When the Atlantic Ocean meets Canada for the first time, it laps at the shores of a place that feels as if it’s at the edge of the world.



It’s a place where, according to those who live there, “someone has a story about everything” and “anybody who is from here supports everybody who leaves.”



“It’s like Cheers,” they’ll tell you. “Everybody knows everybody.”



To visitors, travellers, and workers who pass through by way of layover flights or boat it feels foreign.



It’s the kind of place you see on a postcard, only greyer from the mist rising out of its harbour and clouding its shorelines. Old wooden homes, painted in mosaics descend its steep hillside and narrow streets into a series of ports.



Its city, a pillar of a province, is protected by a mirrored cliffside to the east, still largely untouched. Beyond the cliff? Nothing… until Portugal.



The...