Fri 26 Jul 2019
This morning, the rain had stopped in favour of sunshine and clear skies, and we now had food and camping gas. We ate a tasty camp breakfast, made up a picnic lunch, then set off.
Earlier this year, in New Zealand, we’d met Alex and Melanie, a couple from St Johns but living and working in Asia, and they were a font of knowledge of places to visit in and around St Johns. Under their recommendation, we drove out to Red Cliff for a short (2 mile) walk amongst wildflowers and with gorgeous ocean views from the cliff top. After gazing out to sea for a while, Dave commented that there wasn’t much activity in the water and turned away. Within seconds, a whale spouted just offshore and rolled in the water, to the delight of the rest of us. Dave hurried back and we had a couple of dozen sightings of whales surfacing for air, their smooth, shiny backs slipping gracefully through the water.
We then drove to the interestingly named Quidi Vidi village, with its lake and harbour, on the edge of St Johns. Quidi Vidi is one of the oldest fishing communities on the continent of North America and has been subject to a large number of historic spelling variations. The signboard shortlists 9 examples across the last 350 years, both pre- and post-dating the usual modern day spelling that was coined in 1705. In addition, the origin of the name is unknown (on the signboard, no less than 8 possible derivations are proffered) and, even today, there are various pronunciations – I tend to use the popular ‘kiddy viddy’.
[Use arrows or swipe to scroll photos.] Life around Quidi Vidi, including cottages as part-time pubs (just grab a couple of portaloos), stores with an eclectic mix of offerings, and drying the day’s catch.
Route to Cuckold’s Cove.
We walked out of Quidi Vidi to a viewpoint over Cuckold’s Cove, a much-loved spot for wedding photographs, then continued onto, over, down and around Signal Hill ... twice. The second climb came about because we had, for old time’s sake, exited Signal Hill via the quaint houses and cottages on the north side of the Narrows at the harbour entrance, planning to take a lower-level route back to Quidi Vidi, then got it into our heads to detour back and watch one of the twice-daily military tattoos that had been recommended by our campsite neighbours before they decamped and moved on this morning.
We raced back uphill for 20 breathless minutes to arrive with just 30 seconds to spare before the 3 p.m. start. We were pleased at the lack of crowds ... until we realised that the lack of crowds was because there was no afternoon performance today. Rather put out, we caught our breath, re-energised the girls with significantly overpriced drinks at the visitor centre, and then, being already halfway up, completed our second clamber over Signal Hill to return to Quidi Vidi that way.
[Use arrows or swipe to scroll photos.] North side of the Narrows.
Back at the campsite, Dave had a fraught time cooking tea. The half-boiled saucepan of water slid off our little camp stove, spilt everywhere and had to be restarted from scratch. Our hand-towel-cum-saucepan-holder took a little foray into the flames, caught fire and charred all along one edge. A good proportion of the slippery cooked pasta slithered to the ground during serving up. But hot showers followed by a short respite in the laundry room (the attraction being power sockets for charging tablets and phones! – one of my jobs) or on-site playground (Dave and the girls) brought a much-needed spell of relaxation and calmness.
I had planned to spend a while by myself in the laundry, writing for a bit whilst our electronics slowly charged. But, within a few minutes, a couple of middle-aged women and chap came along with a load of washing. I noticed that the women were wearing matching blue dresses and white caps. They then proceeded to load an enormous stack of identical blue dresses and white caps into a couple of machines. I wasn’t sure what was going on with the costumes, but they seemed friendly enough and I got chatting with one of the women (the chap smiled and listened but seemed more reserved). The lady said they were Mennonites, a bit like the Amish. I hadn’t come across either of these before, so it was lost on me*, but I listened with interest as they spoke about their lifestyle back home in Ontario, travelling around only by horse and cart, and their holiday traversing New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Newfoundland and Quebec as four Mennonite couples being driven initially by a good friend and now with a hired car and driver – and vice versa as I told them about our travels with the children and the first time Dave and I had come to Newfoundland without a car and had to walk everywhere.
Despite our different lifestyles, the fact that we were currently both camping in tents and cooking our own food was a great leveller. When she described how, in the middle of preparing their meal yesterday evening, a local woman had appeared from nowhere and hurried over with home-baked muffins, asking to contribute them, it was clear that we’d also both experienced the incredible Newfoundland hospitality and generosity.
* I’m a bit more wised-up on the Mennonites and Amish now. At a recent secondhand book stall (school fundraising event), where I was helping out and then falling into my usual trap of buying almost as many books as I sold, serendipity brought me a copy of the '20 Most Asked Questions about the Amish and Mennonites'. Well, I’ll bet you wouldn’t have been able to resist either!
We headed back to the tent. We were all still tired from the repercussions of our tortuous journey out here as well as from walking 8 miles today in quite hot conditions with over 1000 feet of climbing. We were looking forward to our beds and were winding down nicely for a good sleep. Cue: our new neighbours (two families in two cars with three tents on one pitch, the nearest tent just 2 metres from ours) decided it was the perfect time to start yakking. They might as well have been in our tent, they were that close and that loud. On and on, it went, without relent and without any sense of awareness of others around them. Eventually, exhaustion carried us off to sleep one-by-one – in my case, in mid-sentence. Now I'll never know what the son did with his toenail cuttings.
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