“Newfoundland?” one of my friends asked in surprise. “How do you even get there?”
There’s a reason why many of us – especially travelers like me – love exploring a new destination. It embodies the sheer thrill of promise, and thanks to the return of direct flights from London Gatwick to St John’s this summer, a holiday in Newfoundland and Labrador is no longer as hard to come by as it used to be.
So when the islands finally appeared on the surface of the shimmering ocean, framed by the airplane window, there was a moment of pure joy. Far below, thrillingly, lay a land of puffins, whales and icebergs – a bucket list travel experience, in anyone’s book – plus scalloped beaches and bays that seemed as far away as the moon. The really wild thing is that the flight across the Atlantic takes just over five hours – barely longer than the flight to Cyprus.
For starters, St John’s is a good place to learn about the rest of Canada, but only up to a point. It has more pubs per capita than any other province, but no ice hockey team (the Newfoundland Growlers went bankrupt a few weeks ago). Beer is made from iceberg water (more on that later), while the traditional cuisine is hardly the kind you’ll find at Tesco (munch on seal fin pie, fried cod tongues and meat filling – called dressing – dipped on chips).
Newfoundland runs half an hour faster than the rest of the country, just because. And it’s a sucker for a silly city name: there’s Come By Chance; Tickle Harbor Station; and indeed, Dildo (look it up on a map). There is always a light-hearted atmosphere in this bad town.
Lighthouses are also a motif there, so on my first morning I took a trip to Cape Spear, Canada’s easternmost point. Last year the BBC Race around the world was filmed entirely in Canada and viewers will recognize it as the ending post for season three. To my eyes, the beacon was a jack-in-the-box, emerging in and out of the swirling fog. First it was a ghostly silhouette, then a half-hidden cone. Up close it was a giant cupcake with cherries on top. Every now and then a signal sounded over the headland, which then resounded with a mournful echo over the sea.
With no one else around, seagulls took up residence in the Fort Cape Spear battery, built during World War II when German U-boats roamed these shores. Here, icebergs, carried by the Labrador Current, trickle along the horizon as they trickle south from the Arctic, and pods of humpback whales, minke whales and orcas breach the ocean below the steep cliffs. In some ways, the headland’s history is always in danger of being overshadowed by its visitors.
British travelers tempted by the new flights will arrive in St John’s with a good feeling for the place already. Nowhere more so than in the centre, where echoes of old England and Ireland run rampant; it is a seafaring fantasy full of sweet nostalgia. Fish and chips at the harbor is a given (the fish is pickled in salt and vinegar batter at Yellowbelly Brewery). Another must is a pilgrimage along George Street, two blocks long, to attend folk sessions that alternate each evening through a succession of lively and loud drinking establishments. It’s a good place to be a karaoke singer or a bad dancer.
For a certain type of person, a dash of Screech, Newfoundland’s chillingly tart moonshine rum, is even more appealing. You have to have a certain mentality to drink it and St John’s most famous ritual is the Screech-In at Christian’s Pub. Visitors are welcomed as honorary Newfoundlanders, albeit with a ceremony that resembles a Monty Python sketch. You’ll think I made this up, but first a cod needs to be kissed – on the lips. Then a piece of fried baloney known as Newfoundland steak is mocked and a bagful of age-old sayings are recited – to my ears, every syllable was charged with a lilting Irish sound. Tradition calls for wearing a Southwest hat the entire time and a shot of face-ripping Screech completes the routine.
Of course it would have been rude to refuse, and the night I visited was far from quiet. I was joined by at least a dozen other so-called “come from aways,” from Ontario, Nova Scotia, Alberta and even Hampshire.
The next day, after breakfast – traditional cod cakes and strong coffee – I walked uphill to The Rooms, a museum designed as an interplay between land and sea. It resembles a gigantic fishing warehouse and is full of memories, including the story of the immigrants who settled in the mid-18th century. In 1795, two-thirds of St. John’s 3,000 residents were Irish Catholics. People were attracted to the seas and the cod; today the fish is still a blessing.
That afternoon I stopped in the toy town suburb of Quidi Vidi long enough to meet the creators of the Quidi Vidi Village Artisan Studios next to pole-shaped fishing stages on a water wire. At the Quidi Vidi brewery next door, owner Justin Fong told me he had recently served Charles and Camilla before the coronation. Or almost. “They poured their own glass from behind the bar,” he said, correcting himself. “It also did a good job.”
The whales I mentioned earlier are drawn to the waters around St. John’s by huge numbers of capelin, and on my last day, perhaps optimistically, I signed up for a wildlife safari at nearby Petty Harbour, a fishing village surrounded by cliffs. John Olivero of Ocean Quest Adventures greeted me at the end of the dock and pointed to the heavy fog pouring in over the bay. “It’s too rough and messy today, sorry,” he said apologetically. “If you don’t like the weather outside the front door, as we say, go to the back. Nowadays it’s best to stay indoors.” In Newfoundland you learn that the grand travel plans you have in life don’t always come true.
To beat the chill, I instead went to a last supper at Chafe’s Landing, a former fishing shed. Lobster, caught a day earlier by the owner wearing the oilskin, was a suitable alternative. I guzzled an iceberg beer while I ate, feeling as happy as a clam. Today there is no proliferation of puffins or whales, but the seabirds and cetaceans would be there all summer long, along with a spectacle of icebergs. In St John’s the arrival process never really ends. And honestly, that’s reason enough for me to return again – to “come from far away”.
Essentials
Mike MacEacheran was a guest of Newfoundland and Labrador Tourism (newfoundlandlabrador.com) and Destination Canada (explorecanada.com). Westjet flights from London Gatwick to St John’s cost from £319 return and are seasonal from May to the end of October (westjet.com). Double beds at the Sheraton Hotel Newfoundland cost from £119, room only (marriott.com).