort is worth more than his beauty, so I agreed as long as they kept his Westie head.

Two hours later, we picked up a new dog – smelling sweet with a lean little body. There was a litter of 7-week-old puppies running around, the owner’s little yorkie and a huge blue and yellow uncaged parrot eyeing us up from his perch. When they put Caesar down, he paid no attention to us but immediately limped over to the dogs, tail wagging madly. I think he enjoyed his afternoon at the doggie spa.

While waiting to pick up Caesar, we wanted to keep busy so we vacuumed out the Honda, found a free wifi signal and checked email, found the post office to mail some important letters and did some maintenance on Maggie.

We parked Maggie at an abandoned airstrip right beside the ocean – a great cement pad with a stupendous view of St. George’s Bay and the waves crashing on the beach. There was a free RV dump station at the top end and so we did a cleanup. An artesian spring at the top end of town supplies the locals with their drinking water. We figured we could fill up Maggie’s water tank there but the lineup of cars waiting to fill their jugs and the large pipe that the water gushed out of (that we couldn’t connect our hose to) convinced us otherwise. We had a couple of 10 litre water bottles in the car though and we filled them up. Hmmmm…where could we get water for Maggie? We asked at a couple of service stations and they didn’t have hose bibs and had no idea where we could fill up. Finally, just as we were about to give up, we stopped at an auto body shop near where we parked Maggie and the proprietor told us to pull her up and use his faucet. Nice guy!

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We were watching the local Vancouver news and they were doing a piece on how vandalism is out of control. We haven’t even see graffiti in Newfoundland. I’m sure they have their problems, but it’s a protected society of small towns and they seem to police themselves. They are family oriented and we’ve seen so many well-behaved and polite children. Yesterday in the grocery store, we overheard a small boy of about four years old say to his mother “That’s really nice of you Mommy to buy me some jelly beans. Thank you!”. We were so impressed and commented to the mother who smiled and said proudly “Yes, he’s a good little boy”.

Another time, we were having dinner in a restaurant and across from us was a young family – parents and two little boys about 6 and 7 years old. The parents talked to the boys over dinner and the boys chatted but they sat perfectly, never spoke loudly and had beautiful manners. As we left, I went up to their table and told the parents that we were so impressed with the lovely job they’ve done with their children and commended them. They were delighted.

We have seen no farms in Newfoundland; the rocky soil can’t be fertile enough. I’m surprised their produce isn’t more expensive when it has to be transported in by land and sea. Their prices are much like ours in Vancouver but I’m sure the wages are much lower here. We haven’t seen a dairy farm either nor have there been any cattle grazing other than maybe a half a dozen here and there.

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Westward Ho!

June 30, 2006
.We’ve reached the end of the line, two months after leaving Vancouver; we’re turning around – we can’t go any further east. Our St. John’s Walmart was one kilometre from the end of the Trans Canada Highway and Cape Spear was the most easterly point in North America. So from today, all roads lead towards home.

I loved the old-world charm of St. John’s, it’s pretty pastel houses, its hidden protected harbour, its little pockets of history but I won’t miss the windClarenville, a modern town was our choice for the night because of its proximity to the Bonavista Peninsula. Its Walmart holds the title of ‘the smallest Walmart in N. America’ but there was plenty of room for us to park. Several other RVs joined us for the night.


On the road to Bonavista, we noticed sequential signs proclaiming ‘Chip Truck ‘n More’; the signs were every kilometre for five kilometres giving us lots of time to discuss ‘do we want chips? Or not?’. It was good marketing. We stopped and shared a heaping dish of those evil, deep-fried, artery clogging, calorie laden, scrumptious sprinkled with malt vinegar chips (aka French Fries). The whole Chip Truck family were there – a rather portly group, relaxing in their lounge chairs. There were Grandma and Grandpa who manned the kitchen, a young couple with their 15-month-old baby, Evan and a couple of teenagers. Mom and Evan stuck their heads into our car window to say ‘Hi’ and look at the ‘bow-wow’. Caesar was mildly impressed at the interruption.

I was driving the Honda in my usual fashion (as if I’m racing in the Indy 500), rounded a bend and had to slam on the brakes because there before us was Trinity. It was the most picture-perfect moment you could imagine – wildflowers of all colours in profusion framed the town below which was nestled in a cove with a mist veiled lighthouse in the background. The area was discovered by a Portuguese explorer, Real in 1499 and he named it for the day he landed there – Trinity Sunday. The town boasts dozens of heritage buildings and when we arrived in the bright sunshine, some remnants of mist swirled and curled around the harbour as we strolled through the twisty lanes.

