You’ll hear it before you see it. The foghorn at Cape Spear—the most easterly point in North America—moans with a frequency that vibrates in your chest. It’s a heavy, rhythmic sound that defines life in St. John's Newfoundland and Labrador. People here don't just live with the weather; they negotiate with it. You might wake up to a "silver thaw," which is basically a fancy local term for freezing rain that turns the world into a precarious skating rink, and by noon, the sun is blindingly bright against the neon-painted houses of Jellybean Row. It is a place of extremes. It's old. Really old. While the rest of Canada feels like it was built with a ruler and a plan, St. John's feels like it was spilled down a cliffside by a giant who had a few too many rums.
The Truth About Those Colorful Houses
Everyone talks about the colors. You've seen the photos on Instagram. Rows of houses painted electric purple, highlighter yellow, and candy-apple red.
There's a popular myth that sailors painted them this way so they could find their way home through the thick "soupy" fog. It's a nice story. Honestly, though? It’s mostly nonsense. The real story is much more recent and a lot more practical. Back in the late 1970s and early 80s, the downtown core was looking a bit drab. Local heritage advocates and residents started the "Jellybean Row" trend as a way to revitalize the urban center and spark some civic pride. It worked. Now, there are strict heritage regulations in certain zones to make sure you don't just paint your Victorian house "boring beige."
Walking up Gower Street or over on Bond Street is a legitimate workout. The hills are no joke. You’ll see houses where the front door is at eye level with the neighbor's second-story window. It creates this jagged, asymmetrical skyline that makes the city feel dense and intimate.
George Street is Not Just for Tourists
If you ask a local where to go, they might point you toward George Street. It’s a two-block stretch of bars, pubs, and restaurants that technically has the most bars per square foot in North America. Or at least, that’s what the tourism boards have claimed for decades.
Does it get rowdy? Yeah.
Is it worth it? Sorta.
If you want the real experience, avoid the spots that look like generic Irish pubs and find a place where a local band is playing "The Night Paddy Murphy Died." You haven't lived until you've been in a room of 200 people all singing at the top of their lungs while spilling a bit of India Beer on their boots.
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But here’s the thing: St. John's isn't just a party town. There’s a sophisticated culinary scene here that would make Toronto nervous. You’ve got places like Raymonds (which has topped many "Best in Canada" lists) and The Merchant Tavern. They aren't just serving fish and chips. They’re doing high-end things with Atlantic cod, wild game like moose and partridge, and local berries—cloudberries (locally called bakeapples) and partridgeberries that grow in the acidic bog soil surrounding the city.
The Logistics of the "Oldest City" Claim
St. John's Newfoundland and Labrador often bills itself as the oldest city in North America. This is a bit of a historical "well, actually" situation.
- St. John's was appearing on maps as early as 1519.
- Sir Humphrey Gilbert claimed it for England in 1583.
- However, it wasn't a permanent year-round settlement in the way we think of it until much later.
- Quebec City and St. Augustine, Florida, usually have their own opinions on who gets the "oldest" title.
Regardless of the technicality, the history here is thick. You can feel it at Signal Hill. This is where Guglielmo Marconi received the first transatlantic wireless signal in 1901. It changed the world. Before that, communication across the ocean took as long as a ship could sail. Suddenly, it was instantaneous. Standing at the top of Signal Hill, looking out over the "Narrows"—the tiny opening to the harbor—you realize why this place was so strategically vital. If you controlled the Narrows, you controlled the North Atlantic.
The Screech-In Ritual: To Kiss the Fish or Not?
You're going to be asked if you want to be "Screeched-In."
It’s a ceremony for "CFAs" (Come From Away). It involves a shot of Screech (cheap, high-proof Jamaican rum), a short recitation in a thick Newfoundland accent, and kissing a frozen cod.
Is it touristy? Absolutely.
Do locals actually do it? Never.
Should you do it? Maybe once, just for the story.
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The rum itself has a weird history. Back in the salt fish trade days, Newfoundland sent salt cod to the Caribbean and brought back rum. The name "Screech" supposedly came from a World War II American serviceman who took a shot of the stuff, let out a blood-curdling howl, and an onlooker asked, "What was that ungodly screech?"
