On Floors that squeak …
One notices it right away, or at least I do. It seems a welcome relief from the brutality of concrete floors in more modern hotels.
Checking into the Glynmill Inn in Corner Brook Newfoundland, one’s eye is drawn upward to the high ceiling with exposed beams. It's like stepping back in time, although even I don’t go back that far. The building has been a hotel for over a hundred years (101 to be exact according to a Wikipedia entry) having first served as housing for a pulp and paper mill close by.
Our room had windows that opened, with screens. In the cool temperatures of late spring travel they were also welcome relief from the cycling of an air conditioner stuck through a wall.
And the path through the woods was shale rather than asphalt. The trees have that fresh green of leaves just opening.
All good. Eh?
One notices it right away, or at least I do. It seems a welcome relief from the brutality of concrete floors in more modern hotels.
Checking into the Glynmill Inn in Corner Brook Newfoundland, one’s eye is drawn upward to the high ceiling with exposed beams. It's like stepping back in time, although even I don’t go back that far. The building has been a hotel for over a hundred years (101 to be exact according to a Wikipedia entry) having first served as housing for a pulp and paper mill close by.
Our room had windows that opened, with screens. In the cool temperatures of late spring travel they were also welcome relief from the cycling of an air conditioner stuck through a wall.
And the path through the woods was shale rather than asphalt. The trees have that fresh green of leaves just opening.
All good. Eh?
Yesterday we drove “down north”.
That’s the way it’s said here in Newfoundland. The rest of Canada would say “up north”. They say a lot of things differently here. It’s the same language, just turned around to express that living here is not that much like living in the rest of Canada.
Our down north trip took us part way to the tip of that north/south peninsula on the west side of the island. We crossed over a range of mountains, rounded-top mountains, and then followed them as we went down a long coastal plain, the limestone barrens. The Gulf of St. Lawrence portion of the Atlantic ocean was beside us.
We saw lobster boats with fishers checking their lobster pots. We saw moose and caribou. An interpretive centre told the story of people who came on this land 6000 years ago (essentially to bury their dead on islands because the spirits wouldn’t cross the water) and others who lived here 4000 years ago (surviving on the multiple benefits provided by seals: clothing, food, heat, and light).
Today we bring this all much more up-to-date as we will visit the site of landing of the Vikings, mere hundreds of years ago rather than thousands.
But most striking of all were the people we met after a hearty supper of turkey and cod. They were a group of women who knit to support the needs of others less fortunate than themselves. Its an eleven-hour drive in these parts to get to cancer assessment and treatment (or an $1,1000 flight). That’s needs support. What goes with them is a “bag of blessings” put together by these kind women, financed by the proceeds of their knitting. And colourful knitting it was of mitts and hats and tea cozies and socks.
About the photos taken at Western Brook Pond. The distant mountains are broken by a fjord, there across that coastal plain. At our feet, a cheery cinquefoil.
That’s the way it’s said here in Newfoundland. The rest of Canada would say “up north”. They say a lot of things differently here. It’s the same language, just turned around to express that living here is not that much like living in the rest of Canada.
Our down north trip took us part way to the tip of that north/south peninsula on the west side of the island. We crossed over a range of mountains, rounded-top mountains, and then followed them as we went down a long coastal plain, the limestone barrens. The Gulf of St. Lawrence portion of the Atlantic ocean was beside us.
We saw lobster boats with fishers checking their lobster pots. We saw moose and caribou. An interpretive centre told the story of people who came on this land 6000 years ago (essentially to bury their dead on islands because the spirits wouldn’t cross the water) and others who lived here 4000 years ago (surviving on the multiple benefits provided by seals: clothing, food, heat, and light).
Today we bring this all much more up-to-date as we will visit the site of landing of the Vikings, mere hundreds of years ago rather than thousands.
