In Canada, everyone is an immigrant if you go back far enough. In my family, which is a mixture of various European breeds, my mother’s side comes from a place that has long been the subject of wry amusement and lame jokes: Newfoundland.
Up until this year, to me Newfoundland was a vaguely cold, damp place where the people ate strange food and spoke in very thick, Irish-esque accents. My Mom decided that it was time my brother and I explored our roots, and that at the ages of 21 and 22 respectively, we were not too old for one last family vacation.
And so, at the end of August we embarked upon a whirlwind tour of our rocky motherland at the eastern edge of the continent.
DAY 1 – Thursday, August 25
We wake up with the farmers, and after several hours of eagerly gazing through clouds during the flight from Toronto, arrive in Deer Lake, Newfoundland. From that small northwestern town, we drive to nearby Corner Brook for lunch. I’m astounded by the fact that Newfoundland is, in fact, mountainous.
The Newfie accent is fantastic. Gas station attendant advising me on batteries: “Well, my dear, I tells ya I t’ink dey’re pretty good.” Sold.
Every place we go is spotless, and everyone is very friendly. We drive to Rocky Harbour, a picturesque town surrounded by Gros Morne National Park, where we’ll stay for three nights.
DAY 2 – Friday, August 26
The Western Brook Pond boat tour is our main activity today. Two moose, the first we’ve seen, drink on the opposite bank of the “pond” (which is really a large lake) as we board our boat. The tour takes us across the deep freshwater lake, between breathtaking fjord-like cliffs on either side.
After a homey dinner at a house-like restaurant in Rocky Harbour, it’s time to go “have a drunk” with the locals. We show up at the Anchor Pub and realize it’s actually just full of tourists, the only people who are willing to pay an $8 cover charge in a tiny pub in Newfoundland.
“Beer racing” cheap pints of Keith’s with my substantially larger brother ensures that tomorrow will be painful.
DAY 3 – Saturday, August 27
…And it is. Nothing like a four-hour car ride up the bumpy highway of Newfoundland’s Northern Peninsula to aggravate an already-crippling hangover. The Viking site at L’Anse aux Meadows is definitely worth it, though. Forget Christopher Columbus and his fleet of galleons-these tough bastards made the trans-Atlantic trip in small, roofless boats 500 years earlier, and lived in sod huts in a cold bog.
Even though all that remains are grassy mounds that outline long-gone Viking buildings, the scene blows my historical-nerd mind, and I’m elated to have seen it. By the end of the day, we’ve spotted three more moose-all on the road in front of us.
DAY 4 – Sunday, August 28
This is the big day-we’re driving to the tiny coastal town of Pacquet, the birthplace of my maternal grandmother and the home of most of our Newfoundlander relatives.
We arrive just in time for dinner-meaning lunch, the biggest meal of the day around here. Even though my brother and I have never met these people, they greet us with hugs and welcome us very warmly.
The food is fantastic-roast beef, chicken, potatoes, mashed turnip, bread pudding, gravy, carrots, and “Jigg’s Dinner” (salt meat, cabbage, and root vegetables boiled together). We certainly won’t be going hungry in Pacquet, and are instructed to “Make yersels at home, you fellas jus’ do whatever you wants; it’s all up to yersels.”
That evening, several of us go for a walk through the tiny town. The stars are dazzling, and near the wharf we see a hub of activity-the fishing boats are returning to unload their catch of mackerel (not cod, as cod fishing has been severely restricted in recent years). For me, fish comes from the grocery store in tidy packages, so it is really interesting to see where the food starts its journey. I half expect a David Suzuki voiceover to kick in as we stand and watch the boats unloading in the dark, clear night.
DAY 5 – Monday, August 29
The streak of gorgeous weather we had been having breaks, and it is a full 20 degrees cooler than yesterday as my brother, cousin, and I set out for a hike.
Pacquet is surrounded by beautiful, berry-laden hills that offer incredible views of the ocean. In springtime, you can see icebergs and whales from these hills. The only wildlife we encounter is a pack of local teenagers with pellet guns and ATVs. Among them is our youngest cousin, a brawny 15-year-old, who asks me and my brother: “Is this your first time comin’ home?”
We’ve never been here before, but somehow, it really does feel like home.
DAY 6 – Tuesday, August 30
Another drizzly, cool day, mostly spent watching news stations on satellite and eating. Hurricane Katrina has everyone addicted to CNN, perhaps moreso here because these people have firsthand experience with the destructive power of the sea.
For supper, we have a meal I’ve often heard about but never previously tried: Fisherman’s Brewis. It consists of hard bread (literally, really hard bread that keeps forever and will break your teeth if you try to bite into it) that’s been softened in water overnight, fried in pork fat with onions and fish (cod, in this case), and mashed together. It doesn’t necessarily look very tasty, but topped with some molasses it proves to be delicious.
DAY 7 – Wednesday, August 31
We tearfully say goodbye to our newfound family amidst promises to return and assurances that we’re welcome “back home” anytime. Earlier in the trip, my brother referred to the scenery at Gros Morne as “humbling,” but I feel the same way about this place, our family, and our history here.
Today we drive to St. John’s, which takes seven hours through lovely, yet monotonous (there’s only so much forest one can take) scenery.
DAY 8 – Thursday, September 1
After breakfast we head to Signal Hill (the site of the first trans-Atlantic wireless transmission), at the mouth of St. John’s harbour. It’s a gorgeous, summery day, and the view from the top of the huge hill is beautiful.
After exploring the historic site, we drive back downtown to our next destination: the tour boat Scademia. We leave St. John’s behind and head towards the easternmost point of land in North America, Cape Spear-which is shrouded in fog by the time we arrive.
As we pass through the narrows on the way back, the three of us are “Screeched in”-a Newfie rite of passage that involves drinking some foul rum (Screech), kissing a codfish, and swearing an oath.
Later, we embark on the Old St. John’s “Haunted Hike,” led by a local historian wearing a tricorner hat and cape. I enjoy the cheesy, spooky ghost stories, and the tour around the back alleys of St. John’s gives a great sense of what the city was like hundreds of years ago.
After our hike, the three of us head to a bar on George Street (apparently, there are more bars per capita on this street than anywhere else in North America). After a few drinks we take Mom home to the B&B and check out some interesting-looking places on Water St.
We end up at a dive called The Spur, which has cheap, cheap beer (the most popular Newfie beer is called Blue Star-$5.50 for two bottles!) and an interesting cast of local characters. A soused old Newfoundlander man tells us we’re both “real pretty,” which my brother and I decide is an appropriate note to leave on.
DAY 9 – Friday, September 2
We go back to the crowded, flourishing interior of Canada after having seen what lies on the country’s margins. In total, we’ve driven 1899.8 km. Meeting our cousins, great-aunts and great-uncles was amazing, and I know I’ll definitely be back some day to visit them, and the new home I’ve only just discovered.
