Almost Wordless Wednesday

This year during NaBloPoMo, my Almost Wordless Wednesday posts will be of remarkable images that absolutely blew me away this year. They simply defy appropriate description.

Today's picture comes from our July trip to Newfoundland. We were given fair warning as to the multitude of icebergs visible from all over the province, but we were unprepared for the stunning beauty when confronted with it. The shades of lapis lazuli, azure, and cerulean were positively breathtaking.

Mother Nature certainly put on a show for the east coast this year, but we cannot and should not forget that the increase in bergs has been scientifically attributed to a gradual warming of the planet and of  the breaking down of the polar icecap. There is something disconcerting about taking in the beauty while simultaneously worrying about our fragile earth.

You Know You're a Tourist in Newfoundland When...

After 10 days of travelling around this province I have learned a few things. The Islanders can spot the tourists a mile away. How do they do it, you may ask? Check it out in the latest edition of...

YOU KNOW YOU'RE A TOURIST IN NEWFOUNDLAND WHEN.....

Everybody in the local pub is eating moose burgers, moose stew, Jiggs Dinner, and cod tongues and you are eating a salad.

You are the conspicuous idiots in town holding your cell phones aloft searching for service. This is especially true if your carrier is Rogers.

When you complain vociferously that the totality of your moose sightings on the highway is limited to a solitary baby with no discernible antlers.

When you can't understand the directions to the washroom even though the nice woman who gave them to you spoke English.

You begin to marvel at the fact that most small towns here have more churches than fire trucks.

Potholes become a bigger and more dangerous road hazard to you than are other cars and drivers, and you let out audible sighs of relief at the very scarce 500 metres of freshly paved asphalt.

You squeal like a seven-year-old girl with a new puppy at the sight of every single iceberg in every single bay across the entire province.

You spend a Saturday evening of your vacation partying in a motel room with your friends, a bag of nacho chips, a jar of salsa, and a fifth of Wisers because that's all that there is to do in St. Bride's.

You actually consider buying that kind of cute puffin bottle opener you spotted inThe craft shop/tourist trap in Bonavista.

It's nine degrees Celsius outside with a brisk windchill and you are the only people in town NOT wearing shorts and a tank top.

When you are surprised that every gas station has a liquor store.

You are stunned at the pleasant nature and authenticity of the locals and you notice that nobody has honked a horn or flipped you the bird in almost ten days.

I invite my travel companions to add their own observations in the comment section. This has been an amazing journey. We will come back from away soon b'y.

Posted with Blogsy

Whether the Weather

If one is thinking about a trip to The Rock, a few items need to be on any packing list.

1. A good and sturdy pair of walking shoes. I'm not talking about your basic gym shoes here. These need to be all-weather, ankle-supported, excellent traction, comfortable footwear. You will not be walking the city streets of Europe here. Without decent foot-coverings you might find yourself sliding down an embankment in Elliston or puddle-jumping in St. John's. I have never been so happy with a pair of shoes as I am with my new Merell hikers. I could do a commercial for them. (And I just might!) They have saved me several times over the past week.
2. Warm clothing that can be layered to accommodate the ever-changing weather patterns. When we left Glovertown this morning it was sunny and hot. When we arrived at the ecological reserve at Cape St. Mary's this afternoon, it was foggy, gusty, drizzling, and chilly. Several layers and a light pair of gloves were a godsend.
3. An all-weather windbreaker is an absolute must. (A hood is a great idea too.) Besides the obvious warmth factor, the jackets have provided protection against rain, mist, intense, wind, and cool fog.

All of the above played important roles in our trip and hike out to Cape St. Mary's to view the natural nesting habitats of several of Newfoundland's native birds. The 1.5 km path, while mostly flat, does have its share of rocky hills and divots, and the entirety of the walk out to the cape is littered with sheep shit. It is almost as if the sheep that were grazing on either side purposefully meandered over to the path to relieve themselves so that we two-legged mammals have to run an amusing gauntlet so as to avoid their excrement. Those aforementioned Merells allowed me to venture off the path from time to time so that I might keep from stomping on sheep pies. Twin Son's Better Half was amazed at the idiot girls wandering out in flip flops. That could be an unholy mess.

