A Newfoundland Road Tripping Adventure

Onto Bonavista and Twillingate

An Early Morning Start

I woke up very early the day I started my road trip to Twillingate, Newfoundland.  I took a little detour through CBS (Conception Bay South for those of you are not familiar with the local lingo) instead of heading straight for the Trans Canada Highway.  I stopped for a coffee and some breakfast at the Tim Horton's in Paradise and parked at Topsail Beach to eat it and enjoy the view.

To say signage is lacking in many areas of Newfoundland is a slight understatement.  Getting turned around at least once on the trip was expected.  I drove and drove on a highway that I thought was the TCH for miles before seeing a sign that confirmed that I was in fact on the right track.  

The Unexpected Detour

I didn't plan on going to Bonavista but, at the last minute, I heard there was some icebergs in the area.  I expected there to be icebergs in Twillingate as the town is known for its spectacular iceberg sightings.  However, I heard nothing about sightings there so I took a detour to Bonavista to see what might be the only iceberg on my trip.  At Clarenville, I left the TCH and followed the signs to Bonavista only to reach a closed road.  Well, that was unexpected.  I backtracked, got lost and had to stop for directions.  The lady I spoke with made a face that told me I was not the first one to come upon this roadblock that day.  Like I said, poor signage.  She gave me an alternate route and I was on my way.

It took a little longer than expected to reach Bonavista.  I drove for a little over an hour when the thought crossed my mind that I should turn around and head back because at this rate, I would be reaching Twillingate at nightfall.  But I kept driving...and driving.  I figured if I drove that far, I might as well keep going and hopefully there would be some icebergs so the extra side trip would be worth it even if I have to drive in moose country at night.

Finally, I made it to the lovely little town of Bonavista.  I didn't have a lot of extra time so I drove straight toward the harbor and lighthouse in search of icebergs.  I did fine one very small one.  All icebergs are impressive but after witnessing some very impressive ones near St. John's over the years, this one didn't really do much for me.  I took a short cut through a gravel road (I saw this gravel road, had no idea where it went, drove down it anyway out of curiosity and it ended up being a shortcut back to the main road), met some friendly horses along the way and stopped at a Robins Donuts to grab a coffee and inquire about icebergs in the area and to get directions to a place called Amherst Cove where there supposedly was an impressive iceberg attracting visitors.

Finally....Some Icebergs!

I only had to drive for about five minutes before passing the sight indicating I found Amherst Cove.  Another few minutes later, the bay came into view and a quick scan  revealed what looked like three icebergs.  I found out later that it was actually one iceberg that first appeared in the bay with an arch going from one point to another but the arch had melted and because much of the berg is submerged under water, it looks like three separate ones. I admired that massive, ancient chunk of ice, took some pictures and went on my way.  By this point, I was way off schedule.  But it didn't matter because the iceberg made it all worth while.

I backtracked to the main highway and took the same way back to the TCH despite knowing that there was an alternate scenic route that I was heard was worth taking.  My reason for going back the same way?  It may not be what I would normally do when the opportunity is there to take another route, but the late hour, the pothole-ridden roads, the unpredictable weather and the fact that I had a room booked at a hostel in Twillingate all contributed to my decision to drive through the exact same scenery I had already seen only a couple of hours before.

On the Road Again

I don't usually speed (mostly because I'm too cheap to pay for a ticket) but even while doing ten over, everyone was blowing by me.  I stepped it up just a little...well, more like 30 over the limit just to keep up with everyone and make up time.  My logic was the person in front of me speeding would be pulled over first.  I don't know if that's the way it works or not.  I blew through Terra Nova National Park hoping all the way through that a moose wouldn't step out in front of me.

By the time I reached the turn off in Gander, the sun was starting to set.  I wanted to keep driving so I would arrive before nightfall but I was too starved to drive anymore.  I grabbed some take out at a truck stop and quickly ate it in the parking lot and was off again.  I has asked someone how much longer to Twillingate and she responded with the usual "oh not that long".  I lived in Newfoundland long enough to know what this meant; not that long usually means long by most standards.  Islanders are used to traveling back and forth between Gander and Clarenville and Gander and Stephenville and St. John's to Corner Brook.  Long drives by most mainlanders' standards.  Just a routine drive for most Newfoundlanders.

The Long Road to Twillingate

I started out on the secondary highway 340 (also known as Road to the Isles) and drove...and drove...and drove.  I drove until I reached the point where "oh not that long" was long past.  I stopped at another service station and was told it would be another hour before I reached Twillingate.  Lovely.  I had already been on that highway almost an hour.  It was like I entered some kind black hole or alternate dimension.  It took everyone else "not that long" to get there.  But me?  It felt like I just kept driving and driving on this never-ending highway.  I knew Twillingate was a coastal village but the ocean was nowhere in sight!

Checking in

Finally, I passed a sign welcoming me to the town of Twillingate and than drove for another twenty minutes until I actually reached what looked like the coastal town I had seen in pictures.  I didn't have any trouble finding my home for the night, Hi-Tides Hostel.  It was right on the main road.  I parked and checked in so I could drop my belongings off and head out to take some pictures before darkness fell and those dark clouds that were moving in opened up.

