The Cold Plunge: Getting in the Car with Strangers

In this post, I talk about how my interaction with strangers provided me with some valuable lessons about intuition and trust, not only in regards to keeping myself safe, but also opening to new and wonderful experiences.

In the lead-up to my two-week trip to St. John’s, I had found and joined the Discovering Newfoundland Facebook group, which gives advice on where to stay, eat, shop, explore and more in the province. I had posted in the group that I was visiting to research for my Old Hag story, in the hope of connecting with people and resources that could assist with my efforts. I was contacted by a Madeline, a member of the group, who extended to me an invitation to do a house-swap with her and her husband. She had connections in Australia, a son living in Sydney and friends on the Sunshine Coast. I responded that soon I would no longer have a house to swap with, but surely I could help them find someone to swap with in my local community on the Gold Coast.

Madeline offered me her spare bedroom for a few nights of my stay in St. John’s. I thanked her and said I would be in touch once I had made my plans. I discussed the offer with my housemate and neighbours, who responded with raised brows. To them, this gesture of kindness seemed too good to be true.

On my first morning in Newfoundland, the fog lifted somewhat and I ventured Downtown. The walk took me half an hour from Memorial University, with frequent stops to admire and take pictures of the colourful rowhouses which became more frequent the closer I came to the city centre.

I was passing the War Memorial when a flock of pigeons swooped down over my head, landing on the ground nearby. Just when I thought they had settled, and I was safe to keep moving along, the flock took off again suddenly, and I found myself at the centre of a whirlwind of fluttering feathers. It was a strange and eerie experience, and it caught the attention of a passing driver. He pulled over and asked me if I was alright and if I needed a lift somewhere. I hesitated but was desperate to escape this bizarre experience, so I jumped in. This was Newfoundland, after all, and people were known for their friendliness and hospitality.

I didn’t get a weird vibe from the guy, but it dawned on me immediately that I had just jumped in the car with a male stranger, and I felt instantly uneasy. The driver asked me where I was headed, and I told him I was looking for the tourist office. He asked me where I was from, and I said I was visiting from Australia. I shared that it was my first time in Newfoundland, but instantly felt a pang of unease, like it made me sound naive and vulnerable. My stomach was knotted with nerves as we approached the tourist office. I hoped he would just stop the car and let me out. He did, and I thanked him, hastily exiting the vehicle.

‘You’re welcome, sweetheart,’ he said.

It wasn’t until the car had pulled away that I realised I had left my woollen poncho on the seat. I had been wearing it as a scarf, but had taken it off in the car. I had been using it as a dressing gown- I would drape it over the front of me like a blanket while reading my book, and it was easy to toss to the side when I was ready to go to sleep, rather than trying to take off a cardigan while lying in bed. It had become like my special comfort blanket. I was super pissed off at myself- I scolded myself that I should have never been so stupid to get a lift with a stranger, and I would still have my beloved poncho scarf. It would have only taken me two minutes to walk to the tourist office from the war memorial. I was instantly miserable, and beat myself up for the rest of the day.

I did make it to the tourist office I had been looking for, which was called the City of St. John’s Welcome Centre. I was seeking information about a sunset ghost tour on Bell Island, but the staff couldn’t find anything about it. So now I felt even more upset with myself, like I had lost my poncho scarf for nothing.

Back in my room at Memorial, I burst into tears. I felt foolish for getting in a car with a male stranger, and silly for getting so upset about the loss of a piece of material. I had grown to love that ponch scarf. It was a source of great warmth and comfort as I navigated this adventure. I felt like the loss had been completely unnecessary and avoidable. The exhaustion from the journey to Newfoundland was catching up with me too. I think it was also hitting me that my time with Janine was over, and I was really on my own now in Canada.

I had been in touch with Madeline again and accepted her offer to stay a few nights. She and her husband lived in Goulds. The Goulds, as it was affectionately known by locals, was a rural suburb fifteen minutes drive outside of the city of St. John’s. While there is a metro bus that services the inner city areas, Newfoundland is largely inaccessible without a car. I thought I could treat Madeline’s hospitality as an opportunity to meet people in the local community, who might have stories to tell about the Old Hag. I accepted her invitation to stay a few nights, and offered to pay her petrol money if she would drive me to some of the points of interest I would otherwise not be able to access without a car. She agreed.

I knew I had taken a gamble accepting the invitation of accommodation from Madeline, not knowing who she was or what awaited me in her home on the other side of Facebook. My friends and family were watching on from home, and while they were supportive of my bravery, there was an understandable level of uncertainty. Yet they trusted my judgment and were confident in my capability to deal with any situation that arose.

On Friday morning, I checked out of Memorial University. Madeline had errands to run in the morning, which was perfect because I wanted to visit the Centre for Newfoundland Studies. I had only learned about this facility when visiting the QEII Library the day before, and thought I had run out of time to visit. Madeline asked to push out my pick-up time so she could fit in a class at the gym, and I gladly agreed.

Madeline and her husband Cyril picked me up at 2pm. Any hesitations I had previously had were instantly diminished, as they stepped out of the car and embraced me with warmth and welcomes. As we drove out of town, they asked with great interest all about my reason for visiting Newfoundland. The destination was not known for its appeal to young travellers. I told them all about my Old Hag story, and they shared their experiences with me. On the way home they stopped by Petty Harbor/Maddox Cove, a picturesque town of approximately 970 people. Nestled deep in the heart of Motion Bay, on the eastern shore of the Avalon Peninsula, the town settlement can be traced back to the 1600s. It is the site of the first hydroelectric generating station (Petty Harbour Generating Station) in Newfoundland and Labrador. Petty Harbour-Maddox Cove is still an active fishing community with fishers involved in the cod fishery and snow crab fishery. 

That evening, I enjoyed the first home-cooked meal in Newfoundland, and after dinner watched Jeopardy with Maddeline and Cyril.

I realised Madeline and Cyril had also taken a gamble on me. I was also a stranger whom they knew nothing about. As it turned out, I spent a wonderful weekend with them, meeting their friends and making connections that would help me on my journey. I was so glad they took a chance on me, and so grateful for their hospitality.

Staying with Madeline and Cyril taught me that some people do have purely kind and generous intentions. Sometimes, an offer of hospitality isn’t too good to be true. It is good, and it is true. Sometimes, there is no price to pay, in money or safety. The unknown doesn’t have to be feared.

Losing my woollen poncho was a lesson in listening to my intuition, and I vowed never to get into a car with an unknown male again. In contrast, staying with Madeline and Cyril again challenged my ideals about feeling safe on my travels. It taught me to open up to strangers and accept their assistance when it felt right. With them, I learned that sometimes, strangers can indeed be trusted.

At the core of the experience was the lesson to trust my intuition. If something doesn’t feel right, learn to recognise the early signs, and don’t do it. If it does feel right, recognise those signs early too, and go for it.

An update about the poncho scarf:

Three months after losing this precious piece of cloth, my mum sent me a package in Ireland containing a gift for my birthday. Upon receiving the package, feeling the softness of its contents, I was almost certain I knew what it was. My delight was confirmed when I opened the package and pulled out a replacement woolen poncho, the same as the one I had lost. This was a lesson of its own- that even when you stuff up, the Universe has your back (and so does your mum).

The generosity of people, known and unknown to me, has helped me immensely on The Cold Plunge. If you would like to help me along on this adventure, please consider donating below. There are preset amounts, or you can customise an amount too. Whatever you choose, your contribution is deeply appreciated.