I’ve been to Newfoundland and Labrador four times. Once, the ferry I was travelling on was stuck in the ice for several days. Another time, there were gale-force winds and hail in June. A few years ago, reporting for this magazine, I sat white-knuckled on an unlit highway during a whiteout with no cellphone service. Last September, I drove more than 1,000 km all over the Rock, awestruck by the sublime landscape and the warmth of strangers who invited me into their homes.
A woman answers the line and in a sing-songy Newfoundland brogue, tells me there is no Kate in her department. “This is the line where we take requests for maps and guidebooks,” she says. “Just let me check with my supervisor.” But over the next few days no one named Kate gets back to me. A query sent to Newfoundland and Labrador Tourism leads to a protracted series of promises to provide a response. Are they trying to rustle up Kate? Maybe she’s on vacation.
The names are just identifiers as to which market the call is being placed from. That data is used for research.