But most striking of all were the people we met after a hearty supper of turkey and cod. They were a group of women who knit to support the needs of others less fortunate than themselves. Its an eleven-hour drive in these parts to get to cancer assessment and treatment (or an $1,1000 flight). That’s needs support. What goes with them is a “bag of blessings” put together by these kind women, financed by the proceeds of their knitting. And colourful knitting it was of mitts and hats and tea cozies and socks.
About the photos taken at Western Brook Pond. The distant mountains are broken by a fjord, there across that coastal plain. At our feet, a cheery cinquefoil.
A thrill went through the bus today.
It was the first sighting of an iceberg. A few hours later we’d pulled into a wharf and counted about five of them in the small harbour. They are incredibly beautiful with their translucent blue, truly a jewel in today’s grey pallet (rain soaked most of our day).
Reflecting on it, it was a “come from away” sort of day. Let’s start with the seals. We visited a local enterprise that makes beautiful garments from seal hides: gloves, hats, boots, slippers. Seals come from the Arctic each year on the spring ice floes down the Strait of Belle Isle. The harvesting of seals is not at all like the media tries to horrify us. It’s done humanely, baby seals are not taken.
Then we visited L’Anse Aux Meadows an UNESCO world historical site illustrating the coming of the Vikings. The crossing of the Atlantic in open boats must have been incredibly harsh. They established a small settlement point on this northern tip of the peninsula and yet only stayed for ten years, not finding what they had hoped for in this new land.
And finally, we learned the story of Sir Wilfred Grenfell, a doctor and missionary who first brought medical care to this remote part of the world. It was a coming of great service and compassion.
I’m glad we came, too.
It was the first sighting of an iceberg. A few hours later we’d pulled into a wharf and counted about five of them in the small harbour. They are incredibly beautiful with their translucent blue, truly a jewel in today’s grey pallet (rain soaked most of our day).
Reflecting on it, it was a “come from away” sort of day. Let’s start with the seals. We visited a local enterprise that makes beautiful garments from seal hides: gloves, hats, boots, slippers. Seals come from the Arctic each year on the spring ice floes down the Strait of Belle Isle. The harvesting of seals is not at all like the media tries to horrify us. It’s done humanely, baby seals are not taken.
Then we visited L’Anse Aux Meadows an UNESCO world historical site illustrating the coming of the Vikings. The crossing of the Atlantic in open boats must have been incredibly harsh. They established a small settlement point on this northern tip of the peninsula and yet only stayed for ten years, not finding what they had hoped for in this new land.
And finally, we learned the story of Sir Wilfred Grenfell, a doctor and missionary who first brought medical care to this remote part of the world. It was a coming of great service and compassion.
I’m glad we came, too.
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Today I realized how ignorant I am about most of Canada’s landmass.
The realization came as we drove north on the Labrador highway, heading to Red Bay on the Strait of Belle Isle. For part of the trip the terrain was mountainous in the way of the Canadian Shield. The trees scrubby. For kilometre upon kilometre there was not a sign of civilization until we pulled through coastal villages with houses in a bay, at the most a hundred or so, sometimes more like a couple of dozen. The label given to this area by Jacques Cartier seemed to fit: “The Land God gave to Cain”. Spending my life a few hundred kilometres from our southern border, it was eye opening to see the vast landscape we never give a second thought to. And yet we find here a rich history. Yet another UNESCO heritage site tells the story of the Basque whalers of the 16th century who braved the Atlantic in their galleons to harvest the whales for their oil, an oil that lit much of Europe. One mishap told the story. The galleon, San Juan, had sunk in Red Bay. Through the work of land and under water archeologists in Canada and the study of documents back in the Basque it gets pieced together. A lucrative trans-Atlantic business flourished for decades. A risky one at that. (In the pictures, the flag of red green and white is the Basque flag. The light blue is the Unesco. The Labrador flag is white, green and blue.) My high point personally of the day was climbing the stairs of the lighthouse at L’Anse Amour Lighthouse (132 of them, including the two ladders at the top). That lighthouse and others helped opened a shorter route to the St. Lawrence from northern Europe down the Strait of Belle Isle. |
Coming back onto the island from our time in “the Big Land” (Labrador) we got an afternoon of free time off the bus, time to do the laundry and watch a movie in our room.
