We were sitting in a rooftop bar in central Toronto – about two hours after I landed, surprisingly unjetlagged – with my friend’s dad and sister, discussing the roadtrip we were embarking on the following morning. They were sharing some tips and shaking their heads at the intense itinerary we had planned. We did cram in a lot but even with the prognosed 70 hours of driving, we’d only cover a tiny sliver of this huge, huge country.
The most remote point we’d reach would be the Gros Morne national park on the west coast of Newfoundland.
‘Are you gonna get screeched in Newfoundland?’ Amber’s sister asked.
I gave her a quizzical look.
‘You have to do it. You get smacked in the face with a fish,’ she said as if she was explaining the most natural fact of life. ‘It’s fun.’
I half-thought they were pulling my leg and completely forgot about it (maybe I was jetlagged after all) until we were hunting for wifi in the town of Woody Point a week later and my friend spotted a flyer promoting a screeching in ceremony. Naturally, we signed up.
When we arrived at Merchant Warehouse a couple of days later I still wasn’t sure what to expect. What was this screeching in business about?
As it turns out, if you’ve missed out on being born a Newfoundlander, you can still get the title – with a certificate and all. In a half-hour affair you can become a honorary ‘Newfie’. All it takes is to kiss a cod (real but dead), drink some Screech rum, and say “long may yer big jib draw” which seemed arbitrary, but upon further research I learn that (according to the experts at Screech Rum) kissing the fish meant a bon voyage to those sailing south and returning with the rum. Figures. Our variant of screeching in also involved swallowing a spoonful of fish oil and a boogie with the master of ceremonies – Aunt Sophie. To this day Amber and I wonder whether she was real. She put on a hell of a show so perhaps it doesn’t matter. And thinking matters over, I may have preferred to be slapped with the fish instead of kissing it. Then again, what’s a cod after years of kissing frogs…
Getting screeched in is one of my fondest memories of the trip and I’m eagerly awaiting a return to my new-found homeland someday. For more hikes, more beautiful views and maybe even a sip of Screech.
I guess what I’m trying to say is when a friend asks if you want to travel 2,500 km to get a slobbery kiss from a fish, you say yes.
monika morgan 