St John's, Newfoundland

Warning: This blog post contains overt enthusiasm.

Hi everyone! It's a sunny afternoon in St John's, and I thought I'd say a quick hello while my feet are recovering from lots of walking. I arrived here yesterday evening and sunny it wasn't - not only was the flight delayed and almost cancelled due to fog, I have never yet been part of a landing where fog gives way straight to runway! Our captain received a relieved round of applause!

It was a fitting welcome, though, as fog and wind seem par for the course in this wild, beautiful, historic part of the world - St John's is considered one of the oldest european settlements on the continent. I've already taken a heap of snaps but will have to wait until returning to load any of them onto a computer (I'm using the hostel's wee ancient number, complete with dodgy keyboard, sorry about the errors), and already will have to cull like crazy. I was entranced by the walk up to Signal Hill today, the tight Narrows where all vessels pulling into the famous harbour must navigate through, the sheer cliffs and their tiny sweet-smelling heath-like plants, and the horizon looking back over St John's so sharp (the likes of which will ne'er be seen in Montreal!). It's been eighteen months since seeing ocean, and the dramatic scope of sea and windswept land was an exciting 'welcome back'. Signal Hill, (or the 'Lookout' ) has been home to numerous battles; has overseen all manner of vessels arrive and leave the harbour, from sealing boats to container ships to luxury liners; and was the site of the first transatlantic wireless communication in 1901 (the letter 'S' received in Morse code).

I'm doing a bit of temp. receptionist work here (well, unofficially - there's only myself and another fellow in this hostel at the moment, which is really a tiny house with sloping floors. Very sloping); having already run a message across to Bill the manager, enjoying a quiet beer on his brother's porch across the way. I seem to only catch two out of every three sentences Bill utters, and am thus in a state of semi-vigilance whenever I talk to him. Newfoundlanders have a lilting dialect, which, when thick, has echoes of Brad Pitt's chharacter in Snatch. I realise, being here, just how much more provincial Canada is than my land. I walked down steep hills and various lanes to town last night (St John's is full of little public paths and stairwells linking oddly-angled streets), in ffog and rain and thought perhaps I was in some cornish coastal town, with the odd north american office block plonked into the picture. Most of the residential homes are weatherboard, painted in pastel and bright tones and sitting snug against each other and the street. To get to Signal Hill I walked through Upper Battery, an ex-fishing village, sleepy as could be, tacked onto the edge of St John's busy working harbour. It's a city of intriguing contrast and substantial charm.

I'm in the city for a coiuple of days, and hope to get out to Cape Spear (eastern-most point in north america), maybe some more fishing villages, wander the streets and some museums//historic sites in that time. Am contemplating cod tongue for dins tonight...will let you know. Take care all!