We are in Cow Head (not literally in a cow’s head, of course, that’s just the way things get named out here). The Atlantic Ocean slopes ever so gradually on shoals out to sea. I’ve pictured that calm shore with a distant spit of land guarding the shallow bay and the rocky beach.
Spring is at the first happy dandelions stage here.
We are so delighted with the McCarthys Party tour. Our tour guide is a retired elementary school principal and we’re all suitably shepherded, counted, reminded of safety and of keeping to schedule. There are 38 of us, a rather big class for her to keep on track. Occasionally, there are songs to sing along to and videos to watch on the bus. We loved the sense of security and comfort that our tour guide Carol wrapped around us as we travelled.
We are in Cow Head (not literally in a cow’s head, of course, that’s just the way things get named out here). The Atlantic Ocean slopes ever so gradually on shoals out to sea. I’ve pictured that calm shore with a distant spit of land guarding the shallow bay and the rocky beach.
Spring is at the first happy dandelions stage here.
We are so delighted with the McCarthys Party tour. Our tour guide is a retired elementary school principal and we’re all suitably shepherded, counted, reminded of safety and of keeping to schedule. There are 38 of us, a rather big class for her to keep on track. Occasionally, there are songs to sing along to and videos to watch on the bus. We loved the sense of security and comfort that our tour guide Carol wrapped around us as we travelled.
Western Newfoundland is a study in contrasts.
Leaving the windswept limestone barrens of the northern peninsula with its shallow coves and bays, we have found ourselves down in the dense forest and fjords of Gros Morne National Park. Looming over us is the very mantle of the earth, pushed up through the crust, the Tablelands.
The forty of us are taken by boat up the fjord seeing the geology of this land. We also see brave settlements along the shore. The scenery in the park is stunning. We depart from the north side of the fjord at Norris Point and land on the south side, Woody Point, Our dedicated bus driver, Charles, takes the bus the hour drive around the end of the fjord to pick us up. We watch as a lobster fisher takes his catch and rebates his traps. While on the boat we are “screeched in” an ornate ceremony to become honorary Newfoundlanders. We’re then treated to live music, the kind with story-telling lyrics, guitars and a accordion. I’m even starting to enjoy it!
What is consistent throughout these remote places we visit is the animation of the people. They are warm and welcoming.
Leaving the windswept limestone barrens of the northern peninsula with its shallow coves and bays, we have found ourselves down in the dense forest and fjords of Gros Morne National Park. Looming over us is the very mantle of the earth, pushed up through the crust, the Tablelands.
The forty of us are taken by boat up the fjord seeing the geology of this land. We also see brave settlements along the shore. The scenery in the park is stunning. We depart from the north side of the fjord at Norris Point and land on the south side, Woody Point, Our dedicated bus driver, Charles, takes the bus the hour drive around the end of the fjord to pick us up. We watch as a lobster fisher takes his catch and rebates his traps. While on the boat we are “screeched in” an ornate ceremony to become honorary Newfoundlanders. We’re then treated to live music, the kind with story-telling lyrics, guitars and a accordion. I’m even starting to enjoy it!
What is consistent throughout these remote places we visit is the animation of the people. They are warm and welcoming.
From time to time on the bus we can access wi-fi as the bus hooks onto cell coverage. Additionally, our guide has accumulated videos and brings them out when relevant to the place we are visiting.
So, once again I write about a study in contrasts.
The video was about the response of the people of Gander to the USA bound flights on 9-11. It’s an American production from 15 years ago telling the story of sacrificial kindness of the people in Newfoundland. You know, just what’s done when someone needs help.
In contrast the News Feed on my phone had a story about the current international trade negotiations, and Trump not being inclined to renew CUSMA because Canada treats the USA so badly.
As I said, a study in contrasts.
