Newfoundland

The view from 26F as we descended towards St John’s International was great, not particularly dissimilar to what one might see at a similar stage of the journey towards Aberdeen, the West Coast of Scotland or Ireland; which must now be a travel objective for me over the next few years. Once safely parked and disembarked - to 19°C weather - my first impressions of the airport were of how hastily put together it all seemed, with construction continuing in various parts. That lent a rustic, uncomplicated - perhaps even idyllic - air to everything, the sort of chilled, back water one might go to escape the lures of technology. Before travelling I had searched extensively for a duty free shop at YYT, walking the short distance to the arrivals terminal made the reasons for my futile googling apparent. ...

If all goes well, by the time you read this, I will have spent just over 18 hours in St John’s, North America’s oldest city, depending on who you listen to. As I type away in Evernote on my laptop, my view is considerably less fascinating than what I have been looking forward to; the 3 day ginger stubble of the fellow in seat 26D, my notes and the tepid remains of coffee in a Styrofoam cup occupying the full extent of my vision. The map on the entertainment console in front of me indicates that I am now half way across the expanse of the Atlantic stretching between the western edge of the Republic of Ireland and St John’s, not entirely a comforting thought to be surrounded by all that water. ...