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.