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Newfoundland I had long dreamed of visiting Newfoundland. The distinctive accent, the dry, self-deprecating, sometimes sardonic humor; the incredible generosity of its people; and the music had always beguiled me. The resolute attachment of its people when away intrigued me. I had heard of and seen pictures of its stark and desolate beauty, and I wanted to experience the place and its people for myself. My first visit, in 1996, was plagued by bad weather, but I was seduced. The first morning, standing under a heavy overcast on Castle Hill, looking out over the gray shingle beach of Placentia, I felt a sense of homecoming that I could not eplain. The next 10 days served only to whet a desire to return and a subsequent 5 week visit failed to slake it.

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