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Newfoundland was on its knees in 1942 when my grandparents decided to emigrate. It wasn’t the first time the island and its people had faced widespread economic hardship — and it wouldn’t be the last. Tough times can bring people together or drive them apart. In the case of Newfoundlanders, hardship has shaped their ability to survive and thrive in challenging conditions.

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The independent British dominion was not part of Canada then, and my grandparents arrived in Toronto as immigrants. My grandfather was a bayman. My grandmother was a townie. In Newfoundland-speak that means he was from the outports and she was a city girl. And while they sought a better life in Canada, they never stopped missing their homeland, which was renamed Newfoundland and Labrador when it joined Canada 75 years ago.

As a child, I was captivated by their stories. Recently I visited their hometowns, St. John’s and Trinity, places I’d only heard about from them and the litany of transplanted Newfoundlanders who gravitated to our home. My visit wasn’t nearly long enough and I only scratched the surface of these two uniquely wonderful places.

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St. John’s

It’s a wet, grey day when my plane lands in St. John’s. En route to the hotel, my driver says that RDF — rain, drizzle, fog, often all at once — is typical weather.

“No one comes to Newfoundland for the weather,” she quips.

Weather aside, Canada’s oldest city is regarded as a party town, due partly to George Street — two blocks of pubs, clubs, bars and restaurants, where you can have a rollicking good time seven nights a week. But there is history here, too.

Many of my grandmother’s recollections featured the ocean. And when I find 59 Duckworth St., where she was a live-in cook in the 1930s, I understand why. Backing onto the harbour, she would have had a bird’s-eye view of every vessel that sailed through The Narrows, the only passage from the Atlantic into St. John’s Harbour.

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Currently empty, the four-storey residence — called Devon House — is a heritage property. Built around 1880, it’s not the city’s oldest house but it has been occupied by some prominent St. John’s families. Just steps from Water Street, it’s also one of the few downtown structures that survived the Great Fire of 1892, which destroyed most of the city and left 11,000 people homeless.

This area is within walking distance of some of St. John’s top historical sights: Signal Hill, Cabot Tower and the Battery; the Colonial Building, the Commissariat and Government House; the Anglican and Catholic cathedrals.

The Royal St. John’s Regatta was my grandmother’s favourite event. Started in 1818, and held — weather permitting — on the first Wednesday in August, it’s North America’s oldest sporting event and a civic holiday. Thousands of people assemble at Quidi Vidi Lake to watch the races, enjoy live music and sample the wares of local food vendors.

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On a breezy, blue-sky day, I join a group walking tour with Pierre Trowbridge, who regaled us with tales from the days when “cod was king and wharfs, fish stores and warehouses lined the north side of the harbour.” The path behind those businesses became Water Street, North America’s oldest commercial street, Trowbridge said.

North of Water Street is Jelly Bean Row — not one particular street but a collection of streets, some impossibly steep, filled with colourful Victorian row houses.

Later, I jump aboard a tour boat for a spin around the harbour, through The Narrows and out into open ocean.

Humans aren’t Newfoundland’s only visitors. Whales are common in the warmer months. Unfortunately we don’t see any, but we do see plenty of puffins and are entertained by Arthur O’Brien of the local band The Navigators.

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Visitors who want a deeper dive on the province’s complicated journey from British colony to independent dominion to Canadian province should head to The Rooms, which has an extensive collection of artifacts, art and historical records.

Trinity

It’s foggy when we arrive in this break-your-heart pretty coastal town that dates to the 1500s — first as a seasonal fishing ground then later as a permanent settlement. By the late 1700s, Trinity was an important centre of trade. Local merchants operated dozens of ships and exported up to 40 per cent of the cod, whale oil and seals harvested in Newfoundland.

My grandfather’s family had deep roots in Trinity, where he was born. He painted a vivid picture of a thriving centre of industry with fishing, shipping, shipbuilding, coopering and logging, and recounted a family story about three adventurous brothers from England who had settled there generations ago.

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But by the time my grandfather was born in 1903, Trinity’s decline had already begun. Major companies had moved to St. John’s and by the latter half of the 20th century, almost all of the businesses and residents left, too.

According to Kevin Toope of Trinity Historical Walking Tours, the population around the harbour was about 2,000 in the late 1800s. Today there are about 160 permanent residents across the incorporated town, and a mere 35 year-round residents in the historic district.

Fortunately the Trinity Historical Society and the province have preserved the town’s character. About 15 structures of historical significance have been restored or rebuilt. These include the Mercantile Premises, where fishermen traded their fish for supplies; the Green Family Forge, where you can watch a blacksmith at work; and the visitor centre, which tells the story of Trinity’s past.

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While I was somewhat flummoxed to discover this downsized Trinity, I was also buoyed to meet people who have transformed it into a popular tourist destination.

Tineke Gow was among the first to see the town’s potential on a visit almost 50 years ago. She became captivated by the village and bought one derelict house, then another, eventually creating the full-service Artisan Inn with 15 rooms spread across six houses and a restaurant called The Twine Loft.

More recently, she was joined by Michele DuRand who — along with her husband Paul Snelgrove — own Rosewood Suites, a heritage property with nine beautifully renovated suites that opened six years ago.

“I sometimes call myself the accidental innkeeper,” DuRand says. “We basically fell in love with Trinity … it was never our intention to run a place this big. We thought we might get a place with two apartments and rent one, but then we saw this place and it struck both of us.”

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