“So you’re stayingat the white elephant,” comments Dennis Adams, a rascally retiree who lives across the harbour from the Inn. Dennis is most well known for having manually dismantled a pickup-sized boulder so he could shift his house – which he did, again by hand, using a block and tackle. As forthright as he is determined, he doesn’t hesitate to correct a stranger who asks for his opinion on life in Fogo.

“For starters, this is not Fogo,” he says, demonstrating the rivalry that is alive and well between communities here. “This is Joe Batt’s Arm. We live on Fogo Island.”

As for life in Fogo Island, he “loves it”. He and his wife Jeannette lived in Nova Scotia and Alberta for a time until they, like Zita, were drawn back. They don’t have any issues with Zita, Shorefast or the Inn. But they do have doubts.

“What do I think about it?” says Dennis. “No fella’s going to get his pension from her. Work there for 30 years? Not gonna happen. I don’t mind it, but it’s not going to change anything or create anything. I think it’s a waste of money, but I guess she can afford it.”

Storekeeper Bill Miller doesn’t think it’s a waste, but he does believe Zita might be overly ambitious. “I mean, who’s going to stay there? At that price?”

“That price” starts at $850 a night in high season for the least expensive room. It may be stating the obvious, but it has to be said: isn’t the Inn a bit too… rich… for Fogo Islanders?

“Of course it is,” Zita replies bluntly. “It’s not meant to be affordable for someone who works in a fish plant and whose annual income is $20,000 a year. This Inn is here to serve those people, not tap into them.”

Here’s how it works: though operated and supported by Zita, the Inn belongs to the Shorefast Foundation and, by extension, the people of Fogo Island. Any profits that the Inn makes will go into the Shorefast Foundation, which will in turn invest that money into initiatives that continue to grow the island’s economy. But more on that in a minute.

For now, let’s get back to the subject of cost. Responding to criticism that her Inn fees are exorbitant, Zita contends that they are actually at the low end of the up-market scale. Seasoned world traveler that she is, she should know.

She further claims that the Inn is not just a good price but a bargain, particularly when you factor in the fact that it includes full board. What’s full board? It’s a daybreak tray of coffee, tea or juice and scone, delivered to your room. It’s the full multi-course fine-dining experience for breakfast, lunch and dinner (under the oversight of one of Canada’s most exciting culinary artists, executive chef Murray McDonald). It’s afternoon tea, and use of the Inn’s sauna, cinema, library and rooftop hot tubs. It’s also complimentary shuttle services and gratuities. The only things not included are alcohol and taxes.

“Just think about that,” she says, pausing for emphasis. “One three-course meal at a gourmet restaurant can easily cost $200 for two people. Easily. Now multiply that by three times a day, and add in the cost of accommodations for a suite in a high end hotel. You’d probably pay a good bit more than what we’re charging in high season.”

Even if the guests are getting good value for their money, $850-a-night is still beyond most household budgets, not just those of Fogo Island fish plant workers. Where does Zita think she’s going to find enough well-heeled people to fill her Inn’s 29 rooms, year-round? “They’re everywhere,” she says, seemingly astounded by the question. “Some of our earliest guests were from here, in our own province.”

What about the remote location and the difficulty of getting to Fogo Island? Won’t that deter most people from making the trip? “How can you even ask that? We’re a 45-minute ferry ride and a one-hour drive from an international airport. Some of the best inns in the world are way more remote than us. It takes a day to get to Florida from here and you never hear anyone complaining about that.”

Price and accessibility aside, does she seriously believe that the Inn (however stellar it is) and underpopulated Fogo Island are exotic enough to compete with destinations like Patagonia or San Sebastian? It’s this question, touching on the insecurity which infects so many rural places – the feeling that if it’s local, it’s not good enough – that really gets Zita’s blood boiling.

“That,” she says, giving precedence to the gingery tendencies of her strawberry blond hair, “is the thing that amazes me most about Newfoundlanders and we’ve done it for over 500 freaking years. We cannot see the value of what we have. We’ll give it away and mumble and grumble and be crooked with each other instead of saying, ‘Hey, we’ve got something. Let’s present it in a way that’s accessible to the people of the world.’ Why can’t we be a model for other places that are trying to find their way in modernity?”

Being a model, however, implies a measurable degree of success. There’s no doubt Zita has made a sizeable investment in Fogo Island. But how much value is she getting in return?

“Give me a call when you want to come home, even if it’s three o’clock in the morning. I’ll come get you. I’ll bring Chrissie too. She can drive your car back, so it’s here for you when you wake up.”

This from Marshall. It’s mid-afternoon and he’s been up since daylight, first helping to prepare breakfast, then driving two guests to the ferry before coming back to clean up, wash laundry and prepare for the next round of visitors. Following that, he joined Chrissie at the Lion’s Club. They had volunteered to prepare a traditional Newfoundland dinner for 50 people. The next day promised to be just as hectic. Chrissie had to be at Bill Miller’s store early in the morning (Bill’s wife was sick and Chrissie had agreed to help out). Both Chrissie and Marshall had been up late the night before, entertaining us and their other guests. They’d had less than five hours sleep, worked relentlessly all day and were now offering complimentary taxi services – in the middle of the night.

“Zita’s place has a long way to go to measure up to you two,” I say, meaning it.

The last thing I do before we leave is give Marshall and Chrissie a hug. When you find a treasure, it’s only natural that you want to hold on to it.