As years pass St. John’s keeps beckoning to me from the waves. I’m a born and bred Bluenoser, a Nova Scotian, a Maritimer, but I’ve somehow skipped over seeing Newfoundland and Labrador. Probably because it has always been there. Hanging out in the Atlantic. Telling me it’s cool to see other parts of the world first.
Last week I finally made it to the Rock.
Since I now live in Calgary most of my trips usually consist of going home to Nova Scotia or to other more “exotic” spots. I’ve flown over Newfoundland to get to places like Glasgow and Warsaw and Senegal. I’ve made my way through the rest of Canada, from New Brunswick to the Northwest Territories to British Colombia. However, I’ve missed out on exploring our far east because I thought St. John’s would always be there. But thanks to a friend’s wedding I got a chance to visit the friendly province.
Landing in St. John’s there was a whole new world to explore. From listening to the ocean while sitting on a cabin deck in Bauline East, to eating fish and chips in Portugal Cove, to seeing the brightly painted houses in St. John’s, to taking in the colourful local language while being Screeched in. Of course, there was a lovely wedding in there too.
All these sights and sounds culminate into wonderful memories that I want to hold on to forever. But I know through the years the nuances of the trip will fade and dissipate into the dry Calgary air. I won’t remember the biting taste of Screech rum, I won’t remember how warm the wind was on my skin during a jaunt to Water Street and I won’t remember my sore feet from wearing high heels all day as a bridesmaid. Guess this means I’ll have to write some more about Newfoundland soon. Words are good reminders and help save those little things from escaping.