The intense weather picked up the closer we got to the cape. (By the way...for all those concerned...this is NOT Hurricane Arthur. That is hitting the west side of the island and Nova Scotia and New Brunswick. We may get some residual rain tonight, but this is just normal Newfoundland weather.) The wind gusts were mighty enough to blow us off the path several times, and the fog and drizzle intensified with each step. Twin Son lost vision in one eye because his glasses got so foggy. Hikers walking back warned us to stay far enough away from the cliffs when we got there. They said they were almost knocked over and since none of us flew like the gannets we were hoping to view, the warning was well heeded. Our windbreakers were key to this adventure. The hoods allowed us to keep moving and kept us relatively dry.

It is hard to fathom why we would push on through such mess, but there was method to our madness. The nesting grounds at the cliffs are a wonder to behold. Northern Gannet, Murres, and Black-Legged Kittiwakes were all in abundance and their nests visible. It is a natural beauty unlike any I have ever seen and worth the walk even in such inhospitable weather.

Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. You just have to be prepared for whatever Newfoundland throws in your direction.

 

 

Posted with Blogsy

Newfoundland Truisms

A few truisms from The Rock.

 

Everything is picturesque here. Even an abandoned pile of lobster traps can make for an incredible photo. I have surmised on more than one occasion as to what this province must look like in the winter. I shudder at the thought.

 

There is very little room for subtlety. When a native Islander wants something, they tell you immediately. Today we were sitting on the porch of a small pub in the remote fishing village of Salvage. (That's pronounced Sal-vah-ge, just in case you were wondering.) Twin Son was blocking the path of a not so tiny waitress as she attempted to make her way to a far table. She looked him square in the eye and said with complete sincerity and humour "Whose you think youse looking at, b'y?" She basically meant that there was no way that she was going to squeeze through unless he moved. We fell off our chairs laughing with her.

 

Nobody has any thought about distances. We decided that we would only drive about 4 of the 7 hours that it was going to take us to get from Gros Morne to Cape St. Mary. As a result we decided to stop this afternoon in Glovertown. (That rhymes with Clovertown.) We were told by our host Keith to drive a short while and we would find Salvage, the most photographed fishing village in Canada, (who am I to argue with Keith) and another short hop would take us to Sandy Cove. Well, we covered more miles during this "quick jogs" than we did over the last hour of our drive on the Trans-Canada. Nothing is close here, but people live in their vehicles and don't seem to mind.

 

The Atlantic Ocean is "frickin' freezing" here. Twin Son's Better Half finally got her chance to stick her feet in the water at Sandy Cove. Her utterly priceless reaction was that it was "foot-numbing" and certainly not Florida's Atlantic Ocean. It must be all those icebergs that we are still seeing in copious numbers.

 

Do you remember that priceless scene in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, when Andrea Martin's character looks incredulously at John Corbett when he tells her that he's a vegetarian and then she informs him no worries, she'll make lamb? Well, that has been the reaction of most servers to The Husband and me when we have ordered salad for dinner. What's the matter? We''ll make you somes fish, missus! It just doesn't seem to be on the radar for restaurants here. Oh well. Nobody said an alternative diet choice was going to be easy.

 

It must be some kind of law here that everybody who runs a B&B must be an extroverted quirky character with personality right out of an Alice Munro short story. Keith, like Preston before him, has made our B&B experience more than pleasurable and certainly worthy of praise. The Lilac Inn is a beautifully appointed old manor with all of the modern conveniences. He has been a true gentleman and a wonderful tour guide. These two guys have done their province proud. Trip Advisor is going to see some raves from these Ontarians.

 

 

 

Posted with Blogsy

Culturally Speaking

As we sat in a pub last evening listening to another Newfoundland band playing some great tunes, The Husband remarked to me that while it is obvious that The Rock has its own unique culture and is extraordinarily proud of that history and in maintaining it, he was hard-pressed to come up with anything that would remotely resemble an "Ontario culture". And as much as I am loathe to admit it, proud as I am of my home, I think that he is correct on this account.