A few miles further down the coast lies Bonaventure where they film a TV series that I’ve never seen or heard of – ‘Random Passage’. The locale was also used for the Kevin Spacey film ‘Shipping News’. While Trinity was in sunshine, Bonaventure only five miles away was shrouded in deep damp fog.

Cape Bonavista is at the tip of the peninsula and it was extremely clear and hot while we expected chilly fog. John Cabot – really Giovanni Caboto – landed there in 1497. Magnificent rock formations with frothy waves crashing, navy blue ocean, beautiful clear emerald green pools and birds circling noisily – I wonder if it was like that when he arrived. Caesar met McDuff, a 13 year old westie from Ottawa, on the cape and it revitalized him. His ears were perky and his little carrot tail waved jauntily as they did the ‘sniff and pee’ thing.

These long days of sightseeing are taking their toll. By the time we get back to Maggie, we’re so tired we can’t wait to get to bed. Gotta take a break – tomorrow.

The Summer Wind

June 28 – 29, 2006
The wind came up strongly in the middle of the night and we got up to put in the slides. There was a bit of rain too, but that was finished by the morning – the strong wind carried on. By talking to the locals, it seems that if it’s not windy, it’s foggy so they are quite happy with the blustery weather. It’s a very warm wind and folks greet you with “Another beautiful day, is’n it?”

The most easterly peninsula, south of St. John’s is circled by ‘The Irish Loop’ and we’d been told that if we talked to the locals in the little villages, we’d think we were in Ireland. How true that is. Some of the accents are as broad as the Irish. Signs proclaimed O’Brien, O’Callaghan, Doyle, Walsh, etc. We made lots of stops at what they call interpretative sites (actually just information on the history of the area) and took back roads to isolated lighthouses and coves. Fog rolled in and out as we drove, one minute blue sky, next in deep sea mist. A rookery on the south coast was home to a puffin colony but the fog was too thick to see them.

The southern end of the cape, referred to as The Barrens is reminiscent of a Daphne Du Maurier novel with the rambling foggy moors. It’s remote, isolated and extremely gloomy when the fog rolls in. Here and there were dotted tiny cabins with no electricity or running water; outhouses nearby. I wondered if they were squatters. Chance Cove, a provincial park even allows free camping. I guess it’s so remote that not many visit there.

We stopped in St. Mary’s at the Harbour View Pub/Restaurant. It was run by a young married couple. She cooked and served the meals while he looked after the pub. I asked her where she came from because her accent was so different from her husband’s. She said she came from Trepassey, a town just thirty miles south on the same highway and her husband was born right there in St. Mary’s. “Just go down the road 10 miles and they’ll have a different accent” she said.

She brought our lunch and drinks and Fernie asked her what ‘tongues’ were. They were on the menu. “You never tasted tongues?” she asked. “They’re cod tongues and they’re pretty popular ‘round here – I’m going back in the kitchen and cook you up a couple to try”. She was off before we could argue. Her husband walked through and remarked “Oy, there’s nuttin’ like a heap o’ tongues – when I was a lad and I ain’t old now – jus’ 34 – you could get 12 tongues for a dollar, now it’s 6 for $5. I really luv em but me wife - not so much”. His wife reappeared with four fried tongues on a plate. “Now, you won’t have t’ say you never tasted tongues” she said with a smile and off she went to the kitchen.

So, what did we think of tongues? They’re pretty mild in flavour, not unpleasant, but the texture is a bit chewy. Not something I’d choose. But we were overwhelmed by her kindness and friendliness, as we seem to be with every encounter in Newfoundland.

Arriving back in St. John’s, we took a drive over to Cape Spear, the easternmost point in North America and it’s just a bit south of Signal Hill. The original lighthouse still exists and it’s been made into a showcase of what an 1830 lighthouse was like. It was a combination house / lighthouse and families lived in it with no outside access except by boat. There’s a new lighthouse now and these days, they’re automated. No need for lighthouse keepers anymore. The high winds were a blessing even though it was really hard walking and climbing. There’s a beautiful view of the entrance to St. John’s harbour and Signal Hill but it’s hardly ever visible because it’s usually in the fog.

We were dead tired when we got back and struggled to go out and do a bit of necessary shopping (we were out of vodka ;-) ). The winds were higher than ever but it was so very warm that people were in shorts and as always walking everywhere.

* * * * * * * * * *

The wind howled and shook Maggie all night long but the rocking motion put me to sleep quite soundly. I’m amazed at the temperatures in St. John’s – we had expected cold, rainy weather and here it is 30 degrees C in the daytime and only going down to 19 degrees C overnight. If only they could eradicate the wind but I’m sure if they did, it would be socked in with fog all the time.

