The vlog begins with the anticipation of a ferry ride. We’re standing at the edge of Newfoundland, waiting for the boat that will carry us to Fogo Island. This isn’t just any ferry. It’s a vessel big enough to swallow cars, a machine that seems more like a gentle giant than a simple transport. The front opens wide, almost like the mouth of a whale—or maybe Pac-Man if you let your imagination wander. The vehicles, including ours, roll forward into its belly, a quiet surrender to the day’s journey.
The ride itself is a blend of observation and humor. The deck feels expansive, almost like a helipad. There’s a snowblower on board, a detail so unexpected that it becomes a joke between us. The sea stretches out in every direction, and for a while, the destination feels distant. But there’s something comforting in that. The boat moves with purpose, steady against the cold wind, and we stand at the railings, watching as islands rise from the water like secrets finally being revealed.
Eventually, we dock, and Fogo Island greets us with its rugged coastline and the wind that feels like it could lift you off your feet. We make our way to the Fogo Head Trail, where a steep hike awaits. The stairs climb sharply against the mountain, the view expanding with each step. It’s cold, and the wind bites hard, but the effort is worth it. At the summit, we stand together, looking out over a landscape that feels both ancient and immediate. The camera captures the rawness of it—the vast ocean below, the clouds moving fast overhead. There’s no need for words here. Just breath, steps, and the understanding that the world is bigger than we often remember.
Along the way, I find a glacier washed ashore. Small, but solid and shockingly heavy. It’s cold to the touch, a piece of ice carved by time and distance. I pick it up, marveling at the weight and clarity. It feels like holding a memory. Something fleeting, yet rooted. I decide to bring a piece of it back for Grandpa T. Not because he needs it, but because it feels right. Because sharing a glacier, no matter how small, feels like sharing a story.
We continue exploring—handmade quilts in vibrant colors, puffin figurines perched like sentinels, and an anchor so large it dwarfs me. Each stop is a moment of surprise, a reminder that even the smallest towns carry treasures if you take the time to look. The anchor, especially, becomes a symbol of the day. Strong, weathered, and deeply rooted, it feels like a metaphor for this trip.
As we make our way back toward the dock, the wind grows colder, the sky heavy with clouds. Yet, in this quiet cold, there’s a warmth to the day. A sense of having touched something real. Of having stepped beyond the familiar to feel the weight of ice, the pull of wind, the grounding presence of community.
The Stoics believed in the value of presence—of being where you are, fully. “Do not act as if you had a thousand years to live,” Marcus Aurelius wrote. “Fate is at your elbow: make yourself good while life and power are still yours.” Today wasn’t about rushing to see everything. It was about showing up. About letting the wind slap your face, the glacier cool your hand, the hike remind you that your legs can still climb. It was about standing next to Grandpa T, sharing a piece of ice as a story of where we’ve been.
This vlog is for anyone who believes that travel is more than a destination. For those who understand that a ferry ride, a windy hike, and a pocket of handmade art can be as meaningful as the grandest adventure. It’s for the ones who know that presence isn’t passive—it’s a choice. A practice. A way of holding the world in your hands, even for just a moment.
You’re always welcome in this space.
— Christopher
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