It is a piece of France in the Atlantic Ocean. We spent August 19, 2018, through August 21, 2018 on St. Pierre, a 90 minute ferry ride off the coast of Newfoundland. St. Pierre has representation in the French parliament, and the French government is the largest employer on St. Pierre. Ever since the Basques from southeastern France began fishing around St. Pierre in the 1500s, France has had a presence there. When England won back Newfoundland, it left St. Pierre and Miquelon to France.
I am studying French, and so it was a treat to read signs, all in French, and to try to understand French speakers. A plane flies nonstop, once a week, from St. Pierre to Paris. When I asked our St. Pierre guide whether he often travels to Quebec or Montreal, he said, "Why would I go there when I can go to Paris?"
The town of St. Pierre is unprepossessing, but it grew on us, during our two days there.
Our B'n'B was at the top of a very long, steep hill from the downtown dock. I brought 43 magazines and 9 books to read on the trip, and I rued that decision as I struggled up and up and up. The young tourist information clerk looked at us as if were were silly when we asked if we could take a taxi. "It's just a few blocks," she said.
The annual Basque Festival was just concluding when we arrived to watch the island dancers celebrate their heritage.
Next morning, we found the French bakery, which became a regular stop.
We wandered around town, wondering why island buildings are painted in bright, almost Caribbean colors. This is the town hall.
There is, of course, a Catholic church.
David and I always notice John Deere excavators, such as this beast tearing up a St. Pierre street.
In this island in the middle of the harsh North Atlantic, flowers bloomed abundantly.
Older houses retain their double-doored anterooms extending into the street. Residents take their shoes off in the little rooms, and then open the inside door into the house. The double doors keep the cold winds from blowing directly into living rooms.
I was proud that I could read the street signs.
We took a van tour of the city with Jean Claude, a retired French government official who now acts as the ship agent for cruise ships that dock at St. Pierre (11 last year, as compared with 18 for St. John's, Newfoundland, and dozens and dozens for Halifax).
We drove past the now-abandoned fish processing plant, which the city may renovate as a museum. The crash of fishing on the Great Banks has lowered the population and changed the economy of St. Pierre.
We drove past a few fancy homes and many small ones along the bays surrounding the city. We also passed the airport, where planes fly to Paris.
The city cemetery reminded me of the above-ground cemeteries in French New Orleans.
There was even a Jewish synagogue.
After our morning tour, Dave and I had another French pastry and considered our options for the afternoon.
We decided on a zodiac tour along the coast of St. Pierre and over to a neighboring island. We chased dolphins and paused by a cove where seals swam out to solemnly examine our boat.
Our captain served hot chocolate and cookies.
Next morning, we sailed for ten minutes across the St. Pierre bay to Ile de Marins, site of a now-abandoned fishing village. It was a charming place, with restored homes and churches, all carefully labeled with statistics and stories.
The French flag flew.
This is Catholic country, and I found this crucifix very touching, on this austere, abandoned spot.
I also found the war memorial very moving. I was amazed that young men on this isolated island would volunteer in such numbers to fight and die in the European battles of WWI and WWII.
Dave and I spent a couple of hours wandering the paths of Ile de Marins.
It was cold and rainy, so we finally retreated to the cafe and museum. I explored the collection of real and replica boats, paintings, and fishing traps.
As remote as St. Pierre was, it was not far from the internet!
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