I CAME HOME TO ST. JOHN’S last Wednesday after months of living in Montreal. I felt something akin to culture shock. The isolation of Newfoundland only becomes apparent when you travel, and even more so when you return.
It’s in the denim outerwear of the old fogeys sipping coffee at Tim Horton’s, and their sharp accents reaching me as I stand at the cash. I keep thinking the waitresses will serve me with a “Bonjour, hello!” rather than the typical, “What can I get ya, my love?”