Getting Out Of St. Johns

To really get around in Newfoundland one must have a car or lots and lots of money for taxis. I got lucky my second day and hitched a ride that would drop me off where I could catch a birding tour. The first stop was in Petty Harbor, a fishing village built around a harbor lined with  boats, docks stacked with lobster traps and so many pigeons sunning themselves on tin roofs waiting for the day's catch to come in. Mountains surround the town and wildflowers add purple and gold. Other than that, there isn't much there.

 

The little town of Bay Bulls is not as attractive with the oil business dominating its harbor. A woman at a tour company told me how desperate Newfoundland was after the moratorium on cod came into effect around 1990. Those who could fled; those who stayed were almost desperate and they are damned glad for the oil companies that saved their economy. Now there is controlled cod fishing, she told me, sort of a populations study with special licenses. The catch is counted, evaluated, and the fisherman sells his catch locally. Thus Newfies don't have to import Icelandic cod for their fish and chips.

 

I chose the smallest of the tour companies to see the Witless Bay reserve. Only special permits let humans on the island so the rest of us have to go by boat. Its pretty rocky out there where the water meets the land and the water is choppy. On the island reserve there are birds everywhere and the rocks are decorated with white caps of guano. Puffins fly in and out of  holes in the heavy sod and gulls hang around in hopes of snagging a young one should it emerge. Puffins are everyone's favorite bird, flying all around us with their stiff little wings and top-heavy bodies, belly-skipping atop the waves, then disappearing into the water only to come up somewhere else, hopefully with a meal in that big orange beak. On the water floated an alarming number of young gull bodies, the ones that didn't make it,.Another of the reserve's islands was covered with huge flocks of birds that I'm ashamed to admit I can't recall their species..

This photo is the best I could do in that choppy water.

On the boat I met a Newfie woman who's fisherman father had twelve young mouths to feed. She told of how her family had looked forward to seal season. They hunted them, salted the meat that lasted all winter, ate flipper pie, used the oil and, in the end, her father made boots of the skin. I did not see any seals on that outing nor did I see a whale but on the way back to St. Johns I was lucky enough to see my first moose.

Quidi Vidi is another small fishing village a fairly easy walk from my hostel in St. Johns. Its small harbor holds the usual fishing stuff, a community center and a brewery that cranks out the local brew, Quidi Vidi Beer. Homes are modest and life goes on despite the constant flow of tourists.

 A shared taxi service picked me up in St Johns along with several others here and there, delivered each rider to the proper destination then dropped me off to catch the ferry to Bell Island. This is how one gets around in Newfoundland without a car. I passed the coffee shop and cafe, opting to hike to the mining museum in town which is on the other side of the island and it didn't take long to regret it. I didn't go to the main business district, if there was one, but found the 'information center' indicated by a hand printed sign, consisting of two boxes, one of cheap copies of a 'visitor guide' and map,  the other for money, and a gate with a dog behind it that aggressively guarded the front door.

Iron mines once supported Bell Island, huge underground operations that extended a fair distance under the ocean. The demand for iron has diminished though the ore is still plentiful. One mine is now a museum where one can don a hard hat, sign a waver and be led underground by a woman guide with a lively, amusing spiel. Nearby I found a carving in brick on the side of a small building, a tribute to the children who once worked in the mines.

I stopped at the cafe next to the lighthouse for a bowl of the most expensive seafood chowder ever but, oh, was it good. Fortified, I took the trail leading back to the ferry. It meandered, desolate and beautiful, along the clifftops, through grassy expanses decorated with wildflowers, into groves of short evergreens and finally to the ferry. An islander told me trees are short because the island flipped in some past geological era, its vegetation feeding the waters and new earth having to form on what had been its rocky bottom. I'm not falling for it but it makes a good story.

St Johns, Newfoundland

Ah, St Johns. I knew before I even left the airport that this was the very friendliest of cities.Once the salt cod capitol of the world, St John's is now all about oil and tourism.

The harbor at night.

A free noon concert at harbor park...sea chanties!

Another view of the harbor. The big blocky building is The Rooms museum, not to be missed.

Much of the original city which was settled int the very early 1600s burned in 1879 (or somewhere thereabouts) so I can't really vouch for the age of the older neighborhood of row houses just above the harbor. They are known to one and all as Jelly Bean Row.

Walking in this town can be a real chore because the uphills tend to be darned steep. No fear, there are lots of little stops one can make where tiny little parks sport statues and history boards to explain them.