Walking through the back door of the hostel felt like walking into an old friends home.  Shoes of guests who had already arrived lined against the wall, soft lighting over a kitchen where two guests prepared a late evening snack.  The sound of an acoustic guitar being played in a cozy living area where some young backpackers from across country were hosting an impromptu jam session.  The room where I would be sleeping was dark and quiet with four bunks.  After a brief introduction to the four ladies sharing the room with me, I unpacked some things and tossed them in a locker and headed out with my camera.  It was a good thing I also brought my rain jacket because only seconds after I managed to capture a few lovely shots of the harbour, the sky opened up.  I found myself trapped in a gazebo for about twenty minutes waiting for the worse of it to pass.  It was nice though.  A beautiful scene before me, the sounds of rain drops above me and not a soul around to bother me.

Despite sharing a room with 3 other people, I slept like a baby.  The three other women in the room were quiet and I got to know them a bit better the next morning at breakfast.   All were travelers passing through Newfoundland on cross-country journeys.  I always take an interest in these people making these cross-country journeys.  I've met a lot of them over the years.  They always seem to start the journey in Newfoundland and I meet them onboard one of the ferries or while hiking the East Coast Trail.  I envy those making this journey as it is one I've been wanting to make since I can remember.  I know I will do it one day.

Exploring the Lovely Village of Twillingate

I awoke early that Sunday and realized it was Sunday.  How did I realize it was Sunday?  Everything was closed, including that lovely cafe up the street that I was wanting to visit. I drove around and found another quaint-looking cafe with a "CLOSED" sign on the door.  Breakfast ended up being a muffin and cheese sticks from a local gas station.  I headed towards St. John's but took my time going back.  I noticed some photo-worthy scenes on the way to Twillingate but I was in such a hurry to get to the hostel that I didn't have time to stop.

By early afternoon, I was back on the noisy Trans Canada Highway.  I didn't see any moose on the way back despite everyone telling me they are everywhere this year. For some strange reason, I was drawn to a sign pointing to a place called Arnold's Cove just outside Clarenville.  I turned off onto the off-ramp and found myself in a picturesque little outport village.  Sometimes it's worth it to take a random off ramp once and a while.  This was one of those times.  

Back in the City

I arrived in St. John's in the early evening and checked into the Abba Inn on Queens Rd.  With everything in order for the evening, I drove around looking for something to eat until I happened upon an open Pizza Shop.  I paid a little more than I normally would for a personal size pizza (17 dollars seems a bit much for a very small veggie pizza), but it was quite delicious.  I ate it on top of Signal Hill overlooking that magnificent view of St. John's.  I stayed there until that magnificent view went from a golden, sun-soaked downtown skyline to one drenched in darkness and street lights.  Both equally magnificent in their own way. 

A Long Overdue Return to The Rock

It seems like it was only yesterday that I boarded the ferry to Newfoundland and spent a week visiting old friends and driving around in that pretty blue mustang convertible the rental company so generously allowed me to drive.  It only recently hit me that that trip was actually five years ago.  I always told myself that after I moved away from Newfoundland, I would go back for a visit at least once every two years.  I guess I lost track of time.

Upon realizing that I broke my own promise to myself, I decided that I would return to The Rock in 2018.  After ironing out some issues (such as when the best time to go would be in relation to work/life/weather and what to do with my big sooky-baby of a cat who doesn't like his mom taking vacations), I came to the conclusion that the best time to go would be the first week in June.  This is usually the best time to see the massive icebergs that make an appearance every spring. 

The only problem with the first week of June was the ferry that I usually take from North Sydney to Argentia wasn't due to start running until late June.  The other ferry from Port aux Basques was running but I would have to drive 12 hours across the island to St. John's and there are no rental car places in the little village.  So I flew, something I only did once in all my years traveling back and forth between the two provinces.  I was disappointed about this.  As much as I like to complain about the ferry service between Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, I also have fond memories of crossing the gulf.  The people I met, the stories I heard, the storms, the delays the memories made (good and bad and funny now) on those crossings are something I hold dear to my heart.  I've always had a love/hate relationship with Marine Atlantic and those sometimes rough crossings that saw me so seasick that, at times, I was unable to walk.  Flying meant avoiding all those hateful things about the ferry but also forgoing a traditional part of that journey.

I always book my flights with Westjet when possible and this time, it was possible.  I boarded in Sydney, landed in Halifax and boarded again for the last leg of the trip to St. John's.  Besides a bit of turbulence, the flight was uneventful.  Actually, it was quite good.  On the first leg, I had a row all to myself and on the second leg, I was seated in the very front row (which I think is a higher class of seating on West Jet planes) with tons of leg room.

