Yes, hard to believe, I know–but last night we left St. Johns, Newfoundland, Canada and today sailed into FRANCE, in the form of the tiny dumbbell duo of St. Pierre and Miquelon islands, the final French fragments of their history in the Canadian Maritimes.
A morning at sea rounding the south-east corner of Newfoundland allowed time for a briefing, an introduction to the intricacies of the bonny ship National Geographic Explorer, a preview of our planned itinerary, and the entire motley crew of naturalists, lecturers, and photographers on board to help enliven this expedition. We also squeezed in a Zodiac briefing, a photography lecture, and tucked into lunch before we were tucking into the tiny harbor of St. Pierre.
Not exactly the Côte d’Azur, but a classic example of Newfound Fog greeted our first tentative steps on French soil. The bravest souls trekked up into the ethereal mists with Doug to search the wilder hinterland of this tiny island, and gorged on wild blueberries. Our Zodiacs dropped a waterborne platoon on the uninhabited island of Île aux Marins and the more cautious remainder boarded two buses for a tour of town and country. The narrow streets were bright with vividly painted wooden houses, some of which are 150-200yrs old, a reminder of the glory days of the 19th century when this remote outpost grew rich on the limitless shoals of Grand Banks cod, and the chance to smuggle rum and whisky into prohibition America. Our route took us out through stunted spruce and fir scrub to the western tip of the island, to experience the wild west wind that buffets this rocky redoubt. But by the time we had returned to town, we were to encounter the third of the climatic trinity here: rain. But hopping off at the Tourist Office, we could gaze upon the fishing boats in the harbour, the cannons and lighthouse of the foreshore, and visit the superb Museum de l’Arche with an evocative history of the Cod Fishery in old photographs, and a genuine guillotine which saw use in the wild days of rumrunning, codswallop and piracy. After all this gallic drama it was a delight to return to the cosy comfort and warm showers of a modern ship. I think the French would be proud of our panache, élan and general esprit de corps.
