Dear everyone who is out there.
Lisa and I have decided that as we sit here in the “furry”, waiting to drive into Sydney (it is now 2:30 am) so we can sleep… that we love Cher. Not only do we love her. We long to be like her. Why? Because we woke up ridiculously early to drive ALL THE WAY across Newfoundland to get out of here… I feel as though we are being held captive. It must be a conspiracy of some sort. This is what I have decided… (Lisa is not yet aware of my new revelation).

On another note.
Things have been nothing less than interesting.
The first night we were here, Lisa and I ventured down to the George Street festival, which was quite the cultural experience. In saying this, I have never felt so at home! People were so welcoming and nice, we were quickly introduced to the parents and other random relatives of prospective wanna-be husbands, while listening to live newfie music. ?

The following day (Tuesday) we were supposed to attend the Regatta, to wake up at 7 am in the middle of a tropical storm (aka hurricane Chantal)… the Regatta was obviously cancelled (so sad!). making the brave (wet and wild) trek downtown for breakfast, we had the joys of planning out the remaining few days.

And “poo” is all I have to say.
So Lisa spent a good 3-4 hours calling EVERY SINGLE furry and charter bus to figure out how to get us off this island. Not that we want to leave. Really. We love St Johns. But we have places to be, people to see.
So. As of 5pm, the conclusion we were forced to come to was this:
Meghan (aka dragon) and Amanda (aka Amanda) were to stay in St. John’s for the Regatta (which was to be re-scheduled for Thursday).. their travel adventures were to begin at 730am on Friday, which involves a shuttle bus to Port aux Basque, arriving at 930pm, at which point they will be having the pleasure of taking the furry to Sydney (NS) at midnight, until 7am on Saturday.. AND THEN taking another fancy shuttle bus from Sydney into Halifax, arriving around 1pm, just in time for our Saturday event! Woot-Woot! (or not).

Mine and Lisa’s travels were to involve us driving to Argenta (or however you spell it) to take the furry treck to Sydney. However, after having a wonderful sushi supper with Jeff and his charming lady friend around 6 pm, we continued our St. Johns adventures to support the local businesses and our spending habits… While we were doing this, we happened to conveniently hear over the radio (as we were in a fun hemp store shopping for rings and random other items) that Argenta (of course giving credit to Hurricane Chantal), was in a state of emergency and therefore the furry was being re-routed to Port aux Basque…. Meaning we would have to drive a good 10hrs across the entire province of Newfoundland to leave. Aahh!

So the adventure begins.
Furry adventures begin as follows:
- We hear over the loudspeaker that there is a group of Catholic School kids also on the furry… Lisa and I proceed to conveniently accessorize ourselves with our CYC (pro-choice) shirts, in hopes of a furry confrontation. Unfortunately it is -30 degrees on the furry and we are forced to wear our jackets the entire time.
- We walk around the entire fleet of vehicles scoping our license plates and bumper stickers to see who has the most absurd. Clearly, Michigan wins… “Choose life.. your Mom did” is what was proudly displayed on its back bumper.
- When trying to sleep in our (ever so comfortable) bunks (adorned lovingly with plastic sheets), we (well, maybe it was just me), become EXTREMELY annoyed at the large man sleeping above me, snoring SO LOUD that a person could hear him in the next room.. and scared that he is going to fall thru the bed onto me.. I take it upon myself to random poke him (or the bottom of his mattress) when the noise gets extremely out of hand, to the point where I feel as though I am going to punch him out because I have the music in my ipod turned up as high as it can go, as it is deafening my ears, and even tho I have a pillow also over my head, I can still hear him... because I can’t sleep.
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And it also ends (or we wish it was ending)… as Lisa and I are currently (not so patiently) waiting in the car bay or whatever the “f’ it’s called (as we’ve now been sitting here waiting for an hour), to get out so we can sleep… we are supposed to be in Halifax (which is a good 5 hr drive from Sydney), at 1130am Friday (tomorrow) for a MP meeting… which means that at this rate, we will get 2 hours of sleep if we’re lucky.

Now is the time I wish to yell every single curse word (which by the way Mom – in case you read this - , are that not that many) I have learned as loud as I can. I think Lisa feels the same way (dear Lisa’s Mom – she also does not know very many curse words). (Just for the record) ?

Also. As an end note. We were told to buy some “baked apples”, which are apparently a Newfoundland tradition of sorts… Having passed MANY ‘baked apple’ sellers on the way to Port aux Basque, Lisa and I decide that in order to make Darnell happy, we will try some out. The conclusion that we came to is that they are not apples. They are in fact some sort of yellowish/orange berry that looks like pumpkins the size dimes (or as Lisa said, minature brains). And not only are they not baked… they come in a jar, surrounded by what one would presume to be a sweet kind of liquid. However. Upon opening the jar of ‘baked apples’, we disappointingly observe that they are pickled! WTF! And when asking the lady who sold them to us why they were called baked apples (clearly not being baked, nor of apple form), she was unable to give us any sort of answer.

The conclusion: baked apples are a mystery. And gross. Steer clear for your own sanity.