Dear People of the Interwebz,
We have found a tiny sliver of Nirvana in our new home of St Anthony and if that wasn't good enough I may have landed on my feet already with word that I may get the chance to work as a viking in the summer tourist season, but more on that later.
Tomorrow's yarn will be about the place but firstly let me fill the gaps, the plot holes if you will and give the briefest of rundowns of the 7000km journey across Canada.
Two planes, one car, two days of solid travel.
Maybe that's too brief ... okay how about this then?
A teary farewell at the airport with Em's parents was immediately squashed by a delayed flight but it worked out well for us because we too were delayed by a rather precarious situation thrown up by airport security.
Unconcerned by releasing an already cranky beast from its cage, the officer requested we remove Sir Richard from his travel kennel so they could check for explosives.
My response of: "You're kidding? Let him out here in this crowded airport - are you mad?" was met with a shrug of the shoulders and a curt "it's the law".
Coat in one hand and a firm grip around the scruff of his neck quelled his desire and chance of escape, the officer's swab revealed nought in the way of explosives which of course was not at all unsurprising, Sir Richard's bomb making ability curtailed by a lack of opposable thumbs and a brain the size of a pea that flits between just three things -- food, sleep, poo -- not necessarily in that order.
That's not to say Sir Richard's plans for world domination are any less fervid, they just don't include terrorism.
After the baggage handler threw out his back picking up the cage (he weighed in a grand total of 11.5kg), we headed for security which was an absolute breeze, the flight itself highlighted by turbulence and a viewing of Ninja Assassin, an altogether tofu-like experience -- bland yet surprisingly filling.
A game of Scrabble later and we dropped into Toronto like a brick and thanks to our earlier delay walked straight onto our connecting flight to Deer Lake which gave rise to an interesting scenario: screaming baby versus burly Newfoundland men.
The baby won by virtue it was still on the flight by the time we got to Deer Lake at 2am.
Note to oneself -- the wicker cowboy hat I bought for road tripping purposes apparently has a different meaning in Newfoundland.
While I enjoy the protection it affords me from the elements, over in these parts I have been told by locals at least that it is a sign of someone who has just returned from the oilfields.
Being that I unloaded the luggage carousel with four bursting bags, one a cute little pink plaid number and a cat, I am unsure of where the other men thought I was from.
Nevertheless we packed the lot into the awaiting van and headed 45 minutes into Corner Brook checking in at about 3am.
At 5am our friend Mark turned up and by 11am we hit the road, a taxi driver told us the trip would take about 4.5 hours, Google Maps said closer to 12 hours, we got there in a touch over 7 hours but we did stop a couple of times on the way.
Stay tuned for the next edition when I recount our first couple of days and my chance to live a dream and become a Viking.
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