The photo was taken in King’s Point: a rainy day, an iceberg lazing in the inlet. Here we viewed a reconstructed whale skeleton. The whale had died as a result of entanglement with fishing nets and was towed over 100 kilometres to this inlet. A joint project was taken on, uniting the efforts of this town of a few hundred people, funding through the provincial and federal governments, and undertaken with the assistance of the Tyrell Museum in Drumheller Alberta created the exhibit. The skeleton stretches to 55 feet in length.
Its that story of everyone just pitching in and finding away. It’s just the culture out here.
So, once again I write about a study in contrasts.
The video was about the response of the people of Gander to the USA bound flights on 9-11. It’s an American production from 15 years ago telling the story of sacrificial kindness of the people in Newfoundland. You know, just what’s done when someone needs help.
In contrast the News Feed on my phone had a story about the current international trade negotiations, and Trump not being inclined to renew CUSMA because Canada treats the USA so badly.
As I said, a study in contrasts.
The photo was taken in King’s Point: a rainy day, an iceberg lazing in the inlet. Here we viewed a reconstructed whale skeleton. The whale had died as a result of entanglement with fishing nets and was towed over 100 kilometres to this inlet. A joint project was taken on, uniting the efforts of this town of a few hundred people, funding through the provincial and federal governments, and undertaken with the assistance of the Tyrell Museum in Drumheller Alberta created the exhibit. The skeleton stretches to 55 feet in length.
Its that story of everyone just pitching in and finding away. It’s just the culture out here.
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One of the First Nations peoples of the island of Newfoundland was called the Beothe. “Was” is the operative word here. They were pushed off the coastal lands by the English, fell victim to killing conflict with the British and were infected by the diseases brought to the island. After two hundred years of British settlement the Beothuk were culturally extinct.
An interpretive centre on the way from Gander to Twillingate artfully tells the Beothe story. It sits near an archeological site where the way of life of the Beothe people was reconstructed through the artifacts discovered in their summer camp. Particularly poignant is the story of Mary March (her English name, her Beothuk name was “Demasduit”). She died shortly after she was taken captive for the purpose of being civilized. A couple of pictures from around the interpretive centre were captured during a walk to the Spirit Garden were we could honour the Beothuk by hanging an amulet in the trees with a ribbon, a message to them written on birch bark. The rocky shore of the North Atlantic is sheltered here by other off shore islands. |
Mary remarked on something today, something so obvious. I’m glad she put her observation into words.
In Newfoundland everyone is proud of their province. They are not bitter or resentful.
There’s not great wealth in the places we’ve visited. And, the weather tends to be very cold in that damp, bitter sort of cold that goes right through a person. And, the land is rugged, in places only okay to grow trees or tundra. And, the people have survived an enormous financial wallop when the major industry was closed down in the cod moratorium.
Their wealth is one of character and community, of hard work and supporting each other.
Sure some of their songs have that melancholy of tragedy on the ocean. But there is an irrepressible spirit in these people.
It is truly phenomenal.
In Newfoundland everyone is proud of their province. They are not bitter or resentful.
There’s not great wealth in the places we’ve visited. And, the weather tends to be very cold in that damp, bitter sort of cold that goes right through a person. And, the land is rugged, in places only okay to grow trees or tundra. And, the people have survived an enormous financial wallop when the major industry was closed down in the cod moratorium.
Their wealth is one of character and community, of hard work and supporting each other.
Sure some of their songs have that melancholy of tragedy on the ocean. But there is an irrepressible spirit in these people.
It is truly phenomenal.
Our tour today had us windblown in Bonnavista where we viewed the North Atlantic and bought fudge.
In Elliston we looked at root cellars.
In Port Union we heard the remarkable story of Sir William F Coaker who founded the Fishermen's Protective Union and saw the 100+ year old printing presses.
In Twillingate we saw yet another lighthouse and toured a boat building museum. There was yet another museum in Ryans Premises.
We went to the Trinity lighthouse and the walked about the historic village of Trinity.
