1.5. Neufundland

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English Version ________________________________________________________________________

The ferry from North Sydney to Argentia chugs a whole night through dense fog. By nightfall, however, there is still a lot of Cape Breton Island to see. Very foggy is also my encounter with Roshni. She is at the port with her bicycle and lightweight luggage. We had a few words in the city and then went separate ways, as Roshni can't find her ticket and must therefore go through another gate to the terminal. With the usual "See you," we say goodbye.
Before the 16-hour crossing to Argentia, there is still work to do: shopping, packing, seperate the sleeping bag from the other baggage ... take a shower (there is actually a shower in the ferry terminal), shaving, and of course do not miss the check-in. But everything runs smoothly - as a cyclist you can skip all the queus here and fix your bicycle in the vessel with the many motorcyclists.

While the motorized fraction fixes their sanctuaries with the usual lashings at the hooks  preserved on the deck, the pushbikers looking for a niche between the oil barrels, lift and cardboards and strap their vehicles in a slightly steeper angle than usual to prevent overturning in rough seas. When I'm done with this, I see Roshnis race bike already fixed in another corner, but we will not meet us in the next hours on the ferry.
I store my luggage in one of the Pullman seat lounges and explore the ship. Later, I listen to a real Newfie (Newfoundland) - entertainer in the bar. The music sounds very Irish, the lyrics are from here and almost everyone is singing along loudly. At 23:00 o'clock the music ends quite early, and I retire in my seat lounge, inflate my sleeping pad and make my bed on the floor to sleep. A quarter of an hour later I'm woken up by the security with the words: "Sir, you are not supposed to lie on the floor here" and afterwards trying to place myself properly in one of the pullman-seats. Unfortunately, the angle between the seat and backrest is very inappropriate for my sensitive back and after several attempts, I reject this location because two other passengers of the "cattle class" have placed themselves in the luggage rack to omit any further discussions with the guards. The shelf is now completely full while the luggage is standing on the floor in front of it. I remember other ferries, where there were some possibilities to sleep in the bar and indeed find a free padded bench between a lot of other sleepers.
The security is not patroling here apparently. The next morning everything is white outside. The ship slows down and arrives with a two hour delay in Argentia. There, too, everything is still immersed in the dense fog. When I get out of the ferry in Argentia, which is named after the port area and not afer a village, there's only a gaping void. No houses, no coffee, no breakfast. The place is located about 10km from Placentia, the next town, and so I drive on without stopping. After the next junction I didn't remember the signs because of a short visit to the tourist information office shortly afterwards and so make my way directly to St. John's, the capital of Newfoundland. The breakfast-opportunity will be after about 35km. A short time later I'm caught up by Roshni and we go together to the TCH (Trans Canada Highway).
The shoulder of the road is wide and so a conversation while riding easily possible. Roshni comes from NY and studied for a year in St.John 's after she went around europe for four years. She invites me to stay in  her flat, when I come to St. John's. There's almost always a vacant room or some space on the couch. I thank her in advance for the offer and announce me for the day after  tomorrow.
Three days later I arrive in "Long's Hill". I am warned that there is no bell, but the door is not closed. So I'll go in and make some noise and asking loud for a response. From somewhere above I hear voices talking to each other, but they're obviously not hearing me. I repeat my calls a bit louder while knocking on the inside of the door frame. Then Lana comes down the stairs, introduces himself and says I must surely be the cyclist from the ferry. Shortly thereafter, Roshni and Craig appears, and together we stow my bike vertically in a pretty cramped shed, which is of course not locked ("let's trust the people of St. John's"), and bring my bags to the second floor of the house. From there one has a wonderful view of her city, the harbor and the "Signal Hill" (somewhat, the landmark of the city). I'm shown to Roshni's room cause she's staying over at Lana's place. And soon I'm introduced to a lot of people which are living here in something like a housing-network.
We come through the garden of Lana's and Marybeth's backyard to their house. Here also lives Craig, who only here for a few days "couch surfing" from Montreal. He lives in the room of someone who has a giant road bike with 30" tires and a huge 5-String E-Bass. Curiously I wonder if that would be a very great man, with whom they live here? In response I get: "No, as tall as you, but he likes big things". So there isn't a giant in the house.
In another house across the street from Lana's place Chad and Rebecca live with Erik from Heidelberg. The latter, as well,  came here over the CouchSurfing network. He is, however, already since last autumn in Canada on the road and already more than a week in the city. Rebecca has started this year to grow vegetables in the backyard. Since St. John's burned down several times over the last few centuries, biologists and other scientists warn not to consume plants grown on this soil. Therefore, the yard is full of buckets, pots, boxes, and even a little self-made greenhouse is found in a corner. Samples of the crops grown there we'll have for a meal in the evening.
We prepare a very colorful salad, a vegetable stew, fried eggplant together with whatever else ends up in the garbage cans of the local supermarkets. The secret is "dumpstering". You browse at night or early in the morning the waste container of the big markets. Palettes of just expired products end up in the fridges and shelves of this homes and of course be immediately consumed or processed. The only thing they have not yet been captured is expired beer.
Sometime after dinner the talk comes to our age. I am of course the Methuselah in the round and Chad remarks with his dry humor: "Age, that's just a number." Thank you Chad, very sympathetic view, somehow typical newfieish.
Roshni lives with her landlords Beverly, her ex-husband Andy and their daughter Erin, who has just spent a year on a sheep farm in Maine and is now back at home to devote herself to pottery. All other residents are either just traveling or living here temporarily anyway. Erin, Beverly and I meet the second day at breakfast in the kitchen. It is a very open and positive atmosphere. After a long breakfast chat I have a walk through the city. Since Craig already showed me the downtown "St. John's" area between the harbor, Water -, and Duckworth Street in a half-hour walk the day before, I will now have a further look to "Signal Hill" and the village "Quidi Vidi" along the eponymous lake. Even if it is a gray, partly rainy day, the city offers many interesting perspectives from a distance. In the evening the sun comes out again and after dinner at Rebecca's place, I hang around with Erik in the kitchen until half past three. We talk a lot about our travel plans (with him going back to Germany in November) and associated adversity and opportunities and of course about our experiences in Canada and elsewhere. Erik has to be very early at the airport and considers if he will go to bed at all, while I plan to continue my roadtrip to the west the next day, the first of August. Good date to start, the 8. 1.. On the other hand: "it's just a number."