Because I didn't check any baggage, I walked off the plane and marched straight to the budget rental car kiosk to pick up my rental.  It didn't take long to sign the paperwork and get the keys to my small economy car.  I arrived at the rental parking area to discover that my small economy car was actually a giant, white Dodge Grand Caravan.  A gas guzzler.  I sat in it for a few minutes contemplating what to do.  After imagining myself trying to maneuver that thing through the steep, narrow streets of St. John's and having to stop every hour to fill it up with gas, I decided to make my way back to the desk in search of the car I booked.  It took some convincing.  My argument of having booked and confirmed an economy car sent the booking agent in search of something that she first said wouldn't be available until the next morning.  I stood my ground and told her that was not acceptable.  Within thirty seconds, a smaller (but still slightly gas guzzling) Chevy Impala was suddenly available.  I think she sensed a confrontation brewing and just gave in.  I will say though, it was a very nice car.

If you have ever driven around the city of St. John's, you know it's not the easiest city to get around.  Lots of narrow, one-way streets and roundabouts that cause you to be hopelessly lost if you miss your turn-off.  Missing a turn-off usually means going around in circles and getting more lost while you try to find where you are supposed to be.  The new roundabout that I hit immediately upon leaving the airport did just that to me.  I eventually spotted some familiar landmarks and made my way downtown to find some food and coffee.  I settled on a bagel with cream cheese and small coffee at the Tim Horton's on Harvey Road just around the corner from my old apartment.  I noticed the landlord is finally doing repairs on the deathtrap of an outdoor staircase leading up to that apartment.  Only took him 15 years.  I drove to Topsail Beach, which was one of my favourite places to go when I lived in St. John's.  I ended up driving further than that while I enjoyed my coffee and tested the Impala.  By the time I returned to the city, I needed to stretch my legs so I drove down to Quidi Vidi Lake and walked around it just like I did every morning in years past.

I moved away from the city in 2011 and have taken up residence in a quieter, smaller, more remote area with little traffic.  Traffic moves quite slow and no one is in a hurry to get anywhere.  During my travels that day, I realized that I've become used to a slower pace of life as cars passed me with horns blaring and middle fingers flying.  I was consistently doing between 10 and 20 km's over the limit while cars blew by me.  Not a cop in site.  Doing 30 over the limit back home would net me a stunting fine of about 2400 bucks.  In St. John's, doing 30 or 40 over the limit on city streets is considered slow.

By the time I reached my friend's house where I would be staying the next few nights, I was exhausted.  After catching up after five years apart and watching some TV, we both turned in for the night.  Him to prepare for work the next day, me to prepare for more exploring and visiting old haunts.

I awoke early and headed out to do much of the same I did the day before.  I visited all of my old favourite places.  I went for my morning walk and than grabbed my morning coffee and drank it at one of my favourite places, Cuckold's Cove near Quidi Vidi Village.  Portugal Cove, Middle Cove, Torbay, Flat Rock, Fort Amherst, Cape Spear and Petty Harbour were among my stops over those 3 days.  One evening, just before sunset, I made the last minute decision to hike partially around Signal Hill and I was glad I did.  It was cool but just right for a refreshing hike.  I ventured downtown to Water St. and Duckworth and checked out another one of my old neighborhoods.  Surprisingly, not much changed in this area of the city.  It's the old area, the area with the colorful row houses you see on postcards and tourism commercials.  I love that neighborhood and I'm happy to see that it never really changes. 

Some More of my Favorite Place Near and Far

Baddeck Boardwalk – It doesn’t matter where I’m going – around the Cabot Trail, to Halifax or just for a drive along the Trans-Canada Highway – I always stop in Baddeck, even if it is just for five minutes. One of the things I like to do when I stop in the little village is grab a coffee and drink it on the boardwalk that lines a part of the harbor. I can sit there and kick my feet in the water and watch all those luxurious yachts float by and wonder what famous person might be enjoying some time away from the limelight in the peace and tranquility of little Baddeck where no one realizes who they are or pays any attention to them.

The Driveway at Anamaya – I’ve only been there once and may never be there again but I will always remember going for my nightly strolls down the driveway to Anamaya Yoga Retreat in Montezuma, Costa Rica, a place I had the opportunity to stay at for a week last year. The reason I loved taking this stroll every evening before bed? The calm, warm, tropical air, the sights and sounds of exotic animals and insects going about their nocturnal business and the quiet and peaceful atmosphere that was only compromised by the distant sound of the waves crashing on the Pacific coast below.

The Drive over Cape Smokey Mountain – I spend most of my summer in Ingonish, Cape Breton so I’ve driven over Cape Smokey hundreds of times. I often hear stories of tourists hiring local drivers to take them over the mountain because they find the hairpin turns and high cliffs terrifyingly dangerous and I often take people over that mountain because I know that road like the back of my hand. I’ve driven it in the winter, in thick fog, in heavy rains, in thunder storms and on clear summer days. I’ve driven it in the morning and in the dead of night. Every trip is different and I never get sick of that view from the top, no matter which way I look!

The Skyline Trail – I drove past this hiking trail hundreds of times before I decided to hike it myself…and I am glad I finally did! Nature, scenery, wildlife – this trail has it all and the best part of it is the end where the sea meets the sky and a boardwalk spirals downward toward the rocky coastline where whales can be seen frolicking in the surf below. I can sit there until the sun goes down and what a sight it is to see a sunset from that place!

