Скачать или смотреть Drawn by the Coastline

The vlog opens with a quiet moment—just me and Grandpa T, standing over a map of Newfoundland. It’s more than paper and lines. It’s the outline of the week behind us and the roads still to come. We’re tracing our journey—the places we’ve already touched and the places we’re about to chase. And even in that small moment, there’s something sacred about marking a trail while you’re still walking it.We began in St. John’s, where this chapter of the adventure started. A city carved by sea and wind. From there, we drove north, the coastline unspooling beside us like a film—past cliffs and coves, under skies that shift with every hour. We arrived at Cape Bonavista, where the world feels like it ends, but somehow also expands. The rocks, the waves, the light it’s a kind of solitude that fills you instead of emptying you.From Bonavista, we drifted west toward Twillingate. The roads narrowed. The trees closed in. The conversations got quieter. There’s a rhythm to travel like this—less about destinations, more about attention. Twillingate is where we’ll soon begin to connect to Cage Island and Fogo Island, two places wrapped in legacy and distance. They wait ahead of us. But today, the story folds back toward the coast.We return to St. John’s—not to repeat the past, but to look again with new eyes. The city feels familiar now, but not finished. There’s more to see, more to walk, more to let unfold. So we turn south, driving along the edge of the Avalon Peninsula. The cliffs sharpen. The wind lifts. The sea gets louder.And then we arrive at Cape Spear—the easternmost point in North America. It’s where land gives way to open ocean, where the continent itself leans into the Atlantic. You don’t talk much here. You just breathe. You stand still against the wind and let it move through you. It’s not dramatic. It’s honest. The kind of place that teaches you how to be small without feeling lost.From the edge, we return once again to color—walking through Jellybean Row in downtown St. John’s. A line of houses painted like memory. Soft pinks, deep blues, greens that catch the sun just right. It’s playful, yes, but also historic. These streets have held generations. These walls have watched the sea, season after season. And we walk them now, quietly, adding our own footprints to the story.There’s not much drama in this vlog. No single moment that demands attention. Just a series of places that slowly shape a feeling—like watching memory take form in real time. It’s not about capturing content. It’s about presence. About noticing. About seeing the edge of the world and realizing it’s not an ending—it’s a beginning.The Stoics believed the journey inward often starts by walking outward. “He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has,” Epictetus wrote. And that’s the spirit of this trip. We’re not rushing toward anything. We’re returning. To moments. To maps. To silence. To something old and honest and real.This vlog is for anyone who’s ever traced their finger across a map, wondering what it would feel like to stand in that place for real. It’s for those who know that every city has its rhythm, and every road its lesson. It’s a love letter to the edge of things—the coastlines, the cliffs, the painted walls that hold more history than we’ll ever know.Not every mile is a story. But every story starts with a mile. And this one—this loop through Newfoundland—is still unfolding.You’re always welcome in this space.— Christopher