Newfoundland feels like Ireland 20 years ago, when people left their doors unlocked, hitchhiked without fear and took time to stop and chat.
Then there was the bartender, who gave us a late drink, but only “because we were proper Irish”.
Locals will hang on your every word, insist you stay longer, hug you tightly when you do leave.
On this craggy Atlantic island – the Canadian province of Newfoundland and Labrador – connections to Celtic roots are so deeply woven into the fabric of life, it’s hard to believe you are in Canada at all.
Today the scenic coast road boasts “whales, trails and Irish tales,” before looping back to the city.
At Cape Broyle, we stopped for yet another aquatic adventure, with Stan Cook Sea Kayaking.
And Thelma O’Brien, the B&B owner in the north of the province who sounded like she was from Donegal, and told the Cork man, “I could listen to you all day, bhoy”. St John’s, the island’s capital is a working port, so not a very pretty one, but it’s got bucket loads of rustic charm.