Newfoundland is built upon a rich history stemming from the people's love affair and total awe of natural occurrence. Their livelihood depended on whatever the sea provided and however she might behave at any given moment. They have built memorials to those lost in maritime tragedies; written songs, poems, and elegies to celebrate and commemorate; and hate and loathe any government official who has ever tampered with what they view as their birthright, namely the fisheries. (The memories are long here. They still talk about the cod moratorium of 1992 in funereal tones.) The newfound wealth coming from the oil exploration just doesn't inspire the same sort of reverence as do stories of fathers and grandfathers out on cod and lobster boats. We have had several conversations with old timers who still lament the loss of their families history to government intervention. In Twillingate, an elderly chap saw us stopped at the side of the road taking pictures. He pulled over to tell us that we were at the former staging area for the cod boats. He sadly told us that his grandfather worked there proudly his whole life but that was all gone now.

So it is only natural that the people here are fiercely protective of everything native. The wildlife, the food, the language, the music, the self-mocking, (they can tell a "Newfie" joke but don't you dare) the history, the moose....they are all pieces that fit together to explain a rich and diverse heritage that is hopefully being passed down to the next generation....if only they would stay to absorb it.

Ontario? We have much to celebrate. Our cultural diversity, our natural beauty, and perhaps even our historic place in Canadian confederation. But unique? I am hard pressed to support that side of the debate. Maybe if we had a song or two? (Ontar-ri-ari-ari-o just doesn't cut it.)

A few random thoughts. Gros Morne national park is astounding. We hiked today in several locations and returned spent but happy. There is incredible beauty in a nature walk to the fjord, a climb to an abandoned lighthouse, and even in the remains of an old shipwreck strewn across the rocky shore.

If you don't like the weather here, just drive for 10 minutes or wait a bit and it will change. Today we were bundled up in layers at one point and decked out in tank tops at another. Crazy!

The Husband is still awaiting his first fully grown moose. He desperately wants a photo. I am all for the possible sighting, but would not like to see it happen while we are driving. The numbers of moose meets motor vehicle collisions are astounding. In the hundreds in some areas.

Here is a view of the wreck of the S.S. Ethie that has its remains strewn all over Sally's Cove since 1919.

Posted with Blogsy

Newfoundland Speak 101

Since today was mostly a travel day, (we arrived mid-afternoon in Rocky Harbour in Gros Morne National Park) I thought that I might give you all a brief lesson in some basic Newfoundland words and phrases. While I thought that I was prepared to tackle the accent and odd phrasings, I have to admit that the speed of the conversations and the outright strangeness of some of the slang has caught me off-guard. But....I am getting it and can almost mimic the lilt. Give me a month here and I'd be chattering like an Islander.

Yes b'y-this means yes. The Newfoundlanders use b'y the same way that I might use sir or ma'am. There is no gender assigned to the word.
Go awn wich ya-really?
Swarvin'-means meandering. It is the way that they describe what we tourists do.
Who ownes you?-Who are your parents and what are their names?
Mudder n fadder-Those are the aforementioned parents.
Toutons-a local delicacy that is fried dough covered in syrup and preserves. Think donuts served like pancakes or waffles.
Jiggs Dinner-a traditional Newfoundland dinner often served on Sundays. It consists of salted beef, cabbage, carrots, potatoes, and turnip greens all boiled together. (There's more, but I just can't go on without feeling a bit queasy. Look it up if you want to try it.)
Tits up in he rhubarb-falling down drunk.
Missus-any woman
And there you have a basic primer of Newfoundland slang. There is so much more but you need to drop over 'round by and by and learn some of it for yourself.

Here's a photo from today's preliminary hike in Gros Morne. We finally had summer weather. Yay! It was positively humid!!