In Gander we visited the International lounge of the airport that had provided a refuelling stop for planes carrying the likes of the Queen, Frank Sinatra, and Marilyn Monroe. Eventually the jumbo jets could make it all the way across the pond without having to refuel in Gander.
And, of course we heard lots about Gander and 9-11 including first-hand stories told during an evening of exceptionally well performed music.
Cape Bonavista and the historical site, Ryan Premises.
Trinity Lighthouse and the historic village of Trinity.
The International Lounge at the Gander Airport.
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Leaving from Bay Bulls we headed out onto the Atlantic in search of a whale. We weren't disappointed. Watchful eyes spotted the spout, timing the dives and resurfacing and zeroing in on where the whale would be next so and the boat could maneuver in closely. I didn't get good pictures myself but others in the group were able to catch the tail above the water as it dived.
Then we were off to see the puffins in the Witless Bay Ecological reserve. A lot of them, like in the hundreds of thousands. There were several breeds, the ones pictured below were the auk, a similar bird to the puffin but a bit larger. The ecological reserve holds the greatest population of puffins in North America. Our tour guide, the multi-talented Con O'Brien, gave excellent commentary on the life of this aquatic bird. Upon our return to Bay Bulls we had lunch dockside and were entertained by Con O'Brien and Madeline Cartier of the band The Irish Descendants. Through the excellent story-telling and the lyrics of their songs we were able to develop a deeper sense of the history of the people and the fishery. Madeline's fiddle playing was a special treat for the afternoon. |
This is about end points.
Like a lighthouse on the most easterly point of North America.
Like receiving the first transatlantic wireless message across the Atlantic.
Like the penultimate day of a 12 day bus tour.
And this was my first, bus tour that is. It had its rhythm, both in terms of suitcases out into the hall in the morning and stops to get off the bus every hour or so. Oh, there was also the rhythm of a distinctive music - guitar, accordion and vocal. At times the music drifted toward North American Country, at other times it drifted back over the ocean yearning for its Celtic roots.
I’ve learned a lot about Newfoundland. I experienced terrain and coastlines unlike any other I’ve ever seen. I took pictures and chatted with companion travellers. I went on boats, one up a peaceful fjord and another whale-side and puffin viewing on the Atlantic.
It was good.
Like a lighthouse on the most easterly point of North America.
Like receiving the first transatlantic wireless message across the Atlantic.
Like the penultimate day of a 12 day bus tour.
And this was my first, bus tour that is. It had its rhythm, both in terms of suitcases out into the hall in the morning and stops to get off the bus every hour or so. Oh, there was also the rhythm of a distinctive music - guitar, accordion and vocal. At times the music drifted toward North American Country, at other times it drifted back over the ocean yearning for its Celtic roots.
I’ve learned a lot about Newfoundland. I experienced terrain and coastlines unlike any other I’ve ever seen. I took pictures and chatted with companion travellers. I went on boats, one up a peaceful fjord and another whale-side and puffin viewing on the Atlantic.
It was good.
The tour of St. Johns was its own study in contrasts. We looked at brightly coloured houses on the hilly streets and beside the water of the harbour and a quaint little inlet called Quidi Vidi. We walked the grounds of Government House, the home of the Lieutenant Governor of Newfoundland and Labrador, it was built 200 years ago. We saw the skeleton of a magnificent blue whale dangling from ceiling in an ultramodern Science Faculty building in Memorial University.
Everywhere contrasts.
And yet everything comes together. It is about people creating beauty in the context of their hard work and unique culture.
Newfoundland has much to teach the rest of Canada about coming together.
Everywhere contrasts.
And yet everything comes together. It is about people creating beauty in the context of their hard work and unique culture.
Newfoundland has much to teach the rest of Canada about coming together.
