I recently returned home from my first trip to Newfoundland.  It was a long-awaited trip as my wife and I had heard so many great things about the province, and my wife was keen to see her paternal grandmother’s home town as well. Newoundland did not disappoint. It is a gorgeous place with stunning, rugged scenery, interesting wildlife, friendly inhabitants and a unique history.

Newfoundland and Labrador (the proper name of the province since 2001, but one I did not use above because we did not get to Labrador) is a place that all Canadians should see, and if the tourism numbers are accurate, it looks like many are trying to do just that. Gros Morne National Park is huge and beautiful.  From the fascinating Tablelands, one of a small number of places where the Earth’s mantle has actually been pushed up above the surface, to Western Brook Pond, a pond in name only, but actually a former fjord that was cut off from the sea by land that rose after glaciers retreated, Gros Morne is visually stunning and geologically fascinating.  

One of the reasons the Tablelands has been designated a UNESCO heritage site is that it helped confirm the theory of plate tectonics forwarded by Alfred Wegener and others.  We did not get a chance to drive up to St. Anthony’s and see L’Anse aux Meadows, but we have heard great things from those who have visited the place where evidence suggests Vikings settled over a thousand years ago.  It is the only undisputed site of pre-Columbian contact between Europeans and Americans outside of Greenland. As it turns out, driving up there would have allowed us a glimpse of icebergs, which this year were hard to find elsewhere owing, it seems, to a mild winter.

Stunning scenery is the norm in Newfoundland as the combination of mountains, coastline and lighthouses provide an exquisite backdrop for the camera wielding tourists.  Music and theatre is also in ready supply, and the three formal performances we saw spoke to the talent of the performers and the charm of the culture. And it’s not just the versatile performers who play in shows like Anchors Aweigh and in the Twillingate Dinner Theatre or the polished trios who perform in the pubs on George Street in St. John’s.  Every boat tour we were on featured live music, either the tour guide singing, or singing accompanied by some combination of guitar, fiddle, banjo and accordion by other members of the crew. In fact, at the Twillingate Dinner Theatre, the musician/actors also help set up the room and cook the food, which is no small task considering the almost 200 people who make up the audience for the show which runs six nights a week. 

The hiking in the province is also phenomenal, providing all levels of hikes on clearly marked and well-maintained trails.  Towns like Twillingate, Bonavista and Trinity boast wonderful accomodation, stunning scenery and plenty to do.  St. John’s is also a delight to visit, with some wonderful pubs, great museums, a thriving music scene and as a base to get to the many wonderful attractions that surround it.

Yet, as much as the province is a magical place, I believe that what it isn’t is as important as what it is in the tourism bonanza it is experiencing.  I will start with arriving in the province at the airport. We flew into Deer Lake, but this equally applies to the St. John’s airport and the Gander airport which we visited as well. They are navigable and the polar opposite of the sprawling, multi-terminal complexes with which so many of us have to regularly reckon. Renting a car in Deer Lake was a breeze (granted, it is important to reserve well in advance). It took about five minutes, and as the baggage pick up was about fifty feet from the rental car desk, it probably took us a grand total of fifteen minutes from the time our plane landed till we were in our car and setting out for our first destination.  I cannot imagine that sequence of events happening that quickly in other tourist hot spots.  Driving in Newfoundland also offers a stark contrast to driving in the GTA and other densely populated areas.  To begin with, the roads are one lane on each side, with the exception of the Trans Canada Highway, which is also often just one lane on each side, but near St. John’s has two lanes on each side.  This prevents the constant veering from one lane to another trying to pick the fastest moving one that seems to be the sport of choice of so many drivers on the roads in big cities.  On the Trans Canada, there are frequent passing lanes which means drivers know that they will have a chance to pass extremely slow drivers soon, and hence, do not have to tailgate them waiting for a clear moment to leapfrog. There is generally a “what’s the rush?” attitude among the drivers in Newfoundland which is contagious.  In fact, in two weeks of driving (and we drove every single day), I heard only one honk of a car horn and that was exiting from a St. John’s strip mall. Perhaps it is a sense of community that means people don’t honk at their neighbours and it speaks volumes about the lack of community off the island which has individuals laying on the horn and casually giving other drivers the finger without a thought that it might be someone you know or care about. And while gassing up is more expensive on The Rock (we likely paid an average of 14 cents more per litre than we might have in the GTA), you don’t have to prepay and go through the rigmarole of estimating how much gas you will need, nor do you have to spend your time declining an array of car wash and auxillary offers on the keyboard at the pump.  The trust that most places exhibit is refreshing.  Accomodations often leave keys in the room door for you or in a mailbox.  The renowned friendliness of Newfoundlanders was constantly on display.  A couple we had never met, but who were friends of friends of ours welcomed us into their home and served us a wonderful lunch. When it happened that we arrived at accomodations early before the technical check in time, our hesitations were genially waved away and we were shown to our clean room where more often than not, attention to detail was fabulous.  Near Grand Bank on the Burin Peninsula, the Bed and Breakfast operators of the place we stayed routinely bring a “Newfie lunch” or night time snack to their patrons. We enjoyed homemade lemon meringue pie that compared favourably to the best I have ever tasted. At our Twillingate B and B, talking with our hosts and other travellers at breakfast was often a highlight; on Canada Day, not only did we sing the national anthem in English and in French before breakfast, but afterwards, a visitor from Newfoundland gave a wonderful short talk on the history of “The Ode to Newfoundland”. So part of the attraction is that there are fewer people, they are generally moving at a slower pace, and that they are overwhelmingly trusting and friendly.

