End of the world, beginning of the world

Fogo Island Newfoundland, literally ‘Fire Island’, is the place where I am right now.

A place where people go to connect. And there are many connections waiting.

The infinite Ocean. The rustic life in the hamlet with its colorful wooden houses and clotheslines billowing with bright colored laundry. The misnomer ‘stages’ for the platforms the fishermen angled from in the olden days.

‘Stages’, those bygone ramshackle stilt huts, is what the opulent Fogo Island Inn has based its accommodation design on. The Inn is a social enterprise that provides the islanders with an occupation after the demise of their fishing culture.

It does feel a little off that the locals, who all seem to draw on the same look, have to share their habitat with wealthy passers-by. It makes for a wary, awkward and inexpert hospitality.

This place has a wealth to offer. The enrichment of connecting to nature. Pure, raw and desolate. Or on the side, full. Full of beautiful details of great importance. Opening your senses to those impressions is not hard, it is a joy.

At last, we are left with the impenetrable icebergs that float by without revealing a thing.