“Rolling off the ferry in the early morning mist, bleary-eyed and craving something familiar, the Tim Hortons in Port aux Basques feels like a beacon. It’s not fancy—just your standard Tims with the usual suspects but in that moment, it’s perfect. The smell of fresh brew, the hum of locals chatting, the warmth cutting through the Atlantic chill—it all hits differently when you’ve just crossed the Cabot Strait. There’s something quietly comforting about seeing that red and white sign first thing, like Newfoundland’s way of saying, “Welcome. You made it.”“
“Rolling off the ferry in the early morning mist, bleary-eyed and craving something familiar, the Tim Hortons in Port aux Basques feels like a beacon. It’s not fancy—just your standard Tims with the usual suspects but in that moment, it’s perfect. The smell of fresh brew, the hum of locals chatting, the warmth cutting through the Atlantic chill—it all hits differently when you’ve just crossed the Cabot Strait. There’s something quietly comforting about seeing that red and white sign first thing, like Newfoundland’s way of saying, “Welcome. You made it.”“