The entrance to the harbor is called 'the Narrows', a thin channel deep enough for oceangoing ships. On one point is Cabot Tower, a steep trek up the hill. Leading away are two of St Johns' many hiking trails. I took the downhill back to the harbor that winds along the clifftops with a great view of the Cape Spear lighthouse across the narrows.

Cabot Tower

View fo St Johns from Cabot Tower.

Cape Spear, the most easterly roint in Canada.

At the end of the trail is a neighborhood known as the Battery, once a military battery that is no longer there. Nowdays, colorful houses dot the rocky shore, some sporting signs declaring themselves 'shakes'. These houses were relocated, I'm told, set on logs, rolled down to the water, floated across, the rolled to the new site. 

St Johns is not a city known for its graffiti but they are trying. I found a couple pass-through walks that are highly decorated. Obviously this is a legal if not a paid project as I found one young man set up and hard at work in broad daylight.

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Yes, there is humor here. How else would a street get a name like this? I just wondered what kind of chips: wood, fish, poker, maybe even buffalo chips. Nobody could tell me for certain.

Terry Fox lost his leg to cancer and decided to run across Canada to draw attention to and funds for cancer research. He dipped his leg into St Johns; harbor then set off. He didn't make it because cancer got the best of him but he became a national hero anyway.

Amsterdam

I arrived in Amsterdam station in a train full of young guys. What for? Well, to start with, legalized prostitution. My hostel was located on a street with cafe tables around one corner and cribs before I could reach the other. The girls rent a small, narrow room with a stool to sit on and heavy red drapes. They dress in a variety of costumes, mostly scanty, often red, sometimes lace tops or black stockings, and they strike a variety of poses.These women are healthy, not the emaciated, doped-up girls on so many city streets. Prostitution is an occupation controlled and taxed by the government and has been active here since sometime in the 1600s. They pay taxes and ply their trade according rules set up by the government.I even saw a monument to the sex trade, a statue called 'Belle'. All around the red light district are eritoca museums, shops full of racy accessories and some totally outrageous window displays. Tour guides take groups through the district, umbrellas held high, grey haired men pretending not to look while their wives openly gawk. One does not photograph the working girls.

Marijuana is also legal with shops selling a variety of products to get you high and paraphanelia to go with it. I was tempted to buy pot chocolate bars but knew they'd nail me at customs if I tried to bring home any souvenirs. On the weekend one can almost get a contact high just walking down the street. Otherwise beer flows freely. Sunday morning there were several young men sleeping it off on the sidewalks and I wondered if they still had their wallets.

On a more sober note, Amsterdam is loaded with canals, at least in the old section. Boats are parked all along them: rowboats, motorboats, tourist boats, even houseboats decked out with flowerpots. If one is lucky enough to catch the sun shining, the buildings cast colorful reflections on the sparkling water.I watched the progress of a couple ducks building an nest in a dingy full of water and a blue heron standing on the prow of another in the center of the red light district showing no concern at all about the party raging around him. I met a couple adding their love lock to the colorful collection already padlocked to a small bridge, a declaration of love they told me while hamming it up for my camera.

My first impression of the buildings was that they leaned but not in harmony. I thought it was age and the fact that much of old Amsterdam is built on pilings sunk into what was once a waterway. On a walking tour our guide explained it: taxes were once assessed by footage on the street so houses were built tall, narrow and deep. At the top there is a hook to haul up the furniture because of the too-narrow stairwells and some buildings were tilted to facilitate the process...and to keep the rain out. Many buildings have the same step and bell-gabled styles I saw in Belgium but a good number were far more ornate, some decorated with images of trade, heraldry and classical statues.

These figures indicated apothecaries.

Culture? There is plenty. I got lost a few times before I found museumsplein where there are a few museum options. I chose the Van Gogh Museum where I was blown away by his skill represented in so many styles. Amsterdam seems to prefer Rembrandt, honoring him with a museum as well as a park bearing his statue and a bronze 3d version of his painting Night Watch. I am ashamed to admit its the only museum I visited in Amsterdam. Their is variety in the buskers who play accordian, classical or light jazz; not one rock 'n roller did I encounter.

Donald Duck a la Van Gogh.

These boys were amazing.

Let's not forget the markets After all, Holland is said to be the tulip capitol of the world. I tried to slip a tulip bulb past customs but they took it away from me without even a slap on the hand. I found the flower market, book market, produce market, and cheese. Yes cheese. Holland is a major cheese producer with the happiest cows around. And where else does one find wooden shoes!