At the Mall
The plan for Saturday started out as no plan at all, and evolved into a kind of afternoon that will be remembered with great favour. You see, there’s a problem around here with fog. The government even posts warning signs.
For those who need to know where the action takes place, a map. The indirectness is planned. Really.
Fog distorts reality. Things sound different. Things look different.
For example, the original lighthouse at Cape Spears. Doesn’t look much like it did, say, 150 years ago.
I enjoyed Cape Spears. My GPS recorded the most easterly reading of its life. Numerical evidence of its visit to a cruel environment. I also had a chance to photograph what might be the toughest flowers in Canada. Who knew that the humble wild iris could flourish in salt air and frigid temperatures. At times, during the afternoon, we wondered if snow was in the local forecast.
After the requisite visit to the gift shop, where I almost purchased bakeapple jam, we beat a retreat for warmer times. In the city, the various thermometer displays boasted 24 C. We were down on Water Street, with the rest of the tourist class. Found the bar where the Doyles hold court, but they were out for the afternoon. Watched someone get screeched in…
And then, a blast from the past. The Avalon Mall.
Used to be, music from Newfoundland involved button accordions and lyrics that told a story. I still remember lyrics to dozens of ditties which should only be sung in the presence of warm beer.
Then, along came the first real rock band. The WGB (Wonderful Grand Band), and a song that still stirs my soul. The Babylon Mall.
