Funny, because nothing about my Newfoundland “tourist” weekend went according to plan. The weather was crap, my friends and I didn’t get to crash a wedding as promised, and there was nary an iceberg in sight. The fog was so dense we couldn’t see the coastline in some spots…but isn’t that just the way of Newfoundland?

No, actually. I ended up with a mild sunburn last week and I’ve started wearing my yoga pants and sweater to the gym. I’m in the awkward transition phase where I feel like everyone’s staring at my butt, but I’m just so used to wearing a snowsuit.

Maggie, Rae and I headed to our friend Steph’s place in Hillview that Friday for a barbecue, some beers, and a little bit of Blow. The movie. We were up at 8 a.m. for bagels at Timmy’s, then on the road to Trinity and Bonavista. It’s unfortunate that I associate the word “trinity” with Dexter’s most notorious serial killer, because this might be the cutest town I’ve visited in Newfoundland. It’s also one of the most historic towns, a lot like Lunenburg is to Nova Scotia.

I had an arguably better time exploring Trinity, but for some reason it’s Bonavista I need to revisit. I want to live there. For like, a week. I think it’s because although my vision was skewed by fog as thick as pea soup, there was something nearly supernatural behind the scenes. Like the whole town just has a big, bad secret. Steph pointed out Mockbeggar Plantation, which is apparently haunted. She then pointed out The Harbour Quarters Inn, where she had stayed before, which is also apparently haunted. You can probably hear the writing wheels in my head just turning.

I also wouldn’t mind another 3lbs of banana split cake from Walkham’s Gate Cafe matched with their chocolate chip lemon cheesecake, where incidentally I also sampled the best coffee I have ever tasted in my life. And we all know how much of a coffee connoisseur I am, what with my habit of sometimes reusing grounds.

We went to the Dungeon, a circular gap carved out in a cliff where two seaward-side channels push bright blue water inside. Bonavista sits upon sedimentary deposits 600-million years old, and I felt like if I could just see the beach below the drop-off, it’d be beautiful. We’re not sure why it’s called the Dungeon, but apparently unruly folks were tossed into it.

At the request of Maggie, we drove to the lighthouse where the keeper hung out of the window as we snapped pictures. Steph went to talk to him, and despite touring season still being closed, he invited us in to have a look around. He might have been lonely, wrapped in an island of fog all alone for days at a time. He pointed out the fog horn, an unimpressive box erupting every so often, and showed us the miniscule 20-watt bulb used to sweep the ocean. I actually never knew it were the magnifying glasses responsible for so much light. He invited us to stay for coffee when we were done, but we had to leave. Instead, we received pencils and pamphlets.

I only have one request, Bonavista. Please make the clouds part and the sun shine down for my next visit, so if there are icebergs coming down the Alley, I can at least get some decent photos.