With Cuba now on the horizon, my time in Newfoundland was less “I don’t care how long” and a little more “I should try to be at spot A within a few days (give or take)”.
At around 2300 kms, including an overnight ferry, I could probably get back to Montreal in 5-6 driving days leaving me the remainder of the time to stop and smell the roses. Given much of the journey would be backtracking, I didn’t need a lot of time for the latter.
Just as we arrived in St. Anthony, the weather started to roll in. Sideways rain, fog, wind – the whole nine yards.
We were reduced to trudging along at less than 30 km/h, trying to find a safe haven to ride out the storm (the road is a narrow single lane highway with no appreciable shoulder for most of these parts.
30 km/h became 20 as the weather, somewhat improbably worsened, and a small caravan of cars followed each other’s taillights, like elephants hanging on to each other’s tails with their trunks.
As you would expect, an idiot or two screamed past us, in zero visibility, all for the sake of slightly decreasing the time to their destination, whilst disproportionately increasing the likelihood of never getting there at all!
Our more sedate method ensured that we did.
St. Anthony is a fishing/boating town – a Tim Horton’s, a couple of service stations, one supermarket and associated pizza shop is about all it has to offer. No real pub to hang out in. In the weather any trinket shops were likely closed, and the one possibility as a safe space from the rain, A large hall offering “a traditional Viking feast”, didn’t open until 7, wasn’t cheap and didn’t really appeal.
So I nestled in Charlotte’s arms for the remainder of the day and the night, binge watchedg a few downloaded tv shows, cooked myself a small meal on the campstove without opening the doors and listened to rain and wind hammer at our windows and doors.
Thoroughly miserable outdoors, I was thoroughly happy indoors.
The next morning, car after car and bike after bike started rocking up to the cut out that had served as our haven.
The chatter of voices grew louder and eventually I was even interested enough to drag myself out from beneath the warm doona, put on some proper clothes and head outside.
Word had spread that the weather had steered an iceberg our way and everyone had come to take a look.
It was a beauty – larger, more solid and closer to shore than the one near La Scie, it was a perfect summmation of the trade-off between an, at times, harsh coastal environment, and the sheer majesty of an unswept wilderness.
From when I started to when I decided to leave, the crowds had doubled (ok crowds is probably a little strong given we went from maybe 15 to 30 people), and as the weather was holding up it was time to go check out the historic sites.
The main one is the L’Anse aux Meadows (UNESCO World Heritage Site) .
The linnked video above gives you more of an insight than I can describe, other than to say it is a little more crowded than indicated.
If you want to ignore the crowds, just 2 miles up the road is a privately run Viking village re-creation, Norstead Viking Village.
It’s a take on a trading village, and not quite as authentic, but there are less crowds, and on the day I visited I had a touch more fun.
In the main communal hall I was at first the only visitor, and had a great chat to the locals who work (and sometimes live overnight) in the hall
I ended up trading Vegemite (which no-one there had tasted) for some pan fried bread and home made jams (well, traded might be a stretch as they offer the bread and jam for free). The comments on Vegemite were interesting to say the least..
On the return trip I stopped in at the Dark Trickle Company, who hand pick the various wild berries in the area and turn them into Jams, sauces, drinks, vinegars, teas and coffees. They also make some of the best food upstairs in their kitchen that you can have on the island.
It was here that we met an intrepid couple cycling the entire island (from top to bottom) with 2 children – one aged 3 and the other 18 months, in tow!
Absolutely amazing to bike along these roads, in this weather, with child trailer in tow, camping out nearly every night.
My lone trek in a vehiclle pales by comparison.
To say they were drenched was an understatement – the weather had turned just as I arrived at Dark Trickle, and they did tell the gathered awestruck patrons of nearly being blown off the road, but they were in enormously good cheer and spirits.
Different strokes and all that.
Mission accomplished (vikings) the scent of Cuba started to fill my nostrils so I headed South along the road back to Gros Morne and Port Aux Basques – one that I am now more intimately familiar with than most.
A good day, with more good days to come.