Posted with Blogsy

Happy Birthd'eh Canada

I must admit that this is the first time that I have ever spent Canada Day in another part of the country. I have been abroad for the big birthday (if you consider Zionsville Indiana abroad) but never north of the 49th other than in the Big Smoke. That all changed today as we were amongst the first in the nation to celebrate Canada's 147th. We had a day that was distinctly Canadian.

It began as we made our way out of Bonavista and happened to run smack into the town's Canada Day parade. It consisted of the entire volunteer fire department (2 trucks), police force (2 patrol cars), 4 kids on bicycles, and the mayor driving a convertible decked out in our national colours. Not a single local booed him. Imagine that?

We wound our way back up the province toward Twillingate when we had out first moose sighting on the Trans-Canada Highway. Baby Bullwinkle was just meandering on the shoulder in search of breakfast and had zero interest in the passing cars. The only thing that would have made this experience more Canadian were if he were dressed in Mountie Red and covered in maple syrup.

Twillingate is a lovely little former fishing village that has found eternal fame in the great Newfoundland folk song I's the B'y. At the moment however, it is the centre of the world's attention because of the hundreds of icebergs headed in down iceberg alley. The show is spectacular and best viewed from the lighthouse and point at the top of town. I must admit that the sight of all of these floes, while visually stunning, has me very concerned about climate change. The locals here have been telling us over and over again how unusual this year has been. The glaciers and chunks of Greenland are eroding so fast that it is causing this season's show, but it should worry us all and what we are doing to the planet. And yes....climate change is real!!

We ended the day at a traditional Newfoundland kitchen party with local folk artists The Split Peas. These 7 women have been performing together for over 20 years. (Their rendition of I's the B'y was featured in the movie The Shipping News.)They do old favourites and original compositions, and just have a grand old time with all of it. Their shows are staged at the Orange Union Hall, and they serve the local delicacy of toutons, tea, and patridgeberry perserves at intermission. I haven't tried it yet, but I will before we leave. The evening ended with the entire audience singing the Ode To Newfoundland and O Canada. How patriotic is that?

Happy Birthday Canada. I just love this country.

Posted with Blogsy

Preston and Rowena's Excellent Adventure

I have always wondered why The Travellers included Bonavista in their Canadianized lyrics to Woody's classic This Land Is Your Land. I mean, why not St. John's harbour or Cape Spear? You'd think that those places would have as much of a claim to the eastern seaboard highlight of our country as would some small fishing village on the northern peninsula of Newfoundland.

 

Well today I figured it all out thanks to our hosts here in Bonavista, Preston and Rowena Abbott who run the quaint little B&B at which we are staying. We weren't three feet inside of their front door before Preston had the map out and was quick-talking up all of the highlights of the area. His penmanship was a whirlwind of swirls and ink stains dotting the page as he sent us in a myriad of directions to find the most magnificent highlights of his hometown. (He also managed to tease us about our hapless Maple Leafs, but it was all in good fun.)

 

There are some days in our lives that we look back upon and say "That was an excellent day". Today was one of the all-time greats. I can't decide if it was Preston's directions to the heights of Cape Bonavista where we saw dozens of the most unbelievable icebergs floating in the bay; the puffin colony a few kilometres away with thousands of the brightly beaked birds circling the inlet and proudly posing for us as they landed less then a few metres from our feet; or the shocking sight of whales feeding just off the coast. Yup. Today was just about perfect.

 

A few random thoughts.

 

We had been warned by many to keep a sharp eye out for moose on the highways. We hadn't been told about the black bear that ran directly in front of the car on the TransCanada just outside of St. John's. He was playing chicken with the traffic as he lollopped across the road. Thank God for The Husband's quick reflexes.

 

When we saw our first berg rounding a corner turn on the way into Bonavista, we screamed in unison. Four people just gleeful at the sight. These icebergs are so majestic and so clear in colour that they almost don't look real. There is a magical quality to them that simply cannot be captured by a mere photograph. The locals tell us that they haven't seen this many bergs at one time in more than 50 years. It is truly a natural phenomenon.

