Zita’s no snob, but she has deliberately focused her attention on attracting a very specific clientele. Recognizing that Fogo Island doesn’t have the infrastructure to support a sudden influx of thousands of visitors, she’s eschewed the strength in numbers theory. Instead, she’s angling for a significantly smaller quotient of curious, intrepid and – most importantly – well-paying travellers. Her bait is the Fogo Island Inn, a $41-million exercise in five-star superlatives: one-of-a-kind, ultra high end, thoroughly modern and environmentally hyper-conscious.

Most photos of the Inn focus on one end: a jutting appendage whose sole support seems to be an uncertain number of gangly struts. The struts are meant to mimic the spindly foundations of traditional fishing stages, but seen out of their larger context, they’re as tragically unappealing as a fish out of water. Most photos, therefore, are an injustice.

You’ll need to step back, wayyyy back, to take it all in. In fact, you should retreat all the way back to the main road in Joe Batt’s Arm. Here, the first thing you’ll see is a small wooden shack next to a gravel parking lot. Beyond that is a well-kept though unpaved laneway gently meandering uphill to the Inn. You can either enjoy the five-minute walk, or one of the Inn’s drivers can shuttle you in their trademark white SUV to the front door, but you can’t park your car next to the Inn itself. According to the shuttle driver, the lack of Inn-side parking ensures there aren’t any vehicles to distract guests from appreciating the natural surroundings. Whether it’s intentional or not, the deliberately long transition reinforces the notion that this is no ordinary journey.

Inside, you may initially be underwhelmed by the lack of ornamentation. Don’t be. Instead, give yourself time to absorb the subtle details: the mellow patina of natural hardwood, the textured slats of the whitewashed walls, the perfect curve of a handcrafted rocker, the cushioned comfort of a knitted footrest, the gentle aesthetic of locally-designed custom wallpaper. It’s only then that you’ll appreciate how the Inn’s minimalist Scandinavian architecture has been masterfully blended with traditionally-styled modern Newfoundland accents. Together, they create a living art gallery where every floor-to-ceiling window is a frame, and every frame cradles a seasonally unique masterpiece.

Though it’s only been open since May, the Fogo Island Inn is already a media darling. It’s been lauded in London’s Financial Times and referenced in Condé Nast Traveler, applauded by German media and talked about on national news programs … the list of journalistic fans is seemingly endless. Indeed, it’s fair to say that it’s already earned a substantial percentage of its multi-million-dollar price tag in free publicity.

The hometown crowd, however, are its toughest critics.

Marshall and Chrissie grew up on Fogo Island. He opened his first business when he was in grade 10: a fry-selling teenage hangout with a ping-pong table. That’s where he and Chrissie “got together”. They married at 21.

Chrissie comes from a family of 12 children. Her father, who found year-round work as a fisherman and carpenter, died of a sudden heart attack when she was six. From then on, the family was so poor, says Chrissie, that they had “bread and tea for dinner; tea and bread for supper.”

As young adults, Marshall and Chrissie had intended to leave Fogo Island. Then Marshall became heavily involved with his church and the Lion’s Club. Now, they don’t want to go.

After 40 years of marriage, they move about their diminutive kitchen in perfect harmony. A timer sounds on cue, signalling the readiness of Chrissie’s homemade muffins, fresh from the oven to the table at the requested breakfast time of 8:00 AM.

Theirs is the longest-operating hospitality home in the area; they’ve been catering to the construction industry for at least 35 years, providing long-term stays for workers.

Do they mind having strangers in their home all the time?

“No,” says Chrissie. “We love meeting new people.”

“Besides,” adds Marshall, continuing her train of thought, “they’re never strangers for long.”