The St. John’s Battery – Right at the bottom of Signal Hill at the end of the trail and right before you enter the little village at The Battery are some old army barracks. The barracks cannot be entered but there is a little hill right beside it that leads to the top of the small building and a flat concrete surface. When I lived in the city, every morning before the sun came up, I started the walk around that trail and rested in that spot to watch the sun come up and the boats come and go through the narrows. Some evenings I went there to watch the sun go down or just admire the spectacular view of the city at night with its distant city sounds - so close but yet so far away.

The Joseph and Clara Smallwood ferry – This ferry is no longer in operation, I made the crossing between North Sydney to Argentia, Newfoundland at least a hundred times over the years. Although I may have sometimes dreaded impending trips across The Gulf, looking back, I have very fond memories of some of those eventful crossings. Impromptu bands made up of traveling musicians from all around the world getting together for jam sessions in the bar, last minute excursions across “just for something to do”, card games with new friends made in the cafeteria area, long talks with complete strangers on the outside deck and even life-long friendships made simply by being stuck on a ship together for all those hours and having nothing else to do! Sometimes the seas were rough and I would retreat to “my spot” on the seventh deck – a reclining chair in the Baccalieu lounge, way back in the corner away from everyone else and in view of the TV in case I wanted to watch whatever was on.

Corner of Bond and Prescott, St. John’s – I moved away from home for the first time when I was 19 and made my new home in St. John’s, Newfoundland. Although I had several apartments during the twelve years I lived in the city, the last one I lived in is the one I will always remember the most. With so many run-down, outdated and expensive apartments around, I was lucky to find this near-perfect gem at a decent price and in a good neighborhood that was close to everything. The apartment was located right downtown but far enough from the main roads to be surprisingly quiet. It was only a short walk from my work and all the other services I needed. It had been just renovated right before I moved in. It had wood floors (I hate carpet). It was high off the ground on the third floor of a house that was at the end of row of attached houses which meant I didn’t have to worry about floods or dampness. And it had a spectacular view of the downtown area and the harbor which allowed me to watch the sun come up over Signal Hill and the boats come and go.

Black Brook Beach – I visited this beach with friends many years ago and have been returning every summer since. It is one of my favorite beaches on all of Cape Breton Island. When I was younger, I loved the main part of the beach where the waves are quite large and all the young people tend to congregate. As I got older, I started to migrate to the lesser used side of the beach where the waves are smaller, the water is calmer and there are less people. This beach has everything; several hiking trails, some look-offs, picnic areas, a waterfall, freshwater swimming area and a beach with warm water, lots and sand and hardly any jellyfish!

Jasper National Park, Alberta – The Rocky Mountains were something to see for sure but it was Jasper National Park that won my heart in the end. In comparison to the other mountain towns in the Rockies, Jasper was more to my expectations in terms of ruggedness, untouched beauty, nature and wildlife. The lodge was exactly how I pictured a Rocky Mountain Lodge to be and that fresh, mountain air made me feel so alive and in touch with my surroundings.

Gampo Abbey Monastery – I heard this place existed but no one ever seemed to know where it was located. I found it one day quite by accident when I decided to drive down a road I had never been down before. I was driving through Pleasant Bay in Northern Cape Breton when I noticed a sign for Red River Road. It looked vaguely interesting and I had some time to kill so, out of curiosity, I turned down. I passed over a small bridge and continued on a windy, country road that soon turned into a gravel road that ran between some rolling hills and the ocean. I soon realized what the road led to when I happened upon a Buddhist shrine on the left-hand side of the road. Not much further passed that was a small parking lot. I parked the car and wandered around and found a little trail that went into a wooded area along a little brook. Little Buddha statues were scattered around the area and I soon happened upon the monastery itself; a simple facility right on the water. The area was so peaceful and immersed in nature that I could see why the area was picked for the sight of a Buddhist monastery.

Some more of my Favorite Places

A couple of weeks ago, I began writing a post about some of my favorite places on earth and realized that they would not all fit into that one blog post that I posted...so here the continuation of that list!

Mary Anne Falls – Two fairly large waterfalls, one on top of the other, located high up in the mountains of the Cape Breton Highlands National Park and surrounded by trees, a crystal clear brook and pure, pristine nature. What is there not to like? During week days in the summer, when everyone is still at work and I know there will not be a lot of people around, I make that slow, steep drive up to the falls and spend the entire afternoon there. I relax on some rocks with the sound of the falls lulling me to semi-unconsciousness. I swim in the cold, deep waters of the pool below the falls. I hike to the look-off that overlooks the falls. I walk along the brook, deep into the forest and just enjoy the quiet and peaceful surroundings of this almost untouched area of the park…and it really is like heaven on earth!

Blacketts Lake – I don’t actually hang out at Blacketts Lake, I drive around it. It’s one of my favorite coffee routes when I am in the Sydney area and, although it is a fairly short drive, there is hardly ever any traffic, the area is scenic and, at night, there are hardly any lights which makes it a great little drive on a clear night when the stars are out or there is a full moon.