But there is something else as well that draws those from away to The Rock.  It is a combination of a unique and isolated history (both age old and very recent), culture, geography and climate that almost approaches myth.  The coming and going of the glaciers created numerous coves, inlets and bays, and these sheltered, shallow waters allowed fish to thrive; they offered protection from strong currents and predators, and access to nutrients and food sources. Much of the history of the land is reflected in the development of fishing boats, but also in the far too frequent disasters at sea caused by the unpredictable and often brutal weather. If you visit Newfoundland and don’t hear about the infamous Cod Moratorium of 1992, you aren’t listening very carefully.  It was devastating for the people not just because 30,000 people were suddenly out of work, but because beyond economic consequences, it accelerated the demise of a way of life inextricably bound up in the cultural identity of the people.  More and more people, especially young ones, felt compelled to leave the province to seek work elsewhere. In a way though, this reinvigorated the provincial folk music, as the tragic circumstances of the disappearing cod proved an apt subject for haunting ballads. As it so happened, two days after our arrival, the Moratorium was lifted after 32 years of being in effect, though the decision is still a matter of some debate.  Adding to the almost myth like recent history were the campaigns to resettle people in remote outports to larger places because the government said it was difficult to provide services to such widespread and tiny communities. This adds to the sense of an endangered way of life that large and often impersonal forces were imperilling. This dominant way of living and the recent history that places it in jeopardy is not as marked elsewhere in Canada.  Sure, one could claim that the loss of manufacturing jobs in Canada is a parallel, but manufacturing does not quite equate with fishing in terms of how central it is to the geography and culture of the land’s people.

And what has happened in Newfoundland in recent years is quite remarkable.  The economy has pivoted and tourism is now a dominant force.  Newfoundlanders, perhaps by necessity, have figured out that people elsewhere are clamouring for a place that is not only gorgeous, but a place where the people are bound to their history, proud of their culture but welcoming to all, a place where folklore and folk sayings abound and where a resilient spirit is a necessity.  There is a united purpose in the province which greets tourists wherever they go.  I never once heard a native Newfoundlander disparage a different spot on the island or a different activity, even if it was directly competing with them for the tourist dollar.  They are proud of the beauty of the land and delighted when others enjoy it.  

I never heard one complaint about the weather, which was often rainy and mauzy (local word for foggy or misty); a common refrain is that “there’s no such thing as bad weather, just poor clothing”. If native Newfoundlanders are disdainful of the tourists with their cameras and their iceberg alert apps, I never once saw evidence of it.  Even when the tourists are being teased, it is a good-natured form of ribbing, and never in a tone that is bitter or spiteful.  As we were being screeched in on a boat in Bay Bulls, the crew member joked that “it’s not that Newfoundlanders speak too fast, but rather that visitors listen too slowly.” Sure, maybe the joke is on me and away from tourist ears there might be cynical laughter at the “idjets” who come from away and pay to kiss the cod (or in an adaptation at our screech in, kiss the arse of the toy puffin that’s been dipped in the sea), but I really don’t think that’s the case.  Those who go away genuinely miss home and we heard of so many families where children were returning to Newfoundland after working away for a spell.

And so I’m home again, and getting reacquainted with the aggressive drivers, the suspicious looks on people’s faces and the general alienation that comes from a place where people are largely disconnected from history, from a common culture and from the particular geography of the land. Yet, I’m still humming “Sonny’s Dream” and the songs about longliners and salt water joys, and in my head, I’m still picturing the beauty of the land and the sea, and the magic of the people and the language.  My message to the people of Newfoundland and Labrador: “Stay where you’re to till I comes where you’re at”.