[SignalHillHiker]

Via jeddy1989, perhaps one of the most complimentary reviews we've ever received from an urban perspective. So many lines I wouldn't dare think, let alone say.

Via the New York Times:

I Lost My Job and My Husband. Then I Found Newfoundland.

...

In the morning, we pressed on toward St. John’s. The towns on the way were smaller, the accents more pronounced. In Fredericton we slipped (undetected, we thought) into the back pew of a weatherboard church, where the congregants were singing hymns a cappella and by heart in what was approaching an Irish brogue. The pastor gathered the children in front of the altar and snapped his fingers in their faces when they failed to pay attention, then commanded them to sing the “welcome song” and give us bags of hard candy.

We passed through Lumberton and Newtown, stopped to roam among endless mazes of lobster traps on the docks. And in Gambo I ate the biggest portion of soft-serve ice cream I’ve had to date. The closer we got to St. John’s the colder it became — the east coast unbuffered from the ocean winds’ true power. At night it was so cold in the car I woke and buried myself beneath a heap of our dirty clothes to keep from shivering.

Then, finally, we dipped south to the Avalon Peninsula, and reached St. John’s the next afternoon. While most of the province was dark blues and greens, St. John’s was brazen in telegraphing its presence, the downtown lined with rowhouses in fuchsia, yellow and orange. Here there were stores and signs catering to tourists and plaques denoting historical achievements: Some considered St. John’s the oldest English-founded city on the continent; Signal Hill was the site of the first trans-Atlantic wireless communication. But I wondered then and now about the history of those smaller places we had passed through with no plaques to speak of.

At night there was music in the streets and crowds filled the pubs even though it was a Tuesday. I felt something inside me switch on again, the excitement of my very first days in New York City, the thrill of a new place alight and alive through the dark. We went to a bar on George Street, said yes to the house dinner special; it was called Brewis, which, in the server’s best description, contained “codfish and wet bread.” We ordered the beer ourselves.

I don’t remember where we slept that night, or the feverish drive back to the ferry port in the days that followed. I don’t remember the boat or bus rides home. New York was still hot and full of the problems I’d left there, and I spent the rest of the summer earning minimum wage by correcting the faulty geocode of Google Maps listings. I never came across any listings for Newfoundland, but sometimes I would type in Twillingate and watch the map zoom northward, allow myself to stand for a moment on the cliff where I could craft an adventure based solely on the mystery of a place’s name, and the promise of the beauty it might hold.

http://www.nytimes.com/2016/08/14/tr...=fb-share&_r=0

Unghhh... yessss... lol