As we drove to Castle Hill Bastion near the town of Placentia and the Argentia ferry to Nova Scotia, the fog cycled in and out sometimes getting dark and thick only to be replaced with bright blue sky minutes later. It was a good steep hike around the mountaintop fortress that the French held against the British – again. And again, the British kicked them out and they moved to Louisbourg, Nova Scotia only to be expelled from there by the British. Historically, it seems the French and British never got along…….Fernie and I are proving that it is possible for the two cultures to merge and prosper.
The tiny town of Cupid on the western shore of Conception Bay, claims that it was the first town in Canada settled by the British in about 1612. Just a few miles down the road is Brigus, which was settled soon after. It has retained its British colonial façade and a man by the name of ‘Captain Bob’ Bartlett hailed from Brigus. His family home has been restored and taken over by the National Historic Sites. Cap’n Bob led Peary in his expeditions to the North Pole but as I read about him and toured his home, I found I disliked him intently. He was a ‘man’s man’ in the pattern of Ernest Hemingway – whom I also abhor. There were photos of him trapping polar bears and walrus(es) -( what is the plural of walrus? Walri?) and restraining them cruelly. He was brought up in an area that supported the seal hunt – the towns subsisted on cod fishing and seal clubbing. They must have been a blood-thirsty bunch. Anyway, that’s not a discussion that I’ll pursue on this blog – I feel too passionate about it.

Caesar patiently waits in the car while we tour the sites. We try to take him to grassy spots as often as possible to get a little exercise, but he’s still not walking well and after five or ten minutes, he just sits down and waits to be carried. We leave the car windows wide open as do many others without fear of theft. It’s a society that doesn’t lock their doors when they leave their houses. Caesar’s highlights today were meeting a Yorkshire terrier and sharing Fernie’s ice cream cone. Poor ol’ geezer!

This Land is Your Land; This Land is My Land, From Bonavista ……….

June 27, 2006
Our sleep was fitful – waking to the truckers using Jake brakes on city streets and the Walmart night staff piping their music over the intercom all night long.

We expected Newfoundland to be cold and rainy but it’s been quite hot and humid at times and we’ve only seen a few spots of rain. We woke to another glorious day. We were on the road by 8am, not wanting to spend another minute in Grand Falls/Windsor. The Trans Canada Hwy #1 wound through Terra Nova Park and past the Bonavista Peninsula (now I know where Bonavista is) and we ended the day in St. John’s – the final destination in our easterly journey…..It’s all west now.

It was sunny and hot when we arrived in St. John’s – and everybody was out walking; it’s a Newfoundland tradition. Up the hills, down the steps, over the mountains, through the town – old ones, young ones, fat ones, thin ones – everyone was walking. I had a preconceived idea of what St. John’s would look like, having seen many photos but it’s far more picturesque and quaint than I expected. There were lots of big trees, the terrain very green, beautiful big mansions as well as the colourful row houses that I expected.

Now we’re back to the standard of Walmart that we like. Pristine conditions, lush green grass, lots of trees and level clean parking. Gee, you’d think we were comparing 5* hotels or at least you’d think we were paying customers. Near the airport, the Walmart was in an area of brand new big box stores but it was less than ten minutes to get right downtown.

St. John’s is one of the oldest cities in North America and it seems more European in layout than Canadian. There’s no grid system here just windy, narrow and steep roads. We accidentally found the quaint little village of Quidi Vidi just on the north side of Signal Hill and were amazed at its narrow streets – barely room to get my car through them. I spied a couple of men in a lane, leaning on their shovels and chatting; I asked them how to find the entrance to Signal Hill. They smiled not minding my interruption at all and started with “We just hauled us up a noice sof’ rock to sit on” and continued “Well now, you cun climb up there to that there trail but it’s a long walk o’er the mountain or you cun go back down the hill, around the corner, follow the curvy road that winds around and if yer lucky, you’ll find the road up Signal Hill”. They both slapped their thighs with mirth and bid me “Good luck lass!”

So I drove back down the hill, and around the corner and I followed the curvy road that winds around the mountain and I found it. Signal Hill, where Marconi sent his first wireless signal across the Atlantic (as opposed to the voice signal? in Cape Breton), stands sentinel over the narrow harbour opening from the Atlantic. Atop the hill stands Cabot Tower and the view of the city and the ocean from up there is breathtaking. The walkers were everywhere, crawling across the innumerable trails like ants. I saw the same people miles apart, still walking.

Waiting at a traffic light in St. John’s, we could hear loud Irish pipe music (Lord of the Dance style) and noticed a young man in the car ahead of us bopping so madly to the tune that his car was rocking. It was his CD turned loud that we could hear…….we found it so funny – where else would young fellows groove to locally cultural music - ‘Only In Newfoundland’

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