The trip seemed to truly begin after the layover in Toronto,
a familiar airport Pearson International. What wasn’t so familiar though was
the direction the plane was heading shortly after our take off. We were heading
east. Not the usual westward direction that I have gone so many times before. Yes, I have in the past headed east out of
Toronto but not for quite a few years and never to today’s destination:
Saint Johns Newfoundland.
The expectations are about to meet the experiences.
A quick glance at my watch told me that we would soon be
arriving at the St. Johns’ Airport. A
glance out of my window told me no such thing. For the most part there was
nothing to be seen outside other than the reflection of the plane’s
navigational lights on the engine nacelle and the wing’s trailing edge. A heavy
darkness was everywhere else. Then I began
to see the small clusters of lights on the ground. A few gathered over here, a
few more over there. It was late, eleven pm local time and most of the lights
below were streetlights and a few vehicles.
There were so few lights that I thought we must be some distance from
the city and the airport. Yet as soon as that thought left my brain I felt the
plane bank and begin to lose altitude. We were descending and to confirm
my suspicions the Captain came on line and gave the obligatory “trays in the closed
position and the seat backs upright” spiel.
Another look out the window and now I could see the airport below. Still
no bright city lights though to indicate the whereabouts of a city. Having landed
in many back waters over the years I don’t need bright city lights to make me
feel comfortable but this was St. Johns, the capital of the province of
Newfoundland and Labrador.
Expectations zero. Experiences one.
With itinerary in hand and backpack over my shoulder I
headed out of the terminal to find; a cab, my lodgings, a beer and some food.
Yes preferably in that order.
There outside amongst the smokers and the neon lights I
inhaled my first breath of the salty Newfoundland air, very cool and none to
warm. As I hauled myself towards the
curb and the waiting cabs one of the cabbies comes over and helps me with the
bag. . A bit rusty and rubby would be a good way to describe them, cab and
cabbie both. The cabbie, an older fellow who could have used a good shave and a new
tooth or two was quick to start up the conversation as he placed my bag into
the boot of his cab by asking me “where ya going to by’?”
I read to him the name and the address of the place I was to
stay that night from my itinerary as I sat down next to him in his cab. Then as
we drove away from the airport I heard those words from cabbies that make me
shake my head; “Hmmm can’t say I know where that is…you know how to get there?”
A glance at my itinerary and another shake of my head got the
cabbie to call into dispatch to ask for directions. Now the directions came
right quickly but the dispatcher’s salutation left me with that sinking feeling
once again. After all the lefts and rights the dispatcher’s final words were,
“well at least that’s the way I think…good luck with that by’ ”
Expectations zero. Experiences two.
Then we did the customary
cabbie/client questions.
Where ya from? Vancouver.
First time here? Yes.
Business or pleasure? A bit of both I hope.
Looking for anything in particular?
Now when I answered this I said “Hell ya. I wish to get rid
of my bag, wash my face, and then find a pub with a cold beer and some hot
food.”
“No problem there by’ Hell I’ll give ya the tour…don’t ka
worry aboot da meter, that doesn’t mean much to me.” And he was sincere about
it not meaning too much to him as he charged only approximately half of what
the meter read at the end of our time together.
Turns out stop lights and stop signs didn’t mean too much to
him either. At least that’s what he told me after I mentioned to him that he
had just completely ignored the second of the last two stop signs.
“Cops”, he says, “don’t much care about shit like that at
this time of night…nor do I”
“Yes. But I kinda do…”
“Yep Cops got stabbins to worry ‘bout. Town’s not like it
used to be. Still no one’s stealing things and that’s a good thing. People
don’t steal here in Newfoundland and that’s a good thing because it lets the
cops worry ‘bout the stabbins. Them stabbins aren’t a good thing. Better than
those guns and shooting though…not many guns here…not many blacks or them
others what with those rags on their heads…we have a few but not many…yep not
too many guns here or shootings…yep a good thing.”
Wow awkward silence time. My head nodding just enough to
acknowledge that I had heard him but not enough of a nod (I sincerely hope) to
be mistaken for an affirmation of his ramblings. Yep here I was driving through
St Johns looking like a mute Bobble head.
Expectations zero. Experiences three.
Then thankfully we were downtown, on the waterfront. Before
us stood the tallest building in St. Johns at least so said my host, “Ten full
stories tall!” A more welcome distraction I have never seen. A few more
colourful commentaries on the waterfront area and off to my lodgings we were
bound.
After a short drive we began looking for the address on the itinerary
and then there it was, a most beautiful and large Victorian styled home. A mansion that one could imagine the town’s
doctor or lawyer lived in.
Now neither I nor the driver knew if this was the right
place as there was no signage other than the four numbers of the address
attached to one of the large Grecian-like columns that made up the grandiose
front entrance. Stepping out of the cab and walking up the front steps I notice
an envelope taped to the majestic stained glass door. On the envelope was my name and inside
it an electronic room key with instructions on how to get inside and find my
room.
So with the instructions, the key, my backpack and the
cabbie I entered this beautiful house. The cabbie came along because as he
himself said, “I just wanna come in a have a look around such a fine a place as
this.”
And fine it was, a real gem hidden just outside of St Johns’
downtown area, the very downtown that held the remainder of my evening’s quest.
A quick splash of water on my face and I was once again back
in the cab headed downtown.
After the short drive I found myself standing outside, in
the brisk mid-summers night air, between the Yellowbelly Pub and that rusty cab
with my most interesting host. Now here I took a moment to breathe deeply, to
look around. There I found myself feeling most grateful for all that this day had
brought me thus far.
I bent down and stuck my head back into the cab to pay, thank the cabbie and ask one last thing. I asked for a receipt. Business
and all you know.
This is how he gruffly replied, “I don’t do that!” and that’s
when I see in his outstretched hand and the two blank taxi receipts. I thank
him and take the receipts as he mutters to himself “If you want it you fill it
out.”
Expectations zero. Experiences...the only way to go.