Lot 87 at Broad Cove Campground – My family has been camping at Broad Cove campground in Ingonish for many years. I discovered Lot 87 one of the first times I started camping on my own and it has become my home-away-from-home. The lot is close to everything I need at the campground in an area where there are usually other campers nearby so I am not completely alone. The lot has a picnic table and two trees spaced perfectly apart to allow me to rig a clothes line and the public fire pits are only a few yards away which means I can hear the happy sounds of people singing campfire songs and smell marshmallows roasting through the evening.

Playa Santa Fe – I love to get lost and this beach is one example why I love getting lost. Some of the best places I have found while traveling were found after I had lost my way, including Playa Santa Fe. I found this beach quite by accident when I took a wrong turn while walking around the Mayan Ruins in Tulum, Mexico. Giant sand dunes, palm trees, turquoise water and a long, stretch of soft, white sand that went on for what looked like miles. What else could I ask for? Seclusion? Yup, it had that too…I was the only person on the beach! And, oh yeah, there was a small hut hidden in between a couple of giant dunes with a friendly local serving chilled Cerveza.

Signal Hill – I didn’t know anyone when I first moved to St. John’s, Newfoundland. Fortunately, I had a car and was able to provide myself with some entertainment during those first lonely days in the city. I drove for hours, trying to learn my way around the city and, in the process, found a great place not far from my apartment to just hang out and get out of the house. Signal Hill is known as a popular meeting place for locals but for me, it was an escape. I went there to admire the spectacular view of the city from high atop that hill or to gaze out into the vast ocean on the other side. I could park there for hours just people-watching and listening to the distant sounds of the city below.

The Lone Sheiling – I first experienced The Lone Sheiling when I was a child but it was after I started exploring Cape Breton on my own that I really felt a connection to the place. The Lone Sheiling is more than just a little hut on the side of the highway. There is a short walking trail that winds down into a little valley where some of the tallest and most beautiful trees create an almost fairy-tale-like atmosphere. The very green and lush forest is alive with plant life and little critters scurrying around and a brook runs through the area and makes for the perfect place to relax with my feet in the water and not a soul around to bother me.

Death Valley National Park – Desolate, quiet, vast, sunny and insanely hot. Most people would probably think I’m crazy to have fallen in love with such an unforgiving landscape but there was just something about Death Valley that had me awestruck. Perhaps it is because it’s so vastly different from the landscape that I am used to back home in Canada or maybe it was that surreal feeling I got while driving along those lonely roads through an area of North America made famous in so many movies and so many real life events…some of them quite notorious.

The corner of Lingan Rd. and Lingan Beach Rd – My old house. I lived there from the time I was 5 until I was 20. I moved out and returned when I was 32 and lived there for another year and a half. I still drive passed it everyday but another family lives there now so I can’t actually go on the property and wander around like I once did. Now, I can only admire it from the road as I drive by or visit it in my dreams. I spent the best childhood any kid could ask for in that house and the surrounding property. There were woods, gardens, tree houses, a huge front and back yard and a hill in front that we used to sleigh down. The house itself is large but cozy and, although the new owners have no doubt changed the interior, I will always remember it the way it was.

Quidi Vidi Village – This tiny little village tucked away in a little corner of the city of St. John’s, Newfoundland was one of my favorite places to spend an afternoon when I lived there…and is still one of my favorite places to visit when I happen to be in town. Colorful little houses along the water, boats lining the small harbour and coming and going throughout the day, a walking trail that runs along the scenic coast and a little rocky beach that no one seems to know about where I can lay in the sun with a book and the sounds of the ocean. The best thing about Quidi Vidi Village is it seems like you are in the middle of nowhere when you are there. It looks like a typical outport town in rural Newfoundland except it is in the middle of a capital city!

Kidston Island – Or the “island within an island” as I like to call it, is located just a little ways offshore from the village of Baddeck in central Cape Breton. I liken this place to being shipwrecked on a deserted island. After the little shuttle ferry drops me off at the island, I am quite literally stranded (well, until the boat comes back a few hours later but it’s nice to pretend!) and I usually have the island to myself except for a few people on the little stretch of beach. I hike the trail that winds all around the island and relax on the benches that overlook Baddeck Bay where Bald Eagles are often spotted and beautiful yachts float around the harbour. I like to wonder who is in those yachts as, rumor has it, quite a few Hollywood celebrities travel to Baddeck to get away from their hectic lives in the spotlight.

My Annual Trip to Newfoundland - A Blue Mustang Convertible, a Night On George Street and A Nostalgic Trip Down Memory Lane

One of my favorite things about summer has come and gone; my yearly trip back to The Rock to visit friends and spend time in my favorite Canadian city.

For those of you who don’t know, I lived in St. John’s, Newfoundland for 11 years and they were some of the best years of my life. I moved there when I was only 19 and spent my whole adult life going to school, working, building lifelong friendships and basically, building a life there – until unforeseen circumstances force me to pack up my life and head back to the mainland.

