So this time I was thinking my excuse could be “there’s nothing to write about!” but then I realized there always is, you just have to decide that what you have to say isn’t as boring as you think it is. So that’s what I’m going to do. This is a post that I’ve been planning to write ever since before I left Newfoundland but for some reason I can’t explain it hasn’t happened yet. But it’s happening today!
Things I miss about Newfoundland
- The wind – it’s always surrounding you, pushing you back, shoving you forward, making your hair stick in the lip-gloss that you so foolishly thought to wear that night. It creates noise in the emptiest of spaces and a friend which is either bothering or comforting depending on the situation. Sure, with fall there’s quite a lot of wind in Sweden too, but it’s not the same.
- The people – I think everyone who has met Newfoundlanders can agree on that they stand apart with a nationality all of their own. Friendly people, crazy people, artistic people, often all three in one. They can be the most down to earth and sarcastic hard-working old men you know, of the most dreamy and hipster young girls. Whatever else, Newfoundlanders care. Sometimes with the frustrating nosiness of a Jane Austen damsel, sometimes with the angry passion of someone way too drunk on Lambs, but they do care. And if they don’t, they make damn sure you understand how much they don’t care about caring. And my friends, I don’t even have words to express how much I miss them.
- The junk-food – Oh Ziggy’s. Oh A&W. Oh Dairy Queen and Wendy’s. Swede’s might have a lot of food-culture and a lot of variation but we have not perfected the deep-fried greasiness that is at the heart and soul of a proper Newfie stogging-place. So in the middle of the night in Stockholm, drunk as a kite and dying for a dirty scoff, where do you go? That question has yet to find a good answer.
- My job – The difference between the job I – sort of – have right now and the job I had at Second Cup is miles apart. I loved almost everyone I worked with, here they’re a strange mix of crazy, disinterested or just downright annoying. I felt pride in what I did there, here I feel ashamed almost every time I serve a guest anything off the menu. I enjoyed the atmosphere created by the freshly ground coffee and soft jazz, here I want to tear my ears off when the same hit-cd plays for the 10th time over and the stench of something I’ve yet to locate in the kitchen slaps me in the face. Until I find another job I can not possibly be content to leave Second Cup behind
- The side-walks – yes, I know, I’m insane. When have I ever complained as much about the grey pathways of a city as when I lived in St. John’s? Yet the side-walks here are uneventful and even, without that constant risk of hooking your heel in a crack or stumbling on a piece of gravel the size of your head. (And I know that’s not gravel. You don’t have to point that out. But in St. John’s, that is gravel.) Where’s the life-and-death adventure of taking a stroll now?
- Most of the weather – A lot of the time except for on some rare summer days, the St. John’s weather was crap. The wind which I loved so much would combine itself with a heavy downpour or smudgy fog or why not that wonderful sleet or rain-mixed snow? And then it would proceed to confuse us for the rest of the day, or weeks, with its unpredictability.
- The cheese – Except for on a poutine, most of the cheese was kind of like plastic and very expensive. What sane person would pay for a piece of expensive plastic on their bread? I never said I was sane.
- George Street on a weekend – Don’t get me wrong. The Levee at 345 is really awesome, a tiny late-night show at CBTG’s is great, but George Street on a Saturday around 11pm? Hates it. The population of the street around this time is either failed attempts at hipster-guys, i-love-hockey-so-much-i-will-wear-it-all-over-my-body guys, these-jeans-will-render-me-barren guys or the endless stream of fake blondes in the little black dress which barely covers their private parts on the wobbly heels. (The only kind of female who can get attracted to above mentioned boys, and even they need a solid doze of some disgusting alcohol in them before this happens.)
- Sears – Aaauuuuuugggghhhhh!!!!! I have to admit, and I am very embarrassed to do so, that even I have every once in a while in a moment of weakness, bought something at Sears. But just passing through it you get harassed by loud shirts, even louder over-sized underwear, angry old women and furious little children, all of which appear very threatening and like their deepest wish is to cause you bodily harm. Let us not mention Dollorama. This might be even worse actually.