St. John’s
A couple of days ago passengers had an opportunity to ask the Captain questions in the main theater. Someone asked him what is the easiest and what is the most difficult port you’ve ever docked at. The Captain wouldn’t admit that any port is easy and he didn’t exactly answer the second question either. He said that we should ask that question again after St. John’s. He also suggested that we not look out our windows at 9 o’clock Sunday morning as we will just fit in the channel into the harbor. Well, today is Sunday.
Small crowds of locals watched us squeeze through the mouth of the port, waving and yelling “ahoy.” It’s clear that we did not sneak up on the residents of St. John today. They were expecting us. As they watched us sail in, I felt that we were repeating a human experience celebrated over and over throughout centuries, curious locals welcoming equally curious visitors.
Welcoming committee
St. John’s dock is right in the center of town. One street up from the port is Water street, which was blocked off to traffic today and bars and restaurants had set up “patio” dining out front. Few things are scheduled to be open before noon on a Sunday, but some proprietors had opened early to catch our early dollars. Many doors had paper “Welcome Zuiderdam” signs.
One end of Water Street
Mom and I walked up Water street and down Duckworth, popping into interesting shops along the way. The first didn’t have a hat pins, but she found a couple at our second stop. Many stores sold crochet sea animals. Eventually we wanted lunch, where I had a beer made with water from Icebergs. I don’t recommend it, but the bottle is pretty. Lunch was followed by a delicious ice cream cone before going back to the ship to relax for a little bit.
My second trip off the ship I headed to Battery Park and Signal Hill which have a great view of the mouth of the harbor, which is why so many people were there when we sailed in this morning. Along the way I saw a mural, many pretty houses, flowers, and dramatic cliffs. I definitely didn’t climb Signal Hill; I didn’t even take the lower trail all the way out to the sea. But I get to see what I came to see. By the way, Signal Hill is where Marconi received the first transatlantic wireless communication, from Cornwall England. It was the letter S.
On my way back, I noticed a privileged black cat sleeping in a window and I had a pang of sorrow missing Mocha.
“I work hard so my cat can have a better life.”