Since I moved back to the mainland, I make a point to return to St. John’s at least once a year. This year I was supposed to go in July but there were problems with the ferry and my trip was cancelled. I didn’t think I would be able to reschedule at a later date but did manage to make some time in early September when the ferries were back on track. In mid-September, I hopped on the ferry and headed back to my old stomping grounds. Fortunately there were no delays this time so the trip went without a hitch unlike the unfortunate events of last year – the trip where I ended up being stuck in St. John’s for an extra week due to a ferry break down. Not that being stuck in St. John’s is a bad thing, it’s the fact that I had to find last-minute accommodations (I was broke at that point so fortunately, a friend handed over his house and vehicle for a week) and lug an angry, drugged cat around until the ferry was back on track. The cat stayed home this time.

I arrived in the city late afternoon after a 14-hout ferry crossing and two-hour drive. I had booked a hotel earlier on in my trip planning but a friend suggested I stay with her instead so that is what I did. And so the first day of my trip was spent unpacking and relaxing so I would be up early the next morning to pick up my rental car that would allow me to revisit all my old haunts.

The next morning started out great but maybe not so great for someone else in the city. I arrived at the rental car agency to discover that the small, economy car I had booked the week before was no longer available because it had been in a minor accident that morning. Thankfully, they had a few cars available and it meant me getting an upgrade from that economy car to a bigger car. I was given two choices: take the Ford Explorer or take the Mustang convertible. My choices were followed by the attendant practically begging me to take the convertible. Not that any begging was needed. On my way out the door, I met the people who I assumed would be taking the Ford Explorer and that is when I finally understood why they wanted me to take the convertible so badly; A Mustang convertible isn’t exactly a family-friendly car.

So, with my new ride (of course I let everyone who stopped to admire that beautiful car think it was mine!) I set out for the day. My friends were at work so I had the entire morning and afternoon to drive to all my favorite places. Middle Cove Beach, Pouch Cove, Outer Cove, Topsail Beach, Cape Spear, Petty Harbour, Signal Hill, Fort Amherst, Bay Bulls…Yeah, I did a lot of driving that day and I couldn’t think of any better way to spend the day. The weather was unusually warm for that time of year in Newfoundland and the sun was shining. No fog banks threatened the coast and no rain clouds were in sight which meant I had the top down and my Ipod hooked up to the stereo and the wide open road ahead of me until I landed myself in the middle of rush hour on the Crosstown Arterial AKA Columbus Drive. That was not so much fun…

Driving around that day brought back a lot of memories, mostly good ones. I left Newfoundland almost 3 years ago and still miss it just as much as I did when I left. When I return, it feels like I never left until I realize it is not my home anymore, I’m just a visitor when I go there now. Memories of fires on Middle Cove Beach and watching the sun set at Topsail Beach came flooding back. I laughed out loud to myself at the memory of walking around Cape Spear and the Barracks at night with no flashlights. I could almost feel the hair stand up on the back of my neck just like it did that long ago night when my friends, who talked me into going (“oh yeah, its perfectly safe and well-lit”) told me a story about how a bunch of American tourists were murdered in the old Barracks and the killer was never found. They were very convincing and swore the story was true even though I have never been able to find any news archives or other proof to back it up. I couldn’t help but smile at the memories of driving around from town to town looking for icebergs offshore in the spring. My eyes welled up with tears of joy at the thought of all those wonderful memories that made my time in Newfoundland
So memorable.

That evening, I went to dinner with an old friend. At first, I had wanted to go somewhere familiar, a place I knew well and had fond memories of. Somewhere like Fog City or The Gov’nor Pub. In the end, we mutually decided to go somewhere where neither one of us had been before. We settled on the fairly newer restaurant on Duckworth Street called“Get Stuffed” and stuffed I did get! The unique menu had two price lists – one for regular sized portions and the other for “get stuffed” portions. I ordered the jazzed up version of classic Macaroni and Cheese from the regular-sized list and could barely finish dessert. Both were delicious but I can’t imagine how large the “get stuffed” portions must be because the portion I ordered was more than I could handle. My friend was, of course, impressed with “my” car and it was a beautiful, warm evening – warm enough to cruise around town for a few house with the top down – and that is what we did for the remainder of the evening.

I planned to just stay at the house and read and catch up on emails the day I had to bring the car back to the rental agency because, well, I didn’t have a car to drive around in! A last minute invitation to join some friends on a trip around the Irish Loop saved me from the boredom and torture I would have suffered if I had to stay inside all day. The Irish Loop is a scenic drive encompassing the southern portion of the Avalon Peninsula. It winds along coastal areas and through barren lands and a dozen or so towns like Bay Bulls, Witless Bay, Cape Broyle, Cape Race, Trepassey and Ferryland.

My last day in St. John’s was spent visiting friends who would not be joining me that evening on George Street. For those of you who do not know, George St. is Canada’s version of Bourbon St. or the Las Vegas Strip but not quite as long as those streets. In fact, it is only two city blocks long. The several dozen bars, pubs and clubs that are packed into those two city blocks cater to every possible taste. There are live music venues, dance clubs, a blues bar and Irish pubs. I chose O’Reilly’s, a famous Irish-Newfoundland pub where I spent many a night in my younger years, as home-base for my final night in the city.