The real hospitality isn't in a bar ritual, though. It’s in the "mug up." If you get invited into someone's kitchen for a cup of tea and a piece of Purity hard bread or a touton (fried bread dough with molasses), you’ve actually made it.
The Harsh Reality of the North Atlantic
We need to talk about the wind. Not "breezy" wind. The kind of wind that shears the paint off your car and makes it impossible to hold an umbrella. St. John's is officially the windiest, cloudiest, and foggiest city in Canada.
This isn't a destination for people who need 25°C and palm trees.
The city is built on grit. You see it in the way people drive and the way they talk. There’s a specific dialect here—several, actually—that can be hard to parse if you aren't used to it. It’s a mix of Irish, West Country English, and something entirely unique to the island. You might hear someone say, "Stay where you're at 'til I comes where you're to," which basically just means "Wait for me there."
The Best Way to Actually Experience the City
Don't just stay downtown. You have to get out to Quidi Vidi (pronounced "Kiddy Viddy"). It’s a small fishing village—a "gut"—located within the city limits. It looks like a movie set. In fact, it often is.
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There’s a small brewery there, Quidi Vidi Brewing Co., that makes beer using water from 20,000-year-old icebergs. It’s not a gimmick; the water is incredibly pure because it’s been frozen since before the industrial revolution.
Why the Economy is... Complicated
St. John's isn't just about tourism. It’s the hub for the offshore oil industry and ocean technology. When the price of oil drops, the city feels it. When a new field like Bay du Nord gets discussed, the city gets hopeful.
There is a tension between the traditional "outport" identity and the modern, tech-focused city St. John's is trying to become. You'll see Tesla Model Ys driving past houses that have been in the same family since the 1800s. It’s a weird, beautiful friction.
Natural Wonders You Can’t Ignore
If you visit between May and July, you're in iceberg season. Huge chunks of the Greenland ice sheet drift down "Iceberg Alley." They are massive. Terrifyingly large. They glow with a deep, inner blue that doesn't look real.
Then there are the whales. Humpbacks, minkes, and fin whales follow the capelin (tiny baitfish) into the bays. You can stand on the shore at Cape Spear and watch 40-ton animals breaching just a few hundred yards away. It’s humbling. It makes the city feel small, which is exactly how it should feel.
Actionable Insights for Your Visit
If you are planning to head to St. John's Newfoundland and Labrador, stop thinking of it as a standard city break. Treat it like an expedition.
- Rent a car early. Like, months in advance. During the summer, rental cars on the island are rarer than a sunny day in November. If you don't have wheels, you’re stuck in the downtown core, and you'll miss the rugged coastline that makes the province famous.
- Layers are your religion. Even in July, the "leeward" side of a hill can be 20°C, while the windward side is 8°C. Pack a high-quality windbreaker and a wool sweater. Leave the umbrella at home; the wind will just turn it into a broken piece of modern art.
- Check the "Fogota." Use local weather apps and follow the "NL Traffic" or "Newfoundland Weather" groups on social media. The official forecasts are often "suggestive" at best.
- Book your dining. For places like Portage or Mallard Cottage, you can't just walk in on a Friday night. These are world-class spots with limited seating.
- Go to the Rooms. It’s the massive building on the hill that looks like a collection of traditional fishing rooms. It’s an art gallery, museum, and archives all in one. It’s also the best place to get a panoramic view of the harbor without hiking Signal Hill.
- Talk to people. Newfoundlanders are famously friendly, but it’s not a fake, "customer service" friendly. It’s a genuine curiosity. If you’re lost or looking for a recommendation, just ask. You might end up with a life story and a suggestion for a "secret" hike.
The real magic of St. John's isn't found in a brochure. It’s found in the moment the fog lifts for five minutes to reveal a 10,000-year-old iceberg sitting in the harbor, or in the first bite of a fresh cod tongue at a local diner. It’s a place that demands you pay attention. It doesn't care if you're comfortable, but it guarantees you'll be impressed.
Step one is getting there. Step two is letting the city tell you its own story, one gust of wind at a time.