Judy P's Tickle Trunk

Flying into St. John’s, Newfoundland on a sunny day is exhilarating. Just before we arrived I looked out my port-side window and saw a perfect double rainbow circle projected on the thinning clouds with a little shadow of the airplane right in its centre. It flew along with us until the clouds cleared. Surely a good omen. My pulse starts to pick up as soon as I spot a landmark and this day it took a while. We flew low over endless suburban rooftops, most of which weren’t there when I moved off the island back in 1988. I wasn’t sure where we were until I spotted the Waterford Hospital which was affectionately known as “The Mental” when I was a kid, or if used in a jibe, “that big red brick building in St. John’s”. (It was called the Hospital for Mental and Nervous Diseases until the early 70’s.) We then flew offshore a bit for our approach and came back over Freshwater Bay and Gunner’s Cove and I caught sight of Cabot Tower  guarding the narrows, the opening of the gut to Quidi Vidi Village and further in, the Rooms, which you can see from everywhere. I wished I were arriving by sea. Then I would have seen a thin line of black on the horizon, gradually developing like a polaroid into a shoreline of steep rugged cliffs. We would have had to be fairly close in to pick out the narrow entrance to the harbour, marked by Cabot Tower on one side and the Fort Amherst lighthouse on the other. Then again, flying might be a better choice today as the wind was very high out of the west and the sea was ragged with whitecaps tossing about the scattered bits of sea ice. It looked bitter cold and I soon found out just how cold as I stepped outside at the airport, marvelling at all the snow. But it was bright and sunny and maybe, just maybe, I hoped, it would feel a bit like spring later by the end of the day.

St. John’s row houses (taken on an Easter visit a couple of years ago)

St. John’s is built on the side of the hill which slopes down to the long narrow harbour. It is a fun city with its row houses painted in bright bold colours. That is if you are looking at it from the harbour side. My walk with my daughter from the University to downtown was not what I would call colourful. More of an adventure if anything. St. John’s has been tortured with snow this winter. It is starting to melt but not enough for there to be any sidewalks. On the North side of town there was little to be seen but grey. Here’s a few shots I took once we crested the hill. I needed an excuse to catch my breath and recoup after dodging traffic, crossing and recrossing the streets to find a bit of navigable sidewalk.

Oh the lack of beauty in spring snow. This one is only half the size that it was a few days before, now more of a glacier than a snowbank.

Over the top and heading down the hill.

Lots of old iron fences to keep you out of the church yards.

Not a lot has changed in this area of the city. This very horse was in this very same window thirty years ago when I used to visit this house.

Still grey.

Down the steep steps by the courthouse. Realized we would have to go back up these at some point. Groan.

We checked out Obrien’s music store where a miniature Dachshund was as entertaining as the Newfoundland tunes playing in the background.

We dined at the Duke of Duckworth where the pub scenes for The Republic of Doyle are shot.

I had classic fish and chips with dressing and gravy made tangy with the addition of a few sprinkles of malt vinegar. Some good b’y.

St. John’s is always best experienced on foot but due to the heavy meal, a blister or two and quads fatigue I didn’t feel the least bit guilty when we grabbed a Jiffy cab back to campus. The dispatcher’s heavy townie accent and use of colloquialisms coming over the radio was worth the cost.

I didn’t take a lot more photos. The remainder of the week I spent with family, eating, catching up, seeing how much the kids have grown, (and growing myself, at least in girth – I must say, they sure eats well on the rock.) When I flew out a week later it was snowing again and so white you couldn’t tell where the runway left off and the sky started and I recalled what I don’t miss about St. John’s: the absence of a real spring for it had arrived in name only while I was there.

© Judy Parsons 2014