Intangible Cultural Heritage

We approached the attic a little nervously, M and I; a small crowd (~25) was gathered there on various ad hoc sitting-things, circled around a woman with a harp and another woman standing, dramatic even in silence, red curly hair and a smile made of teeth. We sat and the show began, first a story, like a fairy tale but reinvented, from the redheaded woman, then some harp music on a Paraguayan harp.

We lowered the mean age of the crowd dramatically, surrounded by people with fluffy white hair and nice sweaters. At the intermission, we ate fattening things and sipped bubbly wine, and I got to meet more professors and talk about ethnography. I love that Grenfell has such a vibrant social science (and visual arts!) section; I'm surrounded by people who understand when I talk about interviews as data.

Saturday, we went toward Gros Morne, but stopped in at the Insectarium, which is run by M's dad. M's dad told us about the bees, and how they recently swarmed, which means half of them left the hive with a new queen; but they decided to return, and upon returning they killed the old queen and installed their queen as supreme ruler. They were in the process of killing the male drones by throwing them out of the hive, to starve. It is a violent and difficult world.

I could not hold the tarantulas, though I would love to. The first tarantula had a sign about how they are misrepresented as dangerous and, really, they don't bite very often and their venom is not "particularly" poisonous to humans. The rest of the tarantulas had signs about how they bite people and how their bites are varying degrees of harmful to humans.

We had a long hike up Long Pond, with the Tablelands on the left, barren and red, and a steep fjord abutting the "pond" to the right. We saw a herd of caribou, but mostly just their mottled white behinds and the enormous rack on the male. Here is a "pond" according to Newfies, with the fjord to the right, Tablelands to the left, and a cairn indicating the end of the trail:



Then we headed to a party; a long conversation with a history professor about Marxism and climate change, and another with two Russian physicists about the role of math in the social sciences, and then a late-night game of "werewolves," where you plot and kill each other.

Sunday, we headed to Burgeo. The drive was with M's two friends, and we headed through forest to a barren area with rocks settled on top of a Martian wasteland, and finally to this square-house, hanging-laundry town with beaches and sand. We hiked along the beaches, admiring the distant rock islands and the clear green water. I borrowed one of M's fancy cameras and took pictures that were out of focus on purpose. I tried to make them look, you know, artsy.

First, here is Marvin, looking pensive:



I call this Alien Pod, Landed:


We stopped at a cafe for ice cream, and on leaving, I saw a glint in the road. I went over and picked up a smashed ring, and went back into the cafe.
"I found this outside."
"Oh, that's wonderful. That wud be Rex's, you know, he's a mechanic and he never wears his ring and he got married in August, you know? And he just put on the ring for the first time the other day and, jayz, if he din't lose it right away. I tell you. Hey, Mary!"
Mary emerged.
"Look what this girl here found."
"Oh, that would be Rex's ring, would it?"

Then we went to the friends' parents house for dinner, and we talked about Newfoundland with the dad (CBC journalist guy) and art with the mom (visual artist) and Marvin ran off for a while and I got all worried but then we found him because the dad remembered a nearby moose carcass.

I decided, on the drive back home, that I love Newfoundland.