Now, thinking of teaching, we found McCarthy’s Party an excellent educator for our tour. Our guide, Carole, is a retired elementary school administrator. During our tour she pointed out several communities where she had taught. She brought both a passion for learning but also the skills to keep our group of 38 (at the other end of the age continuum) cohesive and on time! We also learned little tidbits about life on Newfoundland, things like turkey is a common Sunday dinner (not just confined to Thanksgiving and Christmas as in the rest of Canada) and that strange something in Jigs dinner was peas pudding, pudding made of boiling split peas in with the meat.
Frequently on the tour our experience was greatly enhanced by the personal relationships that McCarthy's Party and our guide has formed with local folk, folk who could really tell us about their history and lives. We saw much more of the life of this province than we would've if we'd driven ourselves. We got to hear the history and culture inflected with the characteristic vocal tones and idioms rather than just reading about it off museum storyboards.
McCarthy’s Party not only knows its province, the people, but how to conduct tours that will satisfy curiosity and perspective. Bravo. By the way, we heard that McCarthy's and our guide Carole are planning similar tours to Ireland. We are looking forward to signing up!
Frequently on the tour our experience was greatly enhanced by the personal relationships that McCarthy's Party and our guide has formed with local folk, folk who could really tell us about their history and lives. We saw much more of the life of this province than we would've if we'd driven ourselves. We got to hear the history and culture inflected with the characteristic vocal tones and idioms rather than just reading about it off museum storyboards.
McCarthy’s Party not only knows its province, the people, but how to conduct tours that will satisfy curiosity and perspective. Bravo. By the way, we heard that McCarthy's and our guide Carole are planning similar tours to Ireland. We are looking forward to signing up!
Waiting three days to get the ferry to Saint Pierre we got to explore Saint Johns, at our own leisurely pace.
The Rooms is a magnificent museum and art gallery. It deepened our understanding of the history of Newfoundland and respect for the people and geography of the island. We could spend more time reading and seeing exhibits in our few hours there. Many of the things Carole told us about, we could think through again. From the top floor cafeteria we watched a cruise ship enter the harbour. A few hours later we watched the fog roll in off the Atlantic, too.
Day two was rainy, really rainy. It was also laundry day (good thing we weren't hoping to hang our clothes outside). On the city bus off to the coin laundromat, small children smiled and danced on board, riders said 'thank you' to the driver and one driver gave us transfers to save us fare when we tried to board the wrong bus to get where we were going. The city bus seemed to be a friendly and kind place. The laundromat was impeccably clean, the owner so personable and helpful, and Hudson & Rex reruns played on the tv (the series is set in St. Johns).
Day three we happened to walk into Government House just as a tour was to start. An impressive young man, a university student pursuing pharmacy as a career, guided us through the opulent and profoundly historic first floor. Did he ever have a memory and a knack for detail!
It's a small thing, but going into a coffeeshop, one used by locals rather than tourists, we found the same warm, friendly and lively spirited service as we have experienced throughout Newfoundland. It clearly isn't put on for the tourists but is the underlying perspective on life of the people here. What a delight.
One last thing. We had fish 'n chips at the Duke of Duckworth pub. Best ever! Dining out at Celtic Hearth I got to try experience Jigs Dinner too.
The Rooms is a magnificent museum and art gallery. It deepened our understanding of the history of Newfoundland and respect for the people and geography of the island. We could spend more time reading and seeing exhibits in our few hours there. Many of the things Carole told us about, we could think through again. From the top floor cafeteria we watched a cruise ship enter the harbour. A few hours later we watched the fog roll in off the Atlantic, too.
Day two was rainy, really rainy. It was also laundry day (good thing we weren't hoping to hang our clothes outside). On the city bus off to the coin laundromat, small children smiled and danced on board, riders said 'thank you' to the driver and one driver gave us transfers to save us fare when we tried to board the wrong bus to get where we were going. The city bus seemed to be a friendly and kind place. The laundromat was impeccably clean, the owner so personable and helpful, and Hudson & Rex reruns played on the tv (the series is set in St. Johns).
