The next morning, as is usual with a slightly larger group, we didn’t all rise as early as we might have. Once we were up however, Alex and I wandered off in the direction the map told us showers were.
You wouldn’t think that would be hard would you?
Well, 20 mins of walking later having traversed up hill and down dale, we were still not within coo-ee of our destination. A hint here – the map is NOT to scale, and that the landscape is quite hilly so that roads disappear over mounds and dive into valleys. Not the ideal start to a briskish morning, but after some backtracking, consultation with each other and sheer dumb luck we finally found the showers.
I note that they are a good 10 mins direct walk from our campsite so we are not that silly after all.
Now some of the more observant of you may have noticed the other shower “below” us. I’d love to tell you it was an informed decision to ignore the option (it wasn’t) because the climb up the particular hill to that location was at least a 7% grade (it was), but if we are honest we just missed it on the map.
Freshly showered, we ate breakfast, which sort of bled into mid afternoon and before we new it it was just shy of noon and we had to get going
So we did.
Victor, perhaps in professional response to the magnificent chilli of the night before (unlikely) or as a thank-you (more likely, particularly as this is the express reason he gave), promised to cook us a 5 course meal that night, plus, after prompting, an amuse bouche.
We were going to be fed by a chef that cooks for the French President! Hell yeah.
Now this was not some idle promise – it was a serious endeavour – chef Victor was not to be embarrassed so he spent the best part of an hour sitting in the back seat as we drove, designing his menu.
By the time he had finished we had reached Corner Brook. And it was here a small decision came back to haunt us (and Victor).
Instead of stopping here to let Victor shop, we decided to push on to Deer Lake to do that, before heading north to Gross Morne park – our destination. Now Corner Brook is a decent sized place, 20 thousand people, with all the attending shops.
Deer Lake has the local airport though so….
Unfortunately, it also only has 5 thousand inhabitants and only one Foodland (which is not so amply stocked). This caused Victor a few problems in finding ingredients, forcing a menu change and a small look of consternation.
Still, he is a classically trained French chef ! And an inventive one.
We made the trip north to Gross Morne. What a beautiful area. Like Norway’s crinkly bits, there is evidence here of Slartibartfast’s handiwork – big. steep valleys carved with ice and water. The greenery is like nowhere else (other than perhaps New Zealand) – lush, rich, deep and absolutely invigorating.
Unfortunately we hit roadworks along the way in, and once we finally arrived it was time for finding campsites again. The luxury of showering 2 days in a row was going to be a novelty to me!
This time Victor and Alizee decided to chance their luck and rely on the tent. Perhaps not their best move, given Victor need to focus on cooking, and the ground was a little damp, but fortunately for them the tent was complete, intact and quick easy to setup (Oh, I so should have used erect there instead!)
Accommodation sorted, Victor set to cooking. Like every good chef he had brought his own knives along, but we had to supply the rest – stovetops, pans, chopping boards etc. I even unloaded my entire suite of spices, vinegars, and assorted sauces to help – who would have thought that having vanilla power would eventually pay off.
Don’t ask why I had it. Just move on – nothing to see here.
As an aside, we discovered that included along with Charlotte and all her accoutrements was a pretty decent sized canopy, which we put up, but in the end never used. I ended up gifting it to Alex as it took at least 2 people to put it up, which was no use to me, and if I hadn’t used i by now, there was zero chance I’d have need of it later.
Refusing all help, Victor conducted his culinary orchestra. To be honest it was beautiful to see – a minimalist symphony with primitive instruments, but so brilliantly handled.
Eventually we were to be served.
The pictures do not do the meal justice – green plastic plates somewhat detract from what was actually quite a modern presentation of the food.
It was delicate and delightful and delicious. I even asked Victor to inscribe the menu on Charlotte’s window – which he did – however all we had was a black sharpie which makes photographing it somewhat difficult.
And by the time I got around to writing this post, half of it had smudged off. So I can’t share the full menu with you but it was 5 courses including desert!
And completely brilliant – Victor certainly made a silk purse out of a pig!
Fully sated and satisfied, we again sat around the fireside exchanging tales, which somehow ended up in each of us getting a (not very inventive) nickname, which we now all use instead of names. Perhaps silly but it help solidify the bonds of friendship we had established and has a certain charm.
Somewhat unsurprisingly, these nicknames were:
- Victor – Chef
- Alizee – Architect
- Alex – Builder
- Valdis – Project Manager
- Heidi – Mamma
Though unspectacular, they reflected who we were and how we acted as a group – me generally organising (aka telling people what to do), Alex the practical, logical one with attention to detail, Alizee the slightly alternative, vivacious, left field creative one (fyi she chronicled their and our trip via her uncountable number of photographs, many of which were taken at odd angles and lighting), Victor the calm, controlled one, unperturbed by noise and hullaballoo, and Heidi our maternal overseer, and arbiter of any conflicts between the “children”.
To this day, as we continue an email relationship, we use these nicknames and the inherent abilities and rights that come with htem – eg Mamma can ask any question about our welfare that she wants.
On reflection that evening was more than it seemed – 5 people in a beautiful heritage setting, fed with fantastic food, forming bonds under the starlit night and assigning roles and names to what was essentially a small but very functional social group.
Not what I had imagined would happen in Newfoundland, but something to always remember and treasure.
