In keeping with my theme of titling these posts after Newfoundland tourism, I was going to title it “Avalon” after the east side peninsula. But since I never really traveled outside of St. John’s, well, here we are.
Sunday I sniffed out a great sports bar to watch football. Big TVs, game audio, harbor views. Perfect. If only the Cowboys had showed up in Jacksonville. What a turd of a game. At least I met a couple Air Force guys from Fort Worth so we cheered and jeered our hapless hometown team.
Monday I ran a few errands (Costco, Canadian Tire, scheduling oil service) and washed the trailer windows and screens—much overdue.
Tuesday I first dropped off any Nike (the dumbasses) clothing I had at the local Salvation Army, along with a 22″ LCD TV that had gotten in the way one time too many. I then went cultural and visited the Cape Spear lighthouse & fort and then Signal Hill. Both interesting places with cool histories. Until now I didn’t realize Newfoundland played such a major role in the development of radio service. I might’ve reached my tolerance on lighthouses, though! But at Cape Spear I reached the easternmost point of land in North America. Pretty cool. Beautiful shoreline. Strong & dramatic. Touching that geo-point also meant I’d reached each of Newfoundland’s furthest compass points. I’ve seen most of the massive island. It’s about one-sixth the size of Texas but due to its rugged coastline and significant backtracking you drive a lot to see everything you wanna see. No complaints. I’ve loved it.
Morning for some reason came quick and I had to get to the local Ford dealer for an oil service and tire rotation. That didn’t come particularly cheap in Newfoundland but as a CFA, I have faith in the dealer shop. I was also hoping they could fix an irritating rattle on the passenger door area but their body shop was slammed. I am about to pour a gallon of superglue into the door guts. It only rattles up to about 25 MPH but I hate rattles & squeaks.
For lunch—and I was famished after not having dinner last night (just wasn’t hungry then) and had only a protein bar for breakfast—I found Yellowbelly Brew Pub on Water Street, where the Margherita pizza was very good. A lady near me at the bar had the fish & chips which she said was the best ever, except for the soggy chips. Interesting… that’s been my experience everywhere here too. The fish is always crispy and excellent while the fries are always soft & soggy. That’s actually an ok thing: keeps the fries outta the gut!
Writing as I sit here in Yellowbellys, I’m gonna hobble up & down George Street and check out the night spots to see if there’s anything I can’t miss over the next couple nights. For some reason my knee has flared up in a big way, the lil’ bitch.
Welp later, by sole chance I found my way into Christian’s Bar, one of a few “authentic” places to get Screeched-In. And they were having a screech-in so I joined in on that and became an honorary Newfoundlander. With a taste of Newfie steak (bologna), a kiss on the lips for the cod (fish), a shot of Screech (rum), and reciting the oath I’m now more than a welcome CFA (Come from Away), I’m a non-native Newfoundlander!
The master of ceremonies asks, “Are ye a screecher?” We replied, “Deed I is, me ol’ cock! And long may yer big jib draw!” (Translated, it means “Yes I am, my old friend, and may your sails always catch wind.”)
Very cool tradition in a very cool place with very cool people. There’s something about this land.