Being on George Street brought on some bitter-sweet emotions. Sweet in the sense that I had so many good times there when I lived in St. John's. Bitter in the sense that the street was not like I remembered it. I heard some of my older friends express this sentiment to me in the past; they claimed these feelings come with age. When I frequented the street in my younger days, the days of Benders, Club Etomic, Peddler’s and The Attic, it was almost magical for lack of a better word to describe the many memorable (and sometimes foggy) nights I had on the street. While some of the old bars were still there (Turkey Joes, Trapper John’s, Christians, Lotties Place and Greensleeves), the newer ones didn’t peak my interest in the least. I was more interested in going to places that I was familiar with, places that reminded me of the good ol’ days. We paid our cover at O’Reilly’s, stuck around for a beer, got our wrists stamped and left to check out some of those old haunts. I made a beeline for one of my favorite watering holes, The Attic above Trapper John’s…only to discover that it had been transformed into a dance bar. I have so many fond memories of that place and by now on, that is all they will ever be. As I made my way up and down the street entering new and old venues, I couldn’t keep those old memories from flooding back. I entered new bars that took the place of old haunts and tried to remember the places as they were before. Club Etomik is now Dusk but it is was once a place that I spent many a night dancing until the wee hours of the morning until staff practically had to chase us out with brooms. A newer bar called The Rockhouse is now located where the old O’Reilly’s used to be. It is much different now but I remember what it once was. It's hard to believe so many people used to cram into that place. My favorite spot was always right in front of the stage where I danced to the music performed by popular local bands, such as The Navigators, as they performed lively sets full of Irish-Newfoundland favorites. How that upper balcony felt like it was going to collapse as every soul in that little place were on their feet dancing up a storm. The new O’Reilly’s is nice, I must say, but it doesn’t have the same feel as it did for me back in those days. Again, could be a part of the aging process. Christian’s really didn’t change much except the familiar faces that once worked the doors, served drinks and were practically fixtures at the place were no longer there. I spent many a late, late night (or late morning perhaps is a better way of putting it) at that place. Back then, if you knew the right people, you had certain privileges and one of those privileges was the ability to get into bars after hours. I don’t know how I used to do it because I certainly can’t handle the stuff very well now but I drank my first of many tequila shooters (among other strange concoctions that were mixed up and tested on me and my friends by a bartender we became very good friends with) at Christian’s. Many a morning, we’d all stumble onto the street to greet the morning sun and the street cleaners.

The atmosphere seems different on the street then it did back than too. There seems to be more fights, more drugs, more drama. Maybe it was always like that and I’m only noticing it now because I am older. I remember the street being a place of camaraderie; everyone was your friend. All it took was a “where you from” and you had a new drinking buddy for the night…or friend for life as was the case a number of times for me. Everyone got along, everyone laughed and carried on and the nights seemed like they would never end and, sometimes, I didn’t want them too! You never knew what you were going to see while walking the streets of downtown St. John’s on a Friday or Saturday night but it was all in good fun. Like the time I spotted a couple of guys (who were obviously completely blitzed) sitting in a row boat, that just happened to be parked on Water St. for whatever reason I don’t know, with oars in hand, merrily singing and “rowing” away. Or the time a guy was standing in front of Trapper John’s chasing down everyone who walked by so he could give them a free hug. That is how I remember it; everyone hugging, laughing and having a good time. Seeing familiar faces at every turn was another thing I missed while walking the street that night; I didn't see anyone I knew. A new generation of younger people now roams George Street.

After a stop at the Sundance and Club One to hear the last set of a band I used to like watching, we returned to O’Reilly’s to finish off the night. The music was the same as it always was. Lively Irish and Newfoundland songs that I knew every word too like Peter’s Street, Heave Away and Excursion Around the Bay. And, as if someone in that band knew what my favorite Newfoundland song of all time is, Sonny’s Dream brought the night to a close.

After I moved to Newfoundland many years ago, it became a tradition to go out on a bender before I left to spend summers with family in Nova Scotia so sticking with that tradition, I made my way across Newfoundland to catch the ferry in Port Aux Basques...with a raging hangover. And a few weeks after returning home, I received a letter in the mail from Marine Atlantic. Apparently, they softened up in their relations with customers who are fed up with the delays and poor service and decided to send out presents to make up for the delays of this past summer; a $200.00 travel voucher to be used towards crossings anytime in the next year. For me, that means my travel to Newfoundland next summer won’t cost a cent!

Have You Ever Found Yourself in the Path of a Hurricane?

The Atlantic hurricane season is from June 1 through November 30 and the last few years were quite active with many powerful storms forming and sending bad weather to the east coast of Canada. Until recently, it was rare for full-fledge tropical storms or category 1 or 2 hurricanes to hit Nova Scotia and Newfoundland but warming ocean temperatures means storms are getting more powerful and they tend to gain strength rather than loose steam like they used to when they barreled up the coast. Fortunately, the 2013 hurricane season has not produced many storms and none of the ones that have formed have had any dramatic effect on eastern Canada…yet.