Day three we happened to walk into Government House just as a tour was to start. An impressive young man, a university student pursuing pharmacy as a career, guided us through the opulent and profoundly historic first floor. Did he ever have a memory and a knack for detail!
It's a small thing, but going into a coffeeshop, one used by locals rather than tourists, we found the same warm, friendly and lively spirited service as we have experienced throughout Newfoundland. It clearly isn't put on for the tourists but is the underlying perspective on life of the people here. What a delight.
One last thing. We had fish 'n chips at the Duke of Duckworth pub. Best ever! Dining out at Celtic Hearth I got to try experience Jigs Dinner too.
Jelly bean houses in the blocks around our hotel.
check out the bottom diamond to see the photographer reflected there.
It was a rough crossing from Fortune on the Burin peninsula to this small French Island in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Upon arrival it was rainy. Instantly we felt as though we had entered another culture. After a continental breakfast the next morning, with baguettes and croissants to die for, we walked the narrow streets in the rain, very old streets, streets that seemed to have been laid down before cars were even thought of. Often there were no sidewalks and cars were parked at the side of the road, Peugeots and Renaults. It felt like a small European village. We struggled to make sense of this seaside village with its different people.
We arrived at the lighthouse.
We arrived at the lighthouse.
That afternoon, things changed. We met Elea.
We'd signed up for a walking tour and met our most charming, engaging and knowledgeable guide, Elea. She took us back in history, helped us to know the fascinating story of this Island. It is the story of fishers, French and Basques, with both wealthy fishery owners and poor fishermen. It is a story of an island profoundly impacted by the cod moratorium and now seeking to re-invent itself toward tourism. It is the story of free flowing alcohol as a French island when both Canada and the United States were in the middle of prohibition in the early 20th century. It is the story of brightly coloured houses that have to get repainted every two or three years because of the harsh climate. And it is the story of a remote island having a Prefect still sent over from France to keep society true to its European culture. To assist him in keeping order are 60 police officers for the 6000 population of the island (so very much higher a ratio than in Canada!).
This is a very Catholic Island. The Virgin Mary is traditionally celebrated as the protector of fishermen and mariners. She thus is venerated through the island in statues. Villagers will put statues of the Virgin in the windows of their houses to protect the house from fire.
One of the characteristics of this village was the short business hours, bakeries open early in the morning but are sold out by afternoon, shops and cafes close midday so owners and staff could go home for dinner, being opened later in the afternoon, pretty well everything closed on Sundays. Elea helped us to know how to deal with all that, it's just what the place is like.
Then Elea advised us that we'd happened to have come on the weekend of Sailor's Day (Fete des Marins) one of the major celebrations on the Island. There was a special mass in the church the next morning, Sunday, as the many sailors lost at sea are remembered. A procession would follow with the laying of floral wreathes, and the priest blessing the boats in the harbour. Suddenly, it wasn't an empty Sunday morning after all.
This is a very Catholic Island. The Virgin Mary is traditionally celebrated as the protector of fishermen and mariners. She thus is venerated through the island in statues. Villagers will put statues of the Virgin in the windows of their houses to protect the house from fire.
One of the characteristics of this village was the short business hours, bakeries open early in the morning but are sold out by afternoon, shops and cafes close midday so owners and staff could go home for dinner, being opened later in the afternoon, pretty well everything closed on Sundays. Elea helped us to know how to deal with all that, it's just what the place is like.
Then Elea advised us that we'd happened to have come on the weekend of Sailor's Day (Fete des Marins) one of the major celebrations on the Island. There was a special mass in the church the next morning, Sunday, as the many sailors lost at sea are remembered. A procession would follow with the laying of floral wreathes, and the priest blessing the boats in the harbour. Suddenly, it wasn't an empty Sunday morning after all.
Elea gave us a much deeper appreciation for this charming bit of France on our North American continental shelf. Walking with her we gained a deep appreciation for the people, and the vastly different culture of this island. I hope a few more images with capture some of that appeal.
Signing off until our next travels ....