 

The Husband and I have never before stayed at a bed and breakfast. Not anywhere. There is an intrusiveness to the experience that we have avoided, partly due to our introvert natures. That said, the Abbotts are lovely people who run a first class establishment. And they help give us an excellent adventure.

 

 

Posted with Blogsy

Songs in the Key of D

There is always much to absorb when we travel. It is as if I am on sensory overload. Colours are more vivid, odours more pungent. It is almost too much to take in all at once. But it is the sounds that I always find the most magnificent. Perhaps that is because my ear has a heightened tuning much like others might have viewing patterns or shapes. I hear music in everything and here in Newfoundland it is abundant.

I heard it yesterday when we heard the ships singing to each other with consecutive horn blows. I heard it this morning at Tim Horton's when two young women were exchanging Sunday pleasantries in a definite Avalon pattered accent littered with local slang and jargon. I heard it on the rocks at Cape Spear where the waves of the North Atlantic hit the coastline with a syncopated rhythm. I heard it as we climbed toward the lighthouse as two foghorns played a magnificent duet in the key of D. (No...I don't have perfect pitch. There's an app for that.) I heard it at Pouch Cove where two seagulls and their young 'uns were nesting in the rocks beside the crystal blue sea. I heard it in the hum of the artisan's sewing machine in the village of Quidi Vidi. And I heard music from another time when we climbed through the anchor grave yard at Bauline where I imagined fisherman from the distant past sharing a sea shanty as they hauled in their daily catch.

Yes, the music is abundant here and not all of it is found in the myriad of pubs that line George Street. The undercurrent of music and lyrics seems to act as a score for daily lives of the locals and it is quite magnificent.

A couple of quick notes. There was an intense feeling of smallness as I sat on the rocks at Cape Spear overlooking the Atlantic. There was a period of time while we were there when we surmised that when Twin Son disappeared onto a trail that he wasn't supposed to be on, for that singular moment in time he was the furthest east of any person in North America. (Google Maps might prove me wrong.)

A unique Canadian experience. While at the lighthouse at Cape Spear, a couple walked in and admitted that they hadn't purchased tickets. The young guide told them not to worry. "We work on the honour system here." She told them to purchase their tickets on the way out....and they did.

The people here are amongst the friendliest we have ever encountered. We didn't pass a soul who didn't wish us a "Good Morning" or share a smile.

Posted with Blogsy

St. John's...The Biggest Small Town

I am not a winter girl. This is not news to those who know me well. I prefer open-toed shoes, tank tops, and a bead of sweat rolling down my forehead and on its way to a stinging encounter with my eyes. I understand other people's fascination with winter, but it simply isn't for me. I hate winter more when it breathes a cold last gasp at the end of June, just as summer is rounding into form.

That about sums up the weather today in St. John's. This small town that thinks it is a cosmopolitan metropolis, will continue having a difficult time drawing tourists if it persists on celebrating a cold weather Canada Day.

Our plan was incredibly simple today. Try and walk around and see as much of the downtown core as possible until sheer exhaustion from lack of sleep over the past 36 hours put us asunder. And walk we did. Up and down quaint streets that have a Benjamin Moore paint store quality to them. I love the jellybean row houses. What a magnificent way to make this gem of a capital city stand out from the others.

St. John's reminds me of San Fransico. The harbour and the massive cargo ships that come in and out of port each day are part of the fabric of life. Every day here, several of the ships sing to each other by blowing their horns at different pitch levels. Apparently they are actual songs, but you could have fooled us. It sound more like whales mating, but what do I know? There is another aspect of St. John's that is reminiscent of 'Frisco...the fact that many of the streets are at 45 degree angles. Between the bitter chill in the air and the workout of my glutes, I could almost swear that I was on the left coast instead of the east. We are going to be sore tomorrow.
We capped the afternoon with a trek up Signal Hill. Viewing the city from this vantage point almost made the lower body workout worthwhile. The mist and fog that was rolling in off the water made for an ethereal scene reminiscent of fairy stories.

Dinner was at a traditional Irish pub, Bridie Malloys. Honestly, if I didn't think I might fall over, we would have stayed for the pre-Canada party on George Street. Of course I might have required a parka for the occasion.
Sleep and resting our weary bodies is on the menu for this evening. Back at it tomorrow.