September 20th, 2010 started out much like any other day but word started to spread quickly that a strong category 4 hurricane that had formed earlier that week was headed straight for Newfoundland and was going to hit dead on as a tropical storm. Later that day, the warnings went up and the city got busy preparing for the worse; the storm had picked up strength and was headed straight for Newfoundland as a Category 1 hurricane. I remained unconcerned as many thought the storm would most likely head out to sea like all the rest. But the next morning when I stepped outside and was greeted with an eerie calm and a purplish tint to the sky like none I had ever seen before, I knew we were in for a wild ride. September 21st, 2010, a day I will never forget. That was the day hurricane Igor hit Newfoundland.

Until the very last minute, I admit, I didn’t take the warnings seriously. Big storms have hit Newfoundland before. The year I moved to St. John’s the city experienced a record-breaking winter that saw 21 feet of snow fall over 5 months and many other blizzards and tropical storms had hit in the years following so I was used to harsh weather. However, when the storm was upgraded from tropical storm to Category 1 hurricane, I started to worry a little. The forecast for that day and into the night was severe; 140 km winds, 200 mm of rain and meter-high storm surges. I charged my phone, found some extra batteries, flashlights and candles, made sure I had some non-perishable food items at the ready and prepared for the worse. My apartment was located on the corner of Bond and Prescott right downtown, close to the harbor and in what came to be known by residents on that corner as a wind tunnel. During winter storms, it seemed that that particular corner gathered a lot of snow and experienced very heavy winds and I assumed this storm would be no different.

I can’t remember now what time it was when the weather started to pick up but I think it was somewhere around late-morning to mid-afternoon. To me it seemed like any other miserable windy, rainy day in St. John’s. My internet remained connected and although the power did flicker a few times, it did not go out. I continued with my daily tasks around the apartment, taking a break to check on the situation outside from time to time. It didn’t seem windy where I was located but I could see some debris blowing around on the street below and the occasional person struggling to walk up the hill. Other than that, it still just seemed like any other stormy day in Newfoundland. When darkness fell, I noticed that some people had lost their power. As the evening went on, more and more lights went out until my house and the other three houses on my corner were the only ones who still had power. Still, I was not convinced that this was a bad storm. St. John’s experiences power outages all the time during storms and I was prepared for mine to go too. I spoke with my family back in Nova Scotia who were concerned about the storm that was said to be battering us in St. John’s and assured them that all was well, the storm was obviously not as bad as everyone was saying it was. At least not from my point of view. It wasn’t until I left home that evening to join a friend for a drive around the city that I saw the real destruction that had been occurring while I thought the storm had mostly gone out to sea.

Igor hit Newfoundland as a strong category 1 hurricane after many thought it would just brush the island and went down in history as one of the most powerful storms ever to hit the island. The devastation was tremendous. While I sat in my protective bubble on the corner of Bond and Prescott, many parts of the island, including the capital city were in a state of emergency. To this day, I don’t know why my particular corner remained untouched when just a few hundred meters away from my doorstep, century-old trees were toppled, streets were flooded and impassable and homes and cars were damaged. As my friend and I drove those dark, deserted streets that night, announcers on every radio station were warning people to stay home. Shops were in darkness, police and first responders were everywhere, debris was scattered across yards and roads and traffic lights were not working, making every intersection in the city dangerous to cross. Sirens could be heard non-stop. The city was in total chaos.

My power never did go out. It remained on the entire time while some of my neighbors and friends from all over the city were without power for almost a week. Some restaurants managed to open with the help of generators but with limited services and most shops remained closed for days. Many people I know sustained major damage to their homes and properties. Newfoundlanders are tough and are used to bad storms. I lived in St. John’s for ten years and had seen blizzards like none I had ever witnessed back home in Nova Scotia but the city never shut down and the army never had to be called until Igor hit.

What was ironic about the timing of this storm was it was only mere weeks from the time I planned to move from the province. I had lost my job and planned to start over again in Nova Scotia or wherever any future employment brought me. My time in Newfoundland certainly did end with a bang. The remnants of Igor stuck around right until it was time for me to leave for good. When it was all said and done, one man had lost his life when his driveway collapsed and he was swept to sea and countless others were left with homes that were in ruins. Some communities were cut off from the outside world for weeks due to washed out bridges and homeowners filed for more than 65 million dollars in damages within the first two weeks after the storm hit.

Just a little over three years later, some communities are still trying to pick up the pieces left shattered in Igor’s wake but, in true Newfoundland style, the people remained strong, communities came together and no one was left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives alone. Homes may have been broken, cars may have been swept away in floods, belongings lost in a sea of debris…but the spirit of the people remained intact like it always has and always will. While looting and chaos seems to be common when a natural disaster of this magnitude takes place in other larger cities on the mainland, I heard of no such things going on in the days following Igor. What I witnessed was people coming together to help their fellow neighbors, all the while, keeping that positive and humorous demeanor that Newfoundlanders are known for. I was not born in Newfoundland and my Newfoundland friends tease me about never being able to become a true Newfoundlander because I was born on the mainland but witnessing how the people came together after such a devastating event made me proud to have been able to call The Rock my home for 11 years.