Tiny Soap & Big Dreams: Shopping & Soul Searching In St. John’s

Moving to a new city to study can be lonely and stressful, but perhaps it just takes regular tromps to visit some coveted soap, to open yourself up to discovering and making that place home. That’s how Vanessa discovered St. John’s.

Looking back on St. John's Harbour with its colourfully painted shacks and boats, from the Public Exit to the trail to Signal Hill. — _{St. John’s Harbour, as photographed by Erica Hargreave}.

When I was 22 years old, on the cusp of attending graduate school in St. John’s, everyone told me that living in Newfoundland would be so much fun. They were wrong.

Shopping & Soul Searching In St. John’s

Fun for visitors, maybe. But from where I stood after a month of living in Canada’s easternmost city, things were grim. I was steeped in the stress that only students with an uncertain thesis proposal can appreciate. My finances were as unpromising as my academic work. My emotions were on a rollercoaster, relaxation was rare, and luxuries were few and far between. To maintain a sense of sanity, I took weekly trips to visit soap.

A walk past the colourful homes of St. John's Jellybean Row on an overcast day. — _{A walk in St. John’s, as photographed by Erica Hargreave.}

Yes, soap. I was obsessed with visiting HOME on water st, a home accessory store that embodied pretty sophistication. I’d like to tell you that this store, in the heart of downtown, was the kind of shop that’s stocked with locally made products and embraces a sense of terroir in its wares. Alas, that’s not the case here. I suspect every city has a version of HOME, a lovingly curated, slightly overstuffed boutique shop that makes you believe that maybe you could be the kind of person who owns an eggplant purple mixer. But when you’re barely in your twenties and you’re yearning to feel grown up, shops like this feel like the only place in the world that understands who you’re yearning to be. Everything on display was well beyond my bare bones budget, but that didn’t stop me from popping in for a visit every chance I could. I was particularly obsessed with their collection of gorgeous tiny soaps that were the exact size, shape, and colour of a robin’s egg.

Shelves of cute homeware at HOME on water st. — _{Inside HOME on water st}

I was enamoured with these little, jewel-like soaps. So dainty! So charming! They were whimsical and worldly. I was anything but. They embodied a world I desperately wanted to be a part of but felt out of reach. So, like someone who volunteers in an animal shelter to walk the dogs they’re not able to adopt, I visited my tiny turquoise soap but never bought a thing. I didn’t realize it at the time, but all those treks to HOME on water st were slowly helping me discover the city. I found a tiny restaurant specializing in vegetarian Pakistani food and their value-priced lunch combos were exactly what my heart and stomach required. I wandered into specialty food shops, rubbing elbows with the city’s health-conscious. One of those spots, Food For Thought, is still going strong. I still remember the sunny yellow tomatoes I picked up there at the beginning of my second year. Maybe life in St. John’s was getting sunnier in other ways. I made my way up to Signal Hill to take in the history and down to the waterfront to the arena for hockey games. I found little video rental stores (hey, it was a long time ago!), compared fish and chip vendors, and studied the baffling array of near-identical “specials” on George Street, where each bar had their own version of a deal on White Russians. I roamed the downtown core on foot, by bus, and – most impressively – by bike. Without really thinking about it, I signed up for a learn to run class at a running store and was running my first Santa Shuffle three months later. I don’t remember feeling particularly adventurous or athletic at the time. Still, when I look at the city’s legendary hills now, I’m impressed with my leg muscles and my moxie.

Panorama view of St. John's from Signal Hill — _{The view of St. John’s from Signal Hill, as photographed by Erica Hargreave.}

St. John's history murals line the roadway going down to the harbour. — _{History and nature on a walk up Signal Hill, as photographed by Erica Hargreave.}

Sunny day filled with greenery and flowers, hiking up the steps to Signal Hill. — _{History and nature on a walk up Signal Hill, as photographed by Erica Hargreave.}

Returning with My Husband

Yes, I said “now”. I no longer live in St. John’s. However, I had a chance to revisit the past a few years ago, a fortuitous airline layover allowing my husband and I the better part of a day to explore the city. As I proudly showed my partner all my old haunts and the city’s best attractions, from the legendary views at Cape Spear to my favourite downtown pub, it occurred to me maybe St. John’s was fun after all. With daylight fading on our brief layover, I asked if he minded popping into this shop I had once loved in my university days.

