It doesn’t take long to circumnavigate this piece of French soil that belongs to North America, but it takes forever to get there. There has been a car ferry since last August, six years after it was commissioned. Before there was only one ferry for pedestrians and cargo. And until now, if a resident of these islands wanted to take a car elsewhere in North America, they had to ship it as cargo – or, more commonly, have a registered car parked at the little port of Fortune, Newfoundland, 15 miles away.
Everything here is a little different than usual in North America. That’s why I came here. It’s a trip to France – on the doorstep of Canada. There are direct flights from eastern Canada and Montreal, even from Paris in the summer. But I did come from St. John in a car—a pick-up truck, to be precise, a Chevrolet Silverado in the top-of-the-line High Country version. It is no exaggeration to say that he has received the attention he deserves everywhere.
“You can’t get a truck like that around here right now,” notes a St. John resident who wants to take a look under the hood. He owns an older Silverado himself: “The yards at the dealers are empty. The semiconductor crisis…”
It takes four hours to get to Fortune from St. John, half on the boring Trans-Canada Highway and half on the more interesting Burin Peninsula, via Marystown.
On the highway, I feel like a big-city cowboy: the huge loading area remains empty, I have stowed my suitcases on the back seat of the crew cab. With all driver assistance systems, thickly padded leather seats and electric running boards, the High Country I drove adds more than $14,000 to the price of $67,500 (just under 65,000 euros) – without taxes. In Saint-Pierre there would be at least 10,000 euros in import duties on top of that.
This platform truck is available with four engines: a four-cylinder turbo, two V-8 engines and an extremely high-torque 3.0-liter in-line six-cylinder turbo diesel, which has been revised again for the coming model year. Available are rear or all-wheel drive, different lengths and seat configurations. There hasn’t been a manual transmission for quite some time. The cabin is extraordinarily spacious, the ride is gentle, and the Silverado’s large suspension travels over bumps in the road. A pickup that fits America, but not necessarily Europe.
In any case, Saint-Pierre and the neighboring island of Miquelon are not geographically, but politically a complete part of France, and have been for around 400 years. The whole thing is called “Territorial Collective”, and it differs from Réunion or French Guiana, among other things, in that the majority of tax revenue stays on the islands. In turn, they serve as a seawater fishing port for French ships in the Grand Banks, and they give France maritime rights to resources stretching 200 miles (320 km) south.
No wonder that France is investing extremely generously in the infrastructure here: airport, seaport and roads. And now also in the ferry, so that everyone from Canada can bring their own car.
Most residents live on the island of Saint-Pierre. The main town of the same name has steep, narrow streets that the Silverado doesn’t feel particularly comfortable on. I’ve seen a few other pickups of this size, but the vast majority of the cars are small Peugeots and Renaults, direct from France, and a few Canadian models. By the way, in winter they are practically all fitted with spikes.
On Saint-Pierre there is perhaps 25 kilometers of track outside of town, mostly narrow but paved, and with a rigid speed limit of 70 km/h. I met a trio of local bikers riding a 45-kilometer route with a few cul-de-sacs. One leads to the southern tip, another to the center of the island, to the starting point of hiking trails and boarded paths through the storm-swept moor.
I myself was able to experience a spectacular sunset on the south coast. Even though Saint-Pierre and Miquelon belong to France, the landscape is pure Newfoundland, with short tuckamore trees, long grass and lots of rocks. There are horses everywhere. They appear to be wild horses. In fact, however, they are privately owned and taken to the stables in the harsh winters, while in the summer they are often taken to Miquelon where they can sweep the open countryside.
I didn’t make it to the larger Miquelon, where only around 600 people live, because the time didn’t fit anymore. During the long off-season, the 15-car ferry only runs three times a week from Canada’s Fortune to Saint-Pierre, remaining in French waters on the other days, on an inter-island shuttle service. However, in summer there is a daily direct service from Fortune to both Saint-Pierre and Miquelon.
Most tourists come to enjoy the scenery and fine French cuisine. Some of them buy wine and cheese that they can’t get in Canada and they can now bring it back in their own vehicle. Many visit the newly renovated fishing village opposite the main town of Saint-Pierre. And you can also row in dories, old fishing boats that have been restored by a local heritage association called Les Zigotos. A tour including lunch costs $50; who rows along pays nothing.
I spent a day and a half on Saint-Pierre and drove well over 100 kilometers. I got a little lost in the place, which with its narrow streets looks European, although the colorful wooden houses are reminiscent of Newfoundland. I covered the rest outside, not least on the many cul-de-sacs to the coast. It may have been due to the off-season that no other car had a Canadian license plate. Was that why I was regularly waved at?
Also because of the size of the Chevrolet Silverado, word had obviously gotten out like wildfire about who I was, what route I had taken and where I was going. But that’s okay. Things are a little different in Saint-Pierre and Miquelon than in Canada, only 90 minutes away. (Mark Richardson/cen)