In Newfoundland, there is a place called Trinity and another one called Trinity East, both on Trinity Harbor, or Trinity Bight as it is known. Trinity is a tourist place, with replications, tours, etc; Trinity East is not tourist-y. Nor are the several other villages scattered around the bay.
We arrived first at Trinity and were suitably impressed, but we found no place for the moho. I wouldn’t want one in my back yard either. So we went to Trinity East, which at first is not as impressive, and likewise here there was a paucity of boondocking places. Paucity. I like that word.
We were getting ready to move on when I spied a grassy space by the water. “Maybe,” said Gail. “Maybe not,” said I, but then we noticed a couple of local gents nearby. “Ask them,” said Gail. “Naw,” said I. “Do you want me to?” she asked, and I knew I was beaten. So I approached in my own awkward way and asked.
And that is how we met Freeman and Doreen. “Maybe not here,” said Freeman, “but you’re welcome to stay in my garden.” So we followed him there and stayed in his garden for three days. Best site ever.
You can’t replicate people like these. Both of them are locally born and raised, married for forty seven years. Between them they know everything there is to know about Trinity Bight and environs, which they shared as they toured us around. When Freeman first offered us the place, he said it was conditional on us coming up and sharing some rum with them, which we did. Best hosts ever.
Aside from the totally spectacular scenery of the place, there is so much stuff here. The first court of justice ever in Canada was held here. The churches are restored and utterly magnificent. We went on great hikes, high on bluffs above the ocean, from which we beheld whales and weird coastal formations. A day or two earlier, when we were in Arnold’s Cove, Gail had opined that “we’ll never beat this.” She had to revise her opinion after Trinity.
We would have found some of the sites on Google, but we would have missed the essence of the place except for Freeman and Doreen. They took us on a dock to watch cod being unloaded. She showed us the bank she worked in when she was a young woman and the boardinghouse where she stayed. They pointed out where their parents had lived, and the graveyard where many of their ancestors are, and where they themselves will be in due time. You can’t educate guides like this; they have to be home grown.
At first I thought that these folk had spent their whole lives here, but not so. They’ve lived and worked all over the place: Yellowknife, St John’s, Edmonton, and other place that I forget. That said, they are local products and they keep coming back. The garden we stayed in was the same one that Freeman was raised in, beside the original house. They have a place in St John’s, but Trinity East is home.
So that’s it. Newfoundlanders are said to be remarkably generous and hospitable, and they are. The genuine article. We had a terrific weekend with these folk, unscripted. You won’t find them on the net (well, here maybe); they don’t advertise. It’s just who they are. A gift to the rest of us, if you’re lucky enough to run into them.
Thanks, folks.
PS Freeman was a supervisor for Finning in Ft. McMurray. You should be impressed by that.
Doreen worked in banks and survived a hold up attempt, in part because the robber couldn’t get her accent. Hilarious.
And, their neighbor’s house burned down awhile back, so what do all those Newfoundlanders do? Build him a new one, of course, pro bono. Materials only. That’s pioneer stuff, Newfie style.
Trinity. Lotta tour buses go here
Trinity East. Our bus went here. This is what great hosts and tour guides look like.
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