On Newfoundland

On Weather

Every good Canadian story, be it a sincere conversation with dear friends or a casual need to fill up a few minutes between strangers, devotes a respectful amount of time to this favourite subject. Considering my experience here on Newfoundland so far, it seems a good place to start.

I think it was Pooh who once described a day in which he and Piglet were trudging their way against a wind so slanted that it seemed determined to force them to turn around return the way they came, as “blustery”. I couldn't help but recall that picture to mind today as I watched the predicted 140 km/hr winds, accompanied by rain which collected suspiciously like snow in some places (ie/ the ground), draw in across St. John's harbour. The wind and rain was blowing and billowing so thick and fast that you couldn't see through it to the other side of the harbour; you had to load the pockets of your rain gear with rocks for fear of being blown away; all you really wanted to do was wrap a blanket up around you on the sofa, grab a very big steaming mug of tea and a book, and let the wind rattle the windows while you stay warm and dry and stationary inside. Wind so fierce and determined that you hear it raging around your head at night, screaming through the trees and banging on the windows, ready to whip the door out of your hands as soon as you open it to step out into it if you don't hold tight enough. Blustery, indeed.

When the ferry finally landed me in Newfoundland a week ago, I was warned by the truckers not to park too close to the coast for that first night; the wind was apparently “coming up hard” in the morning and it could cause a bit of havoc for the Jamboree and I. On the road across Newfoundland, the wind was insistently provoking my abilities to keep the Jamboree on a straight course for hours on end, as if it was having a good laugh at my jerky two-hands-on-the-wheel dance in its honour. It took three days to drive to St. John's where normally two would have been enough.

Image of a girl leaning slightly inwards, eyes almost closed, both her scarf and her hair blowing at a 45 degree angle away from her.

And then one marvelously sunny and calm day to make up for it all, tucked up in between the rainy and windy, so that the newly christened Libby (little silver bike that I bought on PEI) and I could get out and about town to photograph the sights.

On the Sights

The Newfoundland I drove through and witnessed from points along this final stretch of the Trans Canada Highway: mountainous, rocky, colourful (trees), grand, natural, watery, rural, is d' b'y' y'know' lads.

St. John's: gorgeous, colourful (houses), quaint, spirited, chilly, picturesque, historic, lively, funky. All of this, and easy to get around, too.

I cycled to the top of Signal Hill. There stands Cabot tower, including a little museum documenting the story of Marconi receiving the first wireless signal ever from England. I commemorated my being there by sending a few text “signals” of my own from the spot.

Quidi Vidi, the oldest and absolutely quaintest fishing village in North America. Battery Road, with old houses built into unyeilding granite overlooking the harbour. The harbour, with giant oil ships, coast guard, fishing boats. Downtown St. John's: steep hills lined with brightly coloured houses; Duckworth and Water streets; the famous George street, with its longest concentration of pubs and bars in one stretch. A community named Pleasantville, where my friends live and where I've been more than generously hosted throughout my stay in St. John's, and which lives up to its name.

Seriously, I could live in St. John's, it has such a good feel to it. Like Ireland meets Canada. Two of my favourite places. Even when the sun isn't shining, its marvelous.

On Thanksgiving

I spent it here with friends whom I hadn't seen in five years, and with whom I shared previous Thanksgivings in Norway. There was the expected Turkey, and the for-me-unexpected-but-heartily-indulged-in potatoes and carrots harvested from their garden outside. And the two beautiful little girls that have come into their lives since I last saw them.

Amanda and Dave have welcomed me into their house for nearly a week: with the girls, we have shared mornings over coffee in pajamas; afternoons walking and playing and pulling carrots out of the garden; suppers of leftovers with Amanda's parents and conversations in the evening after the girls had gone to bed.

Because I don't have any of my own, wherever I go I end up borrowing my friends' kids. So, within a day the girls were my little shadows around the house. Now, there aren't many moves that I make that go unnoticed, nor opportunities for hugs or a round of hide-and-seek passed up. Now that a few days have gone by, I fear for both them and me upon my departure, as tears on both sides are sure to well up.

On Reaching the East Coast of Canada

Yes, I've now driven to the most easterly city in North America. I've looked out over the Atlantic ocean. I'm four and half hours away from BC and four and a half hours away from Europe. I've driven half of the way back from where I was this time last year in Amsterdam, and from where I started driving in Victoria in July.

I'm only 3.5/13th of the way through this year.

Why go so fast? Why not stretch it out? What will I do now that I've reached my goal, now that I've driven coast-to-coast?

Let's play muliple choice.

A: driving coast to coast was, while admittedly monumental, only one of my plans for this year.

B: as the weather worsens, so does my desire to drive and camp in it.

C: I am dying to know how America feels now that Obama is in charge.

D: I haven't yet found my “I'm-not-working-this-year” groove and so can't quite get myself to slow down yet.

In reference to the first part of this blog, the weather is a big deciding factor for me. If it were up to me, I'd stick around. But living in the Jamboree through a Canadian winter might be an experience I don't need to have. I've lived through enough Canadian winters in well-insulated and heated houses, and that's bearable. In a van, considerably less so. And as generous and hospitable as all the friends who have hosted me across the country have been, I'm sure none of them want me as a permanent fixture in their homes through the sleet and freezing temperatures and blizzards, no matter how many suppers I offer to prepare and how many times I shovel the snow.

So, I'm happy to say that the journey isn't quite over yet. Not by a long shot. (Is the journey ever really over?) As the weather becomes more and more typically what we have come to expect from this pre-winter time of year in Canada, I will, indeed head south for a while. I have a few more adventures and ideas to keep me busy down there while winter rages and settles in up here in our Utterly Fantastic Land of So Many Mind Bogglingly Beautiful Colours in the North, and turns it into our beloved Great White North. Some of which will see me returning to well before the sun melts it all away again. All of which I'll continue to blog, whether you want to read it or not.

But for now, anyway, I'm still here in Canada. I've reached St. John's and loved it, despite (or maybe even because of?) the weather, and don't intend to duck my tail south of the border just yet. Even if I wanted to go tomorrow, I couldn't, its just a wee bit more than a day's drive away and anyway, I have a few more Atlantic Canadian adventures up my sleeves to get through before I pull out the passport again. Come rain or wind... or even snow!

Newfoundland part 1