Thursday, June 03, 2010

finishing off the rock

This past week saw myself, Nish and AnCe in Newfoundland. For Nish and me, it's a chance to finish what we started last year. This one was whirlwind to say the least, with no two nights being spent on the same peninsula (forget town). We touch down in St. John's, rented a car and we were off!

Day One: Signal Hill (of Marconi fame) and Cape Spear got us going. Having visited the westernmost point, it was nice to get in the easternmost as well. We then boot it over to Grand Banks, a boring town where we spend the night only because of its proximity to the Ferry.

Day Two: a gloomy start, with drizzle. Off to Fortune (another pretty boring town) to catch the Ferry to St. Pierre et Miquelon. Having taken a gravol, I spend the next two hours kinda dozing and wake up in France! Blue skies and sunshine too! SP is the cutest little town. I really really feel like we are actually in Europe, as we're surrounded by Renaults and Peugeots, with signs all in French and everyone speaking in a beautiful lyrical Français (not Quebecois). Our B&B is utilitarian, but has the tiniest bathroom I've ever paid for. Seriously. 8 square feet WITH a shower. We dump our stuff and explore the town - it doesn't take long, as it's really quite small. Predictably, the wine is cheap (3 euros!); unpredictably, every shop closes from 1400 to 1830, so we have nowhere to get lunch. Hence: a raid of the local boucherie! Buy some pate, bread, coleslaw, macaroni salad and chocolate pudding and have ourselves a makeshift picnic. Awesome. That night, we eat well and drink (more) wine.


Day Three: drag myself back on to the ferry, not really wanting to leave. Everyone keeps commenting on the "choppy" waters, so I take two gravols as a precaution. We had come over with a school group and were going back with a different set. The Captain cheerfully lets us know that standing on the top deck will get you wet (take his word for it) and twenty minutes in, those who ignored him come back down, dripping and sheepish. Outside, the spray is so wild, it's like sitting in an enclosed rollercoaster going through a carwash. It doesn't take long before I start to feel queasy, so I close my eyes and let the gravol do its magic. Little did I know of the chaos around me. Obviously, the children had not been medicated because they all began feeling sick. Within the hour, the entire back deck is full of people chumming the waters and the washroom is a disgusting mess. I sit next to AnCe, breathing in her shampoo. It keeps me sane. Ninety minutes in and my body is in total upheaval: stomach roiling, ears popping and swallowing mouthfuls of saliva. Girls are crying into puke bags; boys are desperate to gross each other out in order to save face. The Captain's announcement of imminent docking is the sweetest thing I've ever heard. As we disembark, AnCe says she's glad to be off the vomitarium in one piece; as I look at the dozens of miserable kids still dry heaving on the dock, I fervently agree. Nish drives us to Trinity, where after our tummies have settled, we order our lobsters fresh from the trap and proceed to suck their carcasses dry.

Day Four: overcast (again) in Trinity. We luck out and find two free tours in town before we leave for Bonavista; once there, we take in a couple of other free tours, touch John Cabot's foot and head off for the Cliff House. I notice that we will be driving about 20kms within Dildo (which we had missed on our way up) so I say why not detour there, since we have lots of time? Nish agrees. She also asks me to find "St. Mary's Bay" on the map; I do, it's a big body of water running along the Avalon Peninsula. No no, she says, it's a town, check the Google map. Sure enough, there it is, dotted with a friendly "H" dead centre along the 92. No problem
…We get to Dildo, decide to loiter around, take a few suggestive pictures and order a light dinner. I have mussels. As we're about to leave, we see a "Dildo Trading Post" sign and decide to take a peek. Little did I know that we had entered the Twilight Zone, where time disappears. I kid you not, poppets: it took this woman forty-five minutes ring in our three purchases. We were supposed to have been in St. Mary's by 1800, originally; it is now 1950. Anyway, pile in car, laugh about slow store lady and we're on the road again.
…According to the map, we should take the 81 (Whitbourne to Colinet) which has a 3km connector to the 92. 40 minutes, tops. Tra-la-la! Even see a moose! This is great. And then… GRAVEL! And I mean, unpaved, dirt-road, gravel. We slow to a crawl. How long have we been on this road? Is that another moose up ahead? (it is! oh my god, don't use your flash!) How much longer till pavement? Hmmm - perhaps we should call Cliff House and let them know we're late, maybe even ask if we're on the right track? (No cell phone reception; and the road is distinctly unoccupied). Okay, stop for directions? (well, not at that shack in the woods! Or at that dark house!) What about the red barn? (A rabbit in the driveway hops away and we gather up our courage). The people who answer the door say yes, we're about 8kms away from Colinet and that St. Mary's Bay is in that direction. With renewed confidence but dwindling daylight, we get truck on.
…Finally on the 92, we're supposed to drive 27kms before we get to our destination. 32kms later, we're in panic mode. I tell Nish that there is no town on the map, but hey, there was no gravel road either, so. Brake lights in the distance. Full dark now. Before we know it, we're passing 1,2,3,4,5,6 RCMP SUVs and a Pontiac Montana. Do we keep going? The town of Branch is like 10kms away. Will the officers know where Cliff House? And isn't it weird that there are two B&Bs with the same name? Maybe the same family owns both? are you sure there's a town called St. Mary's Bay? Worried. And then, streetlights. Branch! Find the "other" Cliff House and hope for pity. Is that the sign? Brake! Reverse. Up a hill. Cliff House at Red Point! Yay! Relief all around. Yes, this is the right place; no, there's no other one; yes, your room is ready. They were worried, even called Trinity to check on us (that seems like a lifetime ago!). We tell them about the 81 and they concur it is a bad road. They're glad to see we're okay, especially given the dead body. … what. Turns out that's what the caravan of RCMP vehicles was investigating. Bed. Now.

Day Five: have a leisurely wake-up. Write our horror-movie drive down in the guest journal for posterity. Pack up and head off to Cape St. Mary's Ecological Reserve for what should be spectacular views and lots of weird birds. View is mostly foggy and completely unfriendly to my rolling ankles, but I persevere. I am rewarded by Murres and surprisingly unsmelly feathered friends. Snap, snap! Off to Ferryland, which end up kicking our asses with high cold winds. Fried goodness in Colvert soothed our bruised egos. Last stop: Cupids, where we stayed in a converted Anglican Church. A night of puzzles, TV and reading. Sleep.

Day Six: drive into St. John's to return the car. We spend a few hours exploring The Rooms, Basilica of St. John the Baptist and Water/George/Duckworth streets. Knees about to give way from all the steep hills, we head off to the airport.

Thanks NFLD - you're wicked awesome.

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