I left my heart... in Newfoundland
After four days of being home from a ten day road trip around the wild, wild east of Newfoundland, I am finally starting to get over my jetlag. Yes, that’s right, I have jetlag. No, I am not being dramatic. Much. Newfoundland is so far from where I live that it took as long to travel there as it would to get back to England. (There are no direct flights from Vancouver so it took a two-flight, 10 hour travel day to get there). Actually, I am not sure how long it took. In the ten days we were away I never really knew what time it was; I never got the hang of the 4 and a half hour time difference.
There are places you visit and admire - I am lucky enough to have been to many - and there are places that speak to you in a way you cannot quite explain. Newfoundland spoke to me, and its accent was lyrical and somehow familiar.
I love living here on the west coast of Canada. I love the mountains, the ocean, the space, the drama of the landscape and the life I have built. But Newfoundland felt different. It felt less like somewhere new and more like somewhere I had somehow known before. There is only one other place I've been where I have felt this: Ireland. No surprise then that Newfoundland felt more like Ireland than it did Canada.
I have to admit, we saw Newfoundland at its finest. It's not a place renowned for endless sunshine, and before we left we were advised to pack for rain, and wind; actually all the weather. Yet, for most of our visit, the sun did shine. The days were bright, the evenings warm, and the rain, when it came, fleeting.
There was, however, plenty of fog. On several of our adventures, a thick blanket of mist swallowed the ocean and blurred the rugged coastline beyond. At times, it felt as though we were standing at the edge of nothing at all. Then, almost without warning, the fog would lift - sometimes only for a few precious moments - revealing towering cliffs, endless Atlantic views and landscapes so breathtaking that it would take your breath away. (I guess that's what breathtaking means).
Perhaps that's the way Newfoundland is meant to be experienced. Perhaps the fog isn't there to hide its beauty, but to reveal it gently, allowing you to absorb it little by little instead of all at once. Like sipping a fine wine rather than swallowing it in a single gulp. And anyway, I loved the fog. It was cleansing, and it reminded me of home. Maybe if I lived there, it would be inconvenient and slightly depressing. But I come from the south coast of England, where wind, rain and fog are not unusual; they are part of the landscape itself. Perhaps that is why Newfoundland felt familiar. The fog did not feel bleak to me, it felt comforting.
It did also help to disguise the steep and often sheer cliffs; and as someone who has a physical reaction to dramatic heights, I was kind of grateful for that. We did some incredible hikes while we were there, all of them along the edge of the island. In case you didn't know (I didn't, before I went there): that island is essentially a massive rock rising from the North Atlantic. The edge of the island, when you can see it, is spectacularly terrifying.
Life on Newfoundland felt unpretentious; simple. It's not simple, it's hard, and the people are tough. But they are unconcerned with image; they seemed more grounded, quirky but less performative than here on the west coast. Their values are rooted in history, music, family. It just felt more real. Look, I know I just got a tiny taste of it, but I felt it. I felt the authenticity of it.
Some places make amazing holiday destinations. Others quietly earn a place in your heart. Newfoundland, for me, was one of those places.
In this photo, my family and I are on a "shed crawl" in Twillingate. I had mistakenly assumed this shed crawl (which was part of the "fish and folk festival"* happening while we were there) to be a tour of the local's outbuildings and sheds, where we would find drinking and music at each venue. We didn't find drinking and music; we found sheds. And it was brilliant.
*In those two days of the fish and folk festival, we didn't see a single fish, apart from the ones we ate in restaurants, and didn't hear a single note of folk music. But we did go to a parking lot dance and a local talent show - the highlights of our trip - and made friends with the locals and had a sing-song in a pub. You can see why I love the place.
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