A dragonfly painted telephone post across from the colourfully painted homes of Jellybean Row. — _{A stroll down Jellybean Row, as photographed by Erica Hargreave.}

As I described HOME on water st, I warned him that it would be outrageously expensive, but not to worry. While it contained exactly the kind of pretty things I adore, I knew better than to splurge. And besides, we were travelling. Our carry-on backpacks guaranteed that a shopping spree wasn’t in my immediate future. As we leaned into the chilly June winds and made our way to the shop I told him the story of the robin-egg-blue soaps and how I longed to see them again.

I entered the store, wiped the rain splatter off my glasses, and there they were. THERE THEY WERE. HOME still carried my pretty little soaps. They were in the exact same spot. They were just as cute as I remembered them! In a hushed, excited whisper, I coaxed my husband over. “These are the soaps! These are them!” As I basked in their loveliness, I sensed movement by my side. Like a peasant reaching out a grubby hand to look at the crown jewels, my husband shifted to pick up a soap. What exactly was he doing? “You can’t touch them.” I hissed. “I just want to see,” he protested, palming a single perfect egg and turning it over to look at the price tag.

Interior of Home on water st with beautifully folded bathroom towels topped with art deco starfish, and the little robin's egg soap on the shelf. — Do you see robin’s egg soap on the shelf?

Reader, the soap cost one dollar and twenty-five cents.

Have you ever seen a movie where the wildly wealthy suitor sees his paramour debating between two pairs of diamond earrings or several cashmere scarves, and he grandly says, “We’ll take both”? That is precisely how I felt when my usually frugal husband said, “We’ll take them all”, in the kind of calm, confident voice that only the truly wealthy can use, utterly devoid of concern about money. Damn right we would take them all! I was about to walk out of the shop of my dreams with not one, not two, but FIVE FANCY SOAPS.

And then, he picked up a soap dish.

The egg soaps were cunningly displayed on a white porcelain soap dish shaped like a nest. To say that I hadn’t even considered coveting the soap dish goes without saying. If I couldn’t have afforded the world’s fanciest egg soaps, I certainly couldn’t have purchased the spectacular soap dish-slash-nest, which surely must cost one million dollars. Turns out, it was $5.95. For less than $20, I could have my cake and eat it too. “We’ll take them all” indeed.

Robin's Egg Blue Soap nested in a soap dish. — _{My movie amour moment in a soap dish?? ??}

What, exactly, had stopped me from buying those soaps eons earlier, when they were presumably even less expensive? Did I misread $.95 as $9.50? Was I caught in some kind of analysis paralysis, able to easily afford one soap but not the entire tableau, which included luxurious towels, bath racks, and deluxe bubbles? I’m not sure, exactly. Sometimes, lines of logic and emotion don’t precisely align. You don’t often get redos in life, but with five little soaps (and an absolutely resplendent soap dish), I had the perfect full-circle moment. I’d like to think that the city wanted me to have one more memory, for my journey to come full circle.

Beautifully folded bathroom towels in grey, red and cream topped with art deco sand dollar speak to calm in HOME on water st, along with The Art of Relaxation colouring book and colouring pencils.

Neatly folded fluffy towels on a wooden wall wrack, leaning against a red brick wall in HOME on water st.

I’ve been back to St. John’s once since the monumental egg soap sojourn. I begged off a networking lunch in favour of once again walking Water Street and visiting the shop which came to define the city for me. Somehow, it looked bigger and smaller all at the same time. I drifted towards the back, where the egg soaps had lived for so many years. They weren’t there. Even though I hadn’t wanted to buy any more, I felt an unexpected lump in my throat. I learned that the shop no longer carried them. The manufacturer now required orders of larger quantities than they could commit to. With that, I felt better. The soaps were still in the world, just not here.

Finding Your Own HOME in St. John’s

When I hear that someone is travelling to St. John’s, I tell them about my favourite craft shops, the kind of places where you can get unique, made-in-Newfoundland products. I direct them to the attractions and restaurants I took my husband to. But I rarely mention HOME. It’s as pretty as ever, but that’s not what makes it special. It was my place, for reasons all my own. I want other visitors to find their own spot, which they love for their own reasons. I just hope they won’t have to wait twenty years to bring home a souvenir.