Social Literacy

There are these rules that make everyone get along. They are rules that govern how we behave with each other. They are ways of saying things without actually SAYING them. And what they say (without the saying of them) are things like, “You are standing too close to me” or “I am uncomfortable with your breath” or “I have become disinterested in this conversation and wish to leave”. We say things like, “I’m nervous” by smiling and showing our teeth. We tell a person how much we like them by how we cross our legs – towards or away from them. We tell a person whether we wish to terminate a conversation by our eye contact and, well, whether we start to move towards the door!

And life goes on. And all is well. We can speak the language of society with our bodies and our eyes and move pleasantly through millions of interactions every day….with friends, family, strangers, coworkers, bosses, loved ones, people that we might not like, and, well, you get the picture.

Then one day, you are reminded of this unwritten language that keeps our social interactions smooth when you meet someone who does not seem to speak this social language. They are socially illiterate. And you are suddenly painfully aware of the messages you are trying to send, desperately trying to send, that do not seem to be received in the subtle and socially-correct non-verbal medium that usually works so well for you.

I am reminded of a certain eccentric man that I used to know who would corner people – literally CORNER THEM – telling stories, sharing anecdotes….well, not really sharing seeing as it was not reciprocated in the slightest….and the (shall we say) victim was throwing out streams of “leave me alone --- I am not interested – I have things to do” non-verbal cues which just weren’t received. One day, a friend recounted, as she was trying to escape the clutches of the unpleasant conversation, this man continued to speak to her as she tidied up her desk and packed up her bags and headed towards the door and turned off the lights and walked backwards away, then forwards away, then stood next to her car, then got in….. then shut the door.

Sometimes it’s fun to meet a socially illiterate (albeit because they just haven’t had enough time to learn the rules) child. On the subway or on a bus, where people politely avoid eye-contact, a kid will stare up at you. They won’t expect you to talk to them if you catch their gaze, they won’t look away sheepishly, and, if you’re lucky and they’re really feeling saucy, they might even stick their tongue out at you.

Purse-onal Boundaries

I went shopping the other day with a very good friend and her roommate. The roommate has wonderful fashion sense and became our unofficial personal shopper, recommending to us which cuts would best flatter our body types…not unlike a Stacy-and-Clinton-What-Not-to-Wear-type role. This roommate also has an affinity for handbags. An enormous addiction actually. Not yet crippling, but which might later in life require therapy. She was also on a red leather kick and so every shoe store we entered, she would immediately eye up the red leather handbags.

In one particular store, this roommate chose a rather odd-looking purse. She held it up, much to my chagrin and began to unzip it and to plunge her hand into it. She was considering purchasing it. I am certain of this. If I had not been, I would not have intervened. And I hardly know this roommate, and one must mind her own business, however one must also take responsibility not just for people we care about but for all of humankind.

“Kristen,” I whispered when I’d finally decided it was my duty as a fellow woman to step up and take one for the team, “that purse looks like a vagina.”

The Zen of Sudoku

What is this Sudoku thing? I remember buying a book from a display of various Sudoku books at the entrance of Chapters even before I knew what these mysterious puzzles were. I attempted one puzzle, without any knowledge of the strategies used to solve them, hated it and set the book aside for months.

The word Sudoku comes from the Japanese words “Sudo” and “ku” which respectively mean “Mentality” and “De-ruffling” or “to make serene”. This is not actually true. I made it up. Sudoku actually used to be a yoga pose that was thought to enhance blood flow to the brain and increase mental acuity. One used this pose to meditate serenity and prepare oneself for great feats requiring incredible concentration (perhaps like planning a wedding). Actually, I made that up too.

I have since tamed the mighty Sudoku. I have learned a number of strategies which I have to use simultaneously to slay the mighty beast. I began with the puzzles categorized as “Don’t-tell-your-friends-you’re-this-stupid” and progressed then to the “Obvious” and then rejoiced as I could finally tackle the “Super Easy” category.

Sudokus, I have learned, bring a restless soul like mine and a panic-prone mind like mine peace. The preoccupation with simple numbers and their placement temporarily distracts me from my obsession with worrying about all the other minute factors in life that I cannot control. For instance, when Mark and I found ourselves in Newfoundland without a rental car, I turned to Sudokus for solace. And with the excitement and anticipation of an upcoming wedding and an upcoming school year as well as a student teacher under my guidance for the first time comes more responsibility and more to worry about.

I might have to turn to the Mighty Sudoku for de-ruffling again.

Adventures in Newfoundland: Bussed and Screeched Day 10, Day 11 & Day 12



Friday morning we got up and drove to Deer Lake. Then we got on a bus for over 9 hours and ended up in St. John’s. This gave me lots of time to reflect on my impressions of Newfoundland. Here are some I may not have mentioned before:

There are lots of snails here. People say, “ma dear” and “ma darlin’” and “ma luv” to strangers. Music is an important part of the culture, though I haven’t seen anyone spontaneously break into a jig as of yet. I have enjoyed the wondrous Ugly Stick. I figure during the long, cold winters of fog and near isolation, music passes the time. It also seems like a lot of Newfoundlanders smoke. Highways are called “Trails” – this is like how it is in Calgary. People are VERY friendly. For instance, when Mark and I got on the bus, many of the people that had been riding since Corner Brook had gotten off for a little stretch. We accidentally sat in someone’s seat. When he got on, he asked if we’d pass him his book which he’d left in the seat. Mortified, we offered him his seat back. To which he replied that we’d better keep it because we might not find two seats together, he’d just move seats. I was shocked. Store that under lists of things I have yet to experience in the Greater Toronto Area.

Cory and Sarah picked us up from the bus stop. We promptly returned to Sarah’s parents house and drank some wine and beer then went out to experience George Street. It reminds me of how I imagine Mardi Gras would be. The road closes down entirely, there are banners strewn across the street and people drinking and smoking and laughing everywhere. And it was there, at a pub called the TCPTS (The Closest Pub To S??(some taxi company)) that we became unofficial Newfoundlanders via the age-old tradition of being Screeched In. It consists of drinking a shot of an awful drink called Screech (which is just really bad dark rum) and then kissing a cod. We didn’t have to kiss a cod, but the bar tender did give us shots of Screech and Sarah took some pictures. We have no record of this event because later Sarah’s camera fell in a puddle. However, we swear it is true.

* * *

Saturday morning we went to the Casbeh for brunch (Sarah’s brother Stephen works there). It was delicious, but Cory was VERY hung over so he didn’t get to truly experience the joys of the Casbeh brunch.

We walked down to Fred’s (the “record” store) again. Stephen had assured us there was an older guy who worked at Fred’s who should know where Mark could get a DaSlyme record. DaSlyme is supposed to be the fifth punk band to ever record their songs to vinyl. They then use old record sleeves from other bands and spray paint their name over it. They are originally from Newfoundland. The man Stephen had referred to actually had some DaSlyme records which were given to him by the band about 30 years ago. He sold it to Mark for a measley $140.

Sarah drove us out to Cape Spear – it was foggy but still beautiful (this seems to be a theme). Looking down at the rocky coastline, apparently a number of tourists are lost every year because they climb down to touch the water and are swept away by the crashing, icy waves.

We had dinner at Subway (which features a lobster sub in Newfoundland). Then we checked into Cantwell House, our final B&B in Newfoundland. What a way to end the trip, though. It was warm and inviting and luxurious and beautiful. The room looked fit for royalty. The bed was soft and plush. Our private bath had mountains of towels. And up on the third floor was a beautiful lounge area with a computer for guest-use and a balcony overlooking the whole city. If only we’d booked THIS place for all our nights in Newfoundland. Truth be told, it cost exactly the same as Anna’s House. And the innkeeper, Mary, asked us if we’d mind sleeping in a bit and coming to breakfast around 9 or 9:30. We were HAPPY to accommodate that request.

* * *

We’re going home!
Breakfast was relaxed and refined (served on fine china). Then we fell into a nice conversation with Mary and her daughter (who is also her cleaning lady) as we checked out. We put a pin on the map they have on the wall because no one from Thunder Bay has been to Cantwell House yet. All the beautiful paintings and photographs in Mary’s dining room were done by friends of hers. There are many talented artists in Newfoundland.

When our cab driver showed up, I nearly laughed out loud. He looked as if he had spent the night on George Street and not bothered to go home before beginning his taxi shift. He had a shirt on that was mostly unbuttoned (at the top and at the bottom). Really, he’d only bothered to do up two buttons in the middle over his belly button. However, we talked him and up the cab ride only cost us $12.75. Our cab ride on the first day cost us $22.50 (same distance – but he didn’t run the meter for some reason). So we either got hugely ripped off on the first day, or this guy just liked us so much he cut us a deal.

Security at the airport was fairly strict. I couldn’t bring my Gravol on the plane, so I had to quickly swallow one and throw out the rest. Mark got “wanded” even though he didn’t beep as he walked through the metal detector. He had to take off his belt and the guy even felt his shoes. However, there was a sixty year old woman a few feet over having the same thing done to her. What Mark was more worried about was his DaSlyme record, carefully slipped into his carry-on bookbag. It made it through security and rode home on his lap on the airplane. A guy in line in front of me had a telescopic baton (not allowed) and a jack knife (REALLY not allowed).

We played some cards as we waited for the plane and recounted the highlights of our trip. I am glad everything happened in the order it did – from bad to good to great. Everything does work out, even if it’s not exactly in the way you planned.

The End

Adventures in Newfoundland: The best day Day 9



It’s a beautiful day – a perfect day for climbing a mountain. Mark didn’t sleep very well last night, so he’s not looking too keen on climbing a mountain. We’ve packed our supplies in our book bags – not very ergonomic for hiking. We’ve got extra clothes, 4 litres of water, Doritos, bananas, chocolate chip peanut butter oatmeal M&M cookies, Pepperettes, peanuts, trail mix and sunscreen. We’ve got our fun shot camera too. Maybe there will be some memorable moments today that we will want to capture on film!

* * *

So we got to the parking lot at 9:15. We had wanted to start earlier – like 8am – but Mark had to get a coffee into him before he was sure he wanted to do the hike today. We slathered ourselves with sunscreen; later we would realize we hadn’t put on enough. We were comforted by signs indicating that we could chicken out and do a shorter, half-day hike to “base camp” and back if we chose. We would soon discover base camp to be no more than a bench facing the mountain and a crude outhouse with no toilet paper about an hour and a half from the parking lot. Oh yes, and base camp also consisted of a bunch of warning signs about not underestimating the mountain and how treacherous the hike would be and under which circumstances and meteorological conditions NOT to attempt the climb. From the bench that was base camp, we could see “the gully” which looked like a rock slide. Tiny moving things on the rocks were hikers who had set out a bit earlier than us. They climbed and rested and climbed and rested. The climb really didn’t look too bad from where we sat. So we decided to go up.



At first we’d walk up those not-so-stationary rocks for about 50m and then we’d rest. I marveled at the people above us who did not seem to be making as much progress as us. Then soon we were just climbing a few steps and then resting. It got steep enough that we had to use our hands and we had to gingerly test rocks before stepping on them because some would slide. I got nervous about falling backwards only once, at a particularly narrow part of the gully.




When we finally reached the top, the view was absolutely worth it. We had to walk across some more rocks to get to the “official” summit – 806m up. Mark wanted to move to a nicer spot to eat our lunch, so we started to head towards the edge, but my legs were tired of walking on rocks, so we ended up just planting ourselves on the flattest rocks we could find. We ate some Doritos and bananas and then built an Inukshuk.


I asked Mark, “Are you ready to go yet?” and he said, “No, not yet.” Then he came to sit next to me on my rock. He held me in his arms and I set my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes and said, “This is a good moment.” When I opened my eyes, he had a strange look on his face. Then I heard him say, “I’ve been thinking about how to ask you this….” and I looked down as he took out a blue ring box. And then Mark Peron (MY Mark Peron) asked me to marry him and made me the happiest girl alive. And I said yes (several times). And I giggled some and hugged him and kissed him. And I had to ask lots of questions because I was, in truth, dumbfounded that he could surprise me so much. I am usually VERY intuitive.



The climb down was a long windy, less steep trail along the side of the mountain. It was the hardest part, probably because we were sun-burnt and tired and the thrill of getting to the top was dying fast. We did meet a moose VERY close up. Close enough that my instinct was to run away fast (were it not for the people taking pictures on the trail in front of us).



As we walked, I ate some blueberries and we saw lots of different kinds of shit on the trail. Bear and moose we speculate.

And at 3:48 we were happily (and engagedly) back at our car.

This was my favourite day ever.

If you're reading this, say "I"!

Adventures in Newfoundland: Fiords and Tablelands Day 8



It was just so peaceful this morning in Rocky Harbour. We slept in and then I got showered and dressed and walked over to the Treasure Box. The Treasure Box is a coffee shop and gift store. Coffee for Mark and a partridge berry muffin for me. The day looks promising – cool and sunny.

We drove to the end of town (not very far) and parked at the end of this mysterious rocky trail that led over a hill and out of sight. We later learned this was called Salmon Point. At the end of the trail was a beautiful look-out over the bay and a simple wooden pavilion and benches to further meditate the view.


On our way back into town, we stopped at a very simple building called Jackie’s Restaurant. No one else was in Jackie’s, but we both got breakfast and after taxes the bill came to $10. Not too shabby. We knew we were supposed to leave Rocky Harbour at 11:30 for our Western Brook Boat Tour. It was early, so we decided to stop at souvenir shops and look-outs along the highway as we went.

Our first stop was at Baker’s Brook. There was a tiny settlement on the beach so primitive it was hard to imagine anyone living there. There were fish-gutting tables and nets that still had seaweed drying on them, colourful wooden boats and tiny shacks with outhouses out back and curious faces peeking out at us as we walked along the rocky road. We figured that it was unlikely people lived in these little shacks all year round – maybe it was just a fishing post for certain fishing seasons.



Then Mark wanted to try to hop along the rocks on Baker’s brook and he promptly plopped his foot right into the water.

Our next stop was the beach where a ship was beached in 1914. There are still enormous metal pieces and even a hunk of wood strewn along the shore.


Finally we arrived at the Western Brook parking lot. It was completely full, so we had to make up our own parking spot. The 3km hike inland was flat, alternating between bog and coniferous forest. But in the distance hovered mountains cracked steeply in the middle years and years ago by glaciers during the last Ice Age. Though difficult to imagine, this pond 30m above sea level used to be part of the ocean, as evidenced by seashells and whalebones that have been excavated from its depths.

As we got on the boat, we saw, on the far shore, a tall female moose and her calf grazing peacefully. The family seated near us (a teacher from Kitchener and her husband and daughter) offered us their binoculars.

We boated past remnants of landslides, trickling water falls that seemed to disappear before they even reached the lake, and a magnificent waterfall that vapourizes into mist hundreds of feet up in the air – this one is called Pissing Mare Falls. We saw a “hanging valley” which is like a valley floor about 50m up above the lake’s surface. And we saw the shape of a lion’s head in a rocky cliff’s surface. Atop the southern ridge, there is a flat stretch of land where, every year, hundreds of caribou gather to have their young. The irony is that there are far more moose in Newfoundland than caribou, even though caribou are native and moose were introduced by people. They have, we are told, no natural predators – Newfoundland has no wolves apparently.




We got trigger-happy with the camera and then the batteries died. “Exhausted” is how the camera put it. I had taken a gravol before the tour (having learned my lesson the earlier whale-watching tour) and so I began to feel groggy. At the Visitor’s Centre, the guide told us the drive to the Tablelands was over an hour away. So, I told Mark to go ahead without me and he dropped me off at the hotel so I could nap. Today we found a book that Andrew and Shirley had recommended to us – As Near to Heaven by Sea by Kevin Majors.


* * *
Mark said the Tablelands were truly a site to be seen. We kept accidentally referring to them as the Badlands instead, but I guess they WERE kind of like badlands. As he was driving, he could see the reddish hills in the distance. Then suddenly, beside a sign for Gros Morne National Park, strategically placed, he saw a life-size moose statue….but then he realized that it wasn’t a statue at all. He had to slam on the breaks to let it cross the road – probably saving both him and the moose.

When he got to the Tablelands, he understood why people say it looks like Mars. The ground is red and there is little or no vegetation. On one side of the road, there is a mountain that is lush and green and on the other side, this red barren landscape. Apparently the theory says that two tectonic plates collided and part of one flipped upside down, exposing the underside of the Earth’s crust.


After a half hour of hiking around, he headed back to Rocky Harbour. At the spot on the highway where he’d seen the moose on his way up, he slowed down cautiously. Then he saw a baby moose dart across the road and a much larger moose on the other side of the road grazing lazily. He pulled the car over and took a nice close-up shot with the camera.


The last productive thing we did today was go to the local Groceteria to buy supplies for tomorrow’s hike up Gros Morne Mountain (all 16km of trail and 806m up and an estimated 8 hours!).

Adventures in Newfoundland: A Horoscope, an Ugly Stick and a bit of Luck Day 7

The nice thing about a motel, despite contaminated water and questionable decor, is that you can sleep in (you get the BED without the BREAKFAST). 10am has never felt so good.

We dined at the Deer Lake Motel coffee shop….again. Then we chilled in our hotel room until checkout at 1. We were trying to kill time because our bus wasn’t scheduled to take us to Rocky Harbour in Gros Morne until 5:30. At check-out, the kind lady at the front desk let us leave our suitcases behind the desk so we wouldn’t have to lug them around with us for hours.

We phoned all the rental car companies in Deer Lake one more time. Still no cars. Avis said to phone back in the afternoon, but I wasn’t holding my breath. I’d gotten a good taste of what the rental car situation in Newfoundland was like this time of year – very very bad. In the motel itself, there was a Budget office. The man at the desk was very sympathetic and apologetic, but he had no cars either. He even took my cell phone number down and told us he’d phone if anything came up. He said he could even drive us to the airport if we wanted to check for rental cars there – we knew there were none though.

There was a Visitor’s Centre across the highway. Inside, I asked how we could get around Gros Morne National Park without a car (since the next three days we would be stationed there). The two people looked at each other, then shook their heads and told us it would be impossible. My heart sunk. I just wanted things to stop being difficult.

We went to the Big Stop Irving coffee shop and found a table where we could read newspapers and magazines and drink coffee. Mark read his horoscope aloud: Though you will experience minor setbacks in your travels, things will work out. When the waitress promptly brought us our bill (and I couldn’t order anything else because I was stuffed!) and I started to feel pressure to pay and leave the restaurant, it became apparent that we really had nowhere to go for the next three hours. It was pouring rain outside, so we couldn’t even camp out on the bench in the bus stop area. The stress overcame me and I began to cry.

Mark decided to go talk to the Avis rental car people one more time. When he came back, he was soaking wet, but he was smiling. “They have a car for us,” he said (the sweetest words I’d heard in about a week). It wasn’t cleaned yet and it had no air conditioning, but we were just so relieved to have our own transportation! We took a cab to the airport and within an hour, we were on our way to Gros Morne!


Gros Morne redefines beautiful. Hills after hills coated with pine trees and surrounded by rivers and lakes. The Ocean View Motel is located at the heart of Rocky Harbour (in Gros Morne). The rooms are clean and big and clean and there’s even a balcony. I don’t know if I’d call our travel setbacks “minor”, but things do seem to be working out.


* * *


We drove (yes you read that right – DROVE) out to the Lobster Cove Head Lighthouse before dinner. There were inconspicuous trails leading through some of the densest pine vegetations I’ve ever seen. It looked like nothing could have gotten through and the tops of the trees were at shoulder-level and dramatically slanted, shaped by the wind. We climbed right down the shoreline.


As Mark ventured closer, the weather began to intensify and I realized that each wave the crashed against the rocks was getting closer and closer. We were witnessing the tide coming in. As we scurried back up to higher ground, it began to rain big fat droplets. Mark said he could have explored that countryside for hours.




Coming back into Rocky Harbour, we stopped at a craft store. The man at the counter was playing some wooden spoons on his knee along to a CD of Newfoundland folk music. I spotted a strange hand-made musical instrument. It resembled a walking stick. It had a tin can nailed upside down to its top, and rows of beer caps nailed around its bottom half. It came with a notched stick used for thwapping the can, the stick and for running along the stick to make the caps jingle. All this was done as he thumped the ground with the stick, and his foot, in time with the beat. For $27 I could have owned my very own Ugly Stick, but I was sure it wouldn’t fit in my suitcase. As I expressed my disappointment with this realization, I think I caught a glimmer of relief on Mark’s face.

Adventures in Newfoundland: Salmonids and Deer Lake Day 6

Breakfast at the Hill Road Manor was beautiful. We got the royal treatment. Fruit salad in wine glasses, tea in the good china, homemade toast and jams, omelette and fried ham and grapefruit and orange juice. Elizabeth and Brett even joined us to chat for a while.

Then we went to Murph’s internet café for a pick-me-up and a connection to the rest of the world. With another two hours to kill before the bus would arrive at the Highliner Inn again to take us on to Deer Lake, we decided to do the main thing people in Grand-Falls Windsor suggest to tourists – go to the Salmonid Interpretation Centre. Alas, it was two and a half kilometers down a logging road. So we walked and walked and walked. It was the only warm day we’d had during the whole trip. We toyed with the idea of hitch-hiking, but most of what passed us were dump trucks and logging trucks.

The fish ladder was neat. We’d both seen fish ladders before, but in this one, you could go into an Observation Room below ground-level and watch the fish through a glass window. I took a whole bunch of pictures that didn’t turn out. The guide taught us how to tell the difference between male and female salmon based on their snout shapes.




Then we walked back into town. We had some poutine (again at Jim’s convenience store) and searched for fridge magnets that said Grand-Falls Windsor (we collect fridge magnets of places we’ve visited). No luck.

Back at the Hill Road Manor, we chatted some with Brett and Elizabeth as we waited for them to be ready to take us to the “bus stop”. During our conversation with B&E, Lady demonstrated her affinity for certain articles of bathroom trash (much to my embarrassment). En route, we asked why Grand Falls-Windsor had such a strange name. Apparently there were two towns. You could only live in Grand Falls if you worked at the Mill. Windsor became a town that provided services for the people of Grand Falls. Over time, the two merged (similar, Mark would point out, to Port Arthur and Fort William amalgamating to form Thunder Bay).

The trip from Grand Falls-Windsor to Deer Lake was much prettier than our first bus leg. Instead of flat stretches of uninhabited land with pine trees and the odd Big Stop Irving, we saw lakes and rolling hills as well as flat stretches of uninhabited land with pine trees and the odd Big Stop Irving. We saw no moose, but there was one moment with everyone in the bus stood up and rushed to one side of the bus as it slowed its course. We soon discovered that all the hub-bub was about a runaway horse wandering up the gravel shoulder.

* * *




The Deer Lake Motel was located directly across the road from the Big Stop Irving where the bus let us off. For the steep cost of a room, I found it surprising that the bathroom sink was outside of the bathroom itself and that the tap water wasn’t potable. Moments after reading the sign indicating that we shouldn’t drink or brush our teeth with the tap water, I brushed my teeth with the tap water. Oops. Mark decided to take advantage of our unplanned time in Deer Lake by cabbing it to a local golf course – The Humber River Golf Club.

I ate in the Deer Lake Motel coffee shop. Then I returned to our room and decided to book our Western Brook Boat Tour for one of our days in Gros Morne National Park. I’d heard wonderful things about how popular and incredible this tour was. And everyone strongly recommended we book well in advance. Sadly, upon phoning, the woman informed me that the boat tour began far from the hotel we’d be staying in in Gros Morne. A thirty minute drive and forty minute walk, to be exact. Not normally a problem, except we had no wheels. It was going to be a gamble, but I booked anyway.

Anyone who knows me can tell you that I HATE to take risks. I had no idea how we’d get to our boat tour (and I’d just given my credit card number, essentially paying the $70 for our tickets). So I phoned the local taxi for that part of Gros Morne. They said it would cost $32 each way for a ride to and from the boat tour. I phoned the hotel that sells the boat tour tickets and they suggested we camp out at the ticket booth and ask random people for a lift. Newfoundlanders are friendly, and I figured our odds of getting a ride were pretty good, I just hated not being in control. I left our boat tour reservations, but I was beginning to feel nervous about the situation.

* * *

Mark only played 9 holes at the Humber River Golf Course. He said he didn’t play well, and he lost 7 balls, but he did hit a few nice shots and saw some very nice scenery. He also struck up a conversation with a taxi cab driver who came to Deer Lake a year ago on vacation and just never went home.

Adventures in Newfoundland: The Booming Metropolis of Grand-Falls Windsor Day 5



We woke up early. Well, I woke up early – 6am. Mark was still recovering from a night in George St. with Cory, so he pryed himself from the covers around 6:30. We cabbed it to MUN (Memorial University of Newfoundland) where a crowd was already gathering for the DRL Coach Lines bus – the only west-bound public means of transportation in Newfoundland. There are no Greyhounds in Newfoundland. I guess Greyhound can’t be bothered with non-mainland routes because PEI doesn’t enjoy their services either.

So here’s how it works. The bus is old and stinky and the window next to the fire exit rattles a lot. We watched part of a movie, then the VCR just stopped working. There’s a bus attendant – kind of like an airplane stewardess. She sometimes says things on the PA speaker, but it’s so thick with Newfoundland-ness, we aren’t yet skilled enough to interpret it. She comes around with a fanny pack and collects our cash and keeps track of who gets on where and who gets off. After every pit stop, she counts us to make sure we don’t have anyone behind (even so, it still happens on occasion). We almost expect someone to yell “Soundoff!” We stop at every single goddam Big Stop Irving gas station on the Trans Canada Highway. No, that’s an exaggeration. During a seven hour trip, we counted the number of Big Stop Irving’s we didn’t stop at – two.



Finally, we arrive in Grand-Falls Windsor, or at least we pull over at the Highliner Inn which is Grand-Falls Windsor’s bus stop. I already like our Hill Road Manor B&B hosts, as they’ve offered to pick us up from the “bus stop”.




They are Elizabeth and Brett or maybe Brent. They have a big calm black lab named Lady. She is the only calm lab I have ever met. And their home and yard are lovely. Most importantly, the bed is incredibly soft (Olga would not approve). We have our own “private” bath, but we have to go out into the hallway to get there.

After resting for a bit, we decided to wander around Grand-Falls Windsor by foot. It’s a Sunday night and nothing and I mean NOTHING is open. In fact, Grand-Falls Windsor is a ghost town. Imagine Bancroft, then get rid of the Tim Hortons and about two thirds of the population and that’s Grand-Falls Windsor (or the part that we could access by foot). There is an operating Pulp and Paper Mill just near the Hill Road Manor. We discover that our room is called the Mill Room because it faces the Mill and we can hear the machinery if we open the window. We’ll choose to call that quality “quaint”. We saw an internet café and a nice-looking restaurant called the Blue Fish, but they were both closed. It’s eye-opening to realize how we’ve become city-slickers, expecting the convenience of near-24-hour service seven days a week. We began to panic – we might starve! Finally we found a family diner called Teri’s place. There wasn’t anyone else in the restaurant but us and a waitress, but the food was decent and we definitely got good service. And we did discover a convenience store called “Jim’s” with homemade Peanut Butter Caramel Cookie Dough ice cream. Yes, you read that correctly. I think that just about speaks for itself.

Adventures in Newfoundland: Seeing Newfoundland from the Inside Out Day 4






Today I would naively coin, “the day I fell in love with Newfoundland”. That would be until I saw Gros Morne and truly fell in love with it. But today we got to experience Newfoundland from the inside.

It rained (of course). Mark and I went to the sushi place in town – highly recommended by several people. They cooked our spicy tuna roll, which was weird, but the food was okay. Then I went off to shop and Mark went home to have a nap and not get wet. I bought a bunch of postcards for my family and a deck of Newfoundland card which Mark and I would use a lot as we would later wait for busses and airplanes. I even bought Mark a cheap black umbrella (which he would joke about probably losing right away, then he’d lose it right away on our next outing in two hours at the Duke of Duckworth pub).

One of Mark’s best buds from Thunderbay, Cory, and his girlfriend, Sarah (who came from St. John’s) flew in to St. John’s early this morning (4am). They’d invited us to have dinner with them and Sarah’s dad and girlfriend and the family. They came to pick us up around 4pm and took us to the Duke of Duckworth (the last official sighting of the shortly-in-our-lives black umbrella from St. John’s) – Sarah’s favourite pub. She chatted about our first impressions of St. John’s and how treacherous the streets would be in the wintertime.

Then Sarah drove us to the top of Signal Hill. Even though it was foggy, the view was beautiful. I really wanted to walk the path around the hill, however, I value my life too much to attempt it when the weather is wet and the visibility less than perfect. Sarah and Cory insisted that we come back from the west coast early in order to spend an extra night in St. John’s at the end of our trip (shoot – we’ll have to cancel a night at the Deer Lake Motel) and experience George Street and its pubs like true locals. We could stay with them.

We then drove down Signal Hill at to the tiny village of Quidi Vidi with twisty roads too narrow for two cars. I got the impression that if someone opened the front door of their house, they would take out our headlights. Quidi Vidi is where the annual Regatta takes place.

Sarah’s parents’ place reminded me of the Brady Bunch. There was her Dad, Andrew, who spoke with an Irish accent and was a chartered accountant turned photographer (and wonderful chef too!). He insisted we smell the halibut filet before it was cooked to see how fresh it was. His girlfriend, Shirley, sat with us and drank wine as Andrew fluttered about the kitchen preparing beer-butt chicken and salmon and halibut and fried wild rice and bean salad and mixed-berry flan. Shirley is an artist. Shirley has three sons, aged between 14 and 18. Andrew has three kids, the Pokaroo-like Jane who was there in spirit but not in person, Sarah and Stephen (who arrived with is girlfriend Kelly). THEN, there was Sarah’s best friend, Rachael, who was like Kenny on the Cosby show – the friend who’s like family. We all sat at a small kitchen table while the food was being prepared and helped with vegetable chopping. Then we congregated in the dining room for the meal.

We laughed a lot. We learned about the stereotypical term “skeet”. In fact, somewhere along the lines, the word was wikipedia-ed and the print-out was shared and every local at the table was laughing so hard they were crying. Also, everyone seemed to agree that Rachael had dated the textbook definition of skeet during her adolescence – this made everyone laugh even harder.

We learned that there are about 100 000 moose in Newfoundland. They showed us pictures of their hike up Gros Morne Mountain and told us about the drink they invented afterwards, called the Gros Marnier – a concoction of Gatorade and Grand Marnier and other ingredients too secret to be disclosed here in the blog. We learned from Andrew that the Seven Years War didn’t really end on the Plains of Abraham in Quebec, but in Newfoundland. We learned that St. John’s was a british colony, then french, then british, then DUTCH, then british, then french british etc. We heard stories of how a net used to be set up across the narrows during the second world war and how one morning a torpedo was found in it and enemy subs were found in the cove nearby. We learned why there are no coke products in St. John’s – there used to be a coke plant in St. John’s and when they closed down many people lost their jobs, so there was an informal informal boycott for many years. We learned why there are TWO flags for Newfoundland – one is the provincial flag and the other (the one that looks like a faded Italian flag) represents the independent people of Newfoundland. It’s green, white and pink. The green represents Ireland, the pink represents the rose of England and the white represents the peace between them.

Most of all, we learned how tight-knit a group of folks the people of St. John’s are – we got in on the gossip (like about whose baby is downright ugly) and also got a taste of some true St. John’s hospitality. In fact, after we shared our incredible car rental misfortune (and stupidity), Shirley offered us HER car! Of course we couldn’t accept, but it was such a kind gesture.

* * *
Back at Anna’s House, Olga shushed us as we came in and then promptly interrogated us about her parking permit which had gone missing the day we used her internet. (Did I mention that we DON’T HAVE A CAR!)

The next morning I would leave a note explaining how her disposition had made us feel, as her guests. It wasn’t nasty or rude, but it was honest. It was honest enough that, when we realized we’d left our Frommer’s Guide to Newfoundland at her place, we wouldn’t go back to get it.

Adventures in Newfoundland: Piss clams, Whales and a Crisis Day 3







Breakfast today was nice. Of the six of us at the table, five were teachers. A nice couple from PEI (Angelie and Gilles Robichaud – we are to contact them if we ever decide to visit Charlottetown) talked up a storm with us. Gilles was an interesting character with a passion for clam digging and golfing. He told us how one goes about digging for clams. He said the locals call soft shell clams ‘piss clams’ because when you walk near them, they squirt water up into the air through their little valve. Apparently the population of all of PEI is only about 150 000! And the length of the island, according to these nice folks, is 100 miles. 40 miles wide at its widest and 4 miles at its narrowest. Gilles also liked to tell jokes. We weren’t totally adept at interpreting what Gilles was saying all the time, but he’d wink and laugh at the end of every joke so Mark knew when to start laughing too. Apparently he also made himself a home-made putter once too. Interesting.

* * *

A lot has happened since my last entry, about 12 hours ago.

I’ve thought about being vague and using words like “misunderstanding” and “miscommunication”, however, the truth is that we booked a rental car several months ago – a fuel-efficient Nissan Sentra – from the Alamo rental car company in St. John’s (Jolly Harbour) in ANTIGUA. Oops – wrong country. In retrospect, there were a lot of hints:

a) a local taxi cab driver on Wednesday gave us a very puzzled look when we mentioned the Alamo car rental place and he had no idea where Jolly Harbour could be
b) on the receipt we printed off the internet, the prices were in US dollars, and the policy information stated that we could only drive in Antigua (wherever the hell that is). I thought maybe it was another word for a region in Newfoundland – like the Avalon region. I even put a little question mark next to it when I read it.
c) But what finally clued me in was when I phoned the Alamo (and it was long distance – curious) and the guy on the other line mispronounced Newfoundland as he repeated it with puzzlement when I asked him where in Newfoundland he was located. Also, he had a heavy Jamaican accent. There are VERY few Jamaicans in St. John’s.

SO, we are problem-solving people, and we spent three and a half hours calmly then furiously phoning every car rental location on the Trans-Canada highway between the east and west coast. Every SINGLE car on the island is booked for the next two weeks. And we couldn’t just stay in St. John’s because every single hotel and B&B is also booked. Buses could work, if they ran every day or if our accommodations were flexibile (which they aren’t because, as I said, every bed has already been assigned a tourist on the surface of this crazy rock). Maybe we could fly home early – but our lovely friends at Air Canada decided they would charge us each an additional $1000 per person if we flew out as early as Monday or Tuesday, and only $350 per person if we flew out Wednesday or after.

Finally, we re-adjusted our trip cutting out L’Anse aux Meadows and spending a few unplanned nights in Deer Lake. We were able to salvage the Gros Morne and Grand-Falls Windsor portion of our trip. Tentative smiles crept timidly across our faces as we secured roofs over our heads and wheels under our feet for the next week and a bit. The relief was tangible.

Then we grabbed some big pizza slices at the Big Bite pizza place (the size of the pizza slice will become important to me later, as we are out on the extremely wavy sea). I took a picture of the Iceberg Quest II, our host vessel, which was far smaller than I’d expected it to be, before we hopped on. Of the approximately 20 of us on board, I’m pretty sure all of the other passengers were in the American Army. I’ve learned that it stops at St. John’s and the men and women seem to have one memorable (I won’t say ‘last’) hoorah before they ship out.

A boat truly is a wonderful way to truly appreciate the Newfoundland landscape – especially to tourists who had been exploring on foot before. The harbour is the most protected harbour in North America, apparently. In fact, once you leave the narrows, from many angles you cannot even see the entry-way into the harbour. The cliffs are sharply angled treacherous rock faces and mostly uninhabited. I looked over the side of the boat (we were up on the top deck so we could easily see into the water) and saw a purple jellyfish with long tentacles. It seemed very odd to be seeing ocean-life in such untropical conditions. Our tour was the third of the day and apparently the calmest. I cannot imagine how this was considered any shade of ‘calm’ as I constantly felt I’d slide right out of my seat and across the deck until I got used to the sway of the boat. It was terrifying at first, then I became entranced with whale watching.

It was an incredible rush when we saw our first fin out in the waters. “WHALE!” someone shouted. The captain laughed and said, “That’s just a minky.” Mark turned to me sheepishly and whispered, “I’ve eaten a minky whale before.” We saw many minky whales and sei whales (or the same ones over and over again). They seemed to be hanging out near the puffins; I guess they eat the same types of food. The puffins weren’t perched on rocky ledges like they are on postcards. Apparently their young are all grown this time of the season, so they float around in the water like weird little ducks.

Then finally the moment we’d been waiting for. Someone saw a fin far off in the distance and the captain identified it as a humpback. He steered the boat in that direction. Apparently they stay under for about 10 minutes, so we waited patiently. And if no one saw it flip up its tail, it should surface again. When it flips up its tail, that means it’s diving deep and you likely wouldn’t see it again.

Sure enough, the humpback that the captain and his first mate loving call “Bob” showed himself again closer to the boat. He seemed to be coming straight for us and we were trying to guess which side he would pass on. When he did pass on our port side, I tried to catch a picture, but either the digital camera or my fingers were too slow. I have about 15 pictures of where a whale used to be. Luckily, he came back on the starboard side for a dramatic showing – he came so close and so high that I could see the white patch on his side and the aquamarine of the water as it passed over his back and side fins. I even saw the humped part of his back. And because he made such a big show that last time, as he flipped up his tail, I finally caught a picture of a whale’s tail.

The boat tour took us to the most easterly point in North America – Cape Spear. I stared off into the nothingness of the ocean east of that point and felt like we might fall off the edge of the earth. Then instantly and suddenly, motion sickness overcame me and I had to quickly scale the rocking ladder to the main floor and head for the loosely named washroom. It’s a weird toilet – you have to pump the handle 8 or 9 times to make it flush. Bye bye pizza.

We finished the day of ups and downs with dinner at Oliver’s. Thank goodness it was easier to find a place to dine tonight – I didn’t have any extra energy to expend.

Adventures in Newfoundland: The Rooms, Chess’ and the Haunted Hike Day 2
Nice summer weather in Newfoundland is apparently 16 C, which is just fine for us. It’s perfect weather for wandering, which is what we did today.

We woke up and finally got down to breakfast for 8:50. We thought this was fine since Olga had said breakfast was between 8 and 9. And technically we were still on Ontario time – 7:20am – early for a vacation. But Olga was angry, she said “I thought you’d NEVER get up.” She was already clearing away the plates. (The next day we would get there too early and there wouldn’t be enough seats.)

After breakfast we roamed and explored some more of the town uphill of Gower Street. We met another tourist, a lady from Vancouver, who was traveling alone and was a bit lonely. We talked about our plans and her plans and quietly congratulated ourselves later for having booked a rental car early – she’d be bussing it across Newfoundland. What an inconvenience, we’d think. Good thing we’re so planned ahead!

We went to a place called The Rooms. It’s a museum and art gallery and has a beautiful observation deck where we took pictures. We were wandering around a display in the museum when a security guard approached us and told us there was a movie starting in the theatre in a minute. Great, we thought, a quick synopsis of the history of Newfoundland. We went in and joined the four other people who were in the little theatre. Then the movie began. It was about the rainforests. And we didn’t want to appear rude, so we stayed for the whole thing and learned all about the intriguing symbiotic relationships between various plants, insects and birds.

Everyone who’s from Newfoundland says you have to eat at Chess’ Fish & Chips. So we asked the lady at the information desk for some directions and meandered until we found the place. Mark had the famous fried cod and I had seafood chowder and biscuits shaped like little fishes. They also have EXCELLENT lemon meringue pie.

Then we did some wandering up and down Water Street and Duckworth street, the main shopping districts in downtown St. John’s. And our meandering brought us down to the pier, where we inquired about boat tours for tomorrow. We saw a military ship from Montreal called the HMCS. There was a soldier standing the deck with a machine gun – weird.

Then we went back to Chatter’s café for hot chocolate and green tea (too much coffee last night made us both have a difficult time sleeping) and to use the free internet. Now we’re just chilling a bit before we go to dinner and then on the Haunted Hike tour.

p.s. Mark has given me creative freedom over the trip’s photography responsibilities. Yay!

* * *

I took a nap and Mark went to Fred’s – the local “record” shop. They don’t sell records though, they sell CDs. This matters to an avid collector like Mark. And when Mark asked a local guy who looked like he could be into the punk scene, where he could find a DaSlyme record (one of the very first punk bands – and they’re from Newfoundland), the guy said “Uh, maybe at an antique store?” Mark was not impressed. He did pick up a “Pointed Sticks” CD which we listened to again and again later as we traveled to Gros Morne because it was the only CD we had.

Apparently, even on a Thursday evening in August you have to make a reservation to dine in St. John’s. We must have gone into and been turned away from six or seven restaurants before Devito’s gave us their last table – nestled away in the corner behind the cash register. I was beginning to get a “no room at the inn” complex.

Then we congregated with no less than 150 other people at the Anglican Cathedral for the haunted hike. It cost $5 a person, which was excellent value for the entertainment we got. However, we couldn’t help but notice that these local actors made a KILLING in an hour and a half. They came dressed in costume – old fashioned cape, staff and one of those tri-pointy hats made of felt (I feel like I should know that word). Their voices boomed and carried easily over the crowd. They never broke out of character, never paused, or ummed or stumbled on a word. They told us creepy and funny and intriguing legends of ghosts and buried bodies and hangings as we walked around the town. It was excellent entertainment and good exercise too.