Posted with Blogsy

The Epilogue

 A quick epilogue from yesterday/today's tale of woe.

We were flat out lied to by the cabin crew on our original flight and by Westjet.

 When we landed in Stephenville, the captain and flight crew all reassured is that we were being put aboard what is known in the industry, as a rescue flight. An empty plane would be brought into Toronto in order to shuttle all of us wayward travellers. 

When we arrived back at Pearson, bedlam ensued. Everybody was put on different flights. The Husband and I were aboard the 7:30am and Twin Son and His Better Half were to follow twelve full hours later. People were being re-routed through exotic locales like Ottawa, Philly, and Halifax. We just lost it. That is what lack of sleep will do to seemingly decent people. We all became extras in an audition for The Walking Dead and the poor shnooks behind the Westjet service country appeared as though they had just been the breakfast course. Screaming a litany of obscenities doesn't even begin to tell the tale, and we weren't alone. There were a couple of young women sobbing knowing that they were about to miss a friend's wedding. My friends of the golden anniversary fame, were awaiting their fate in wheelchairs and the lineup went clear across the terminal...at 5:00am. 

By sure luck (call it fate), our complaints worked and the four of us managed to secure the last seats on the first flight out this morning. We are here...exhausted...and the proud possessors of $150.00 worth of Westjet food vouchers, which......expire today.  Thanks so much for the overindulgence at Timmie's Westjet.

A letter to Westjet home planet is forthcoming. In the meantime we are ready to light St. John's ablaze, if we can drag our sorry asses out of the hotel and into a vertical position. Hopefully that was our glitch for the trip.

Boybrick Newfoundland

What would travelling with Dawn be without a fabulously unbelievable airline story? It just wouldn't be the same, would it?

Ready?

Where the f*** is Stephenville and what the f*** am I doing here?

Well..after all of our planning and anticipation, we have finally made it to The Rock, but we are on the west side of the island as opposed to the Eastern Peninsula where we were supposed to land in St. John's.

Fog.

I suppose that we should have expected the unexpected. I mean flying onto an island. At night. In summer. With fluctuating temperatures. Surrounded by icebergs. Fog sounds incredibly logical under those circumstances. A meteorological certainty.

So here we are in Boybrick Newfoundland in the middle of the night watching a guy in a Shell Oil vest and cap (I am not shitting you) come on board to discuss refueling so that we can...

Wait for it...

Return to Toronto from whence we came. 

You see, there is nobody awake in Stephenville. I think that the airport here is run by Sam Drucker. They had to wake up the Shell service guy so that we could get some drive through gas and a squeegee for the windshield. I could swear I saw the pilot hand over his credit card.

A few hearty Newfoundlanders exited the plane hoping to locate a car to drive the 10 hours back to St. John's. The rest of us cattle are at the mercy of Westjet and their schedules. Supposedly we are to be shuttled back to The Rock on a 7:30am flight. Hopefully we'll see St. John's around noon. No sleep for you!

Here is my take on the difference between a plane full of Americans versus a plane full of Canadians. Had Americans been trapped in Stephenville with absolutely no hope of reaching their destination, they would have stormed the flight deck with pitchforks, demanded their constitutional rights, and demand that the pilot take them to the nearest breath of civilization, preferably housing an Appleby's. Canadians? All this group wanted was access to the bar service and then they groaned politely when told that Transport Canada regulations prohibit the serving of alcohol between 2:00am an 10:00am. If you have to strand us in Stephenville couldn't you at least allow us to get bombed?

A final thought coming from my sleep-deprived and truly addled grey matter. The lovely couple seated next to me is celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary today. Today!! As in right now. They are on their way to St. John's for a party this evening with 100 of their closest family and friends. They haven't slept one single minute of the entire round trip and are worried that they will be falling over from exhaustion by the time the celebration rolls around tonight.

Hey Westjet! Isn't a golden anniversary deserving of a drink?

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone