And the Train Was Delayed

Because who doesn't love more ramblings at four in the morning on a train bound for, apparently, nowhere?

I apologize for not getting this out sooner as I have approximately two friends who actually read this blog and they're starting to get a little antsy.

I recently traveled by train from Montreal to Moncton, a trip that took approximately four hours longer than it should have, and this was the result.

It’s morning now, and I’ve just had another sleepless night of travel. I thought it would be easier on a train, but I still faced six hours of desperately changing positions before I found one that didn’t hurt my back. As you can probably guess, my Nyquil was nowhere to be found, most likely spirited away by my mother who, on reading this, will call me to tell me how she threw it out because I shouldn’t be taking it anyway. I paid good money for that acetaminophen/antihistamine blend, Mother, and would have appreciated it last night.

No matter. I can’t be upset. While I haven’t slept, the sun is shining and we’re whipping past snow covered trees which is so pleasantly literary that one can’t bear to be upset. Duke was a good choice for the morning’s music.

When I say whipping past, I of course mean slowly crawling past. Via decided to stop the train several times last night, and now because of the weather we’re inching our way through the snowy hills. I keep seeing Dutch flags everywhere. How I hate the Dutch. They do make good chocolate, though.

If you’re ever slowly winding your way through snowy terrain, I highly recommend the song Caravan. Nothing says travel like a lot of clip clopping and pounding drums.

Something I’ve learned about New Brunswick so far this morning: It’s very boring. Not a very interesting province at all. Unless you go to the ocean. I think I’ll be able to see the ocean in Moncton. I miss the ocean.

Last night I had a delightful seafood dinner and chatted with a nice woman whose name I cannot remember. She was originally from Ontario, but moved to New Brunswick because she loves the pace of it. I smiled and nodded. What she meant is that she’s kind of like an old person. That’s alright, though. We need people like her in the world to relax for the rest of us.

I may go and try to rustle up some food, now.

So, I was feeling a wee bit downtrodden, I suppose because of the lack of sleep and whatnot, but when I went to go get food I discovered the most delightful people.

The first person I met was Jean-Marc, who is a Columbia alum (Class of 2000 and then for his masters, 2002). He didn’t speak English very well, but we had a good long talk. Turns out that he’d lived in Furnald and East Campus, and we talked about Ferris and Lerner and all good Columbia things. He’s working for VIA now because he hated what he was doing in genetics, but apparently they pay $25 an hour and are looking for summer students. Hmmm…

While I was sitting and chatting with Jean Marc, two musicians popped into the lounge and asked if they could play. Though it’s against the rules, no one seemed to mind and so there was some lovely impromptu bluegrass. I left to go pack my things, as we’re now stuck behind a freight train outside of Moncton, and met a nice old lady who, as it turns out, is a bartender at the legion.

Thank God for caffeine, is all I have to say. Perhaps I shall go find those musicians again.

PS. I did find those musicians again. They were cool. You should go see them.

www.strangeboys.ca

A Travel Blog

Dear Albany Bathroom: Please Don't give me AIDS

OR

Never try to Write after Nyquil

I thought about publishing this while at the Albany bus station but that would entail connecting to the Albany bus depot wifi and I feel like that's about as safe as sitting on the toilet here without squatting. Seriously.

In light of my inability to sleep on buses I decided to take a little Nyquil in order to sleep. Good choice, but I think I might be slurring my words right now. I certainly can't type properly.  I just wrote "publishishing." Right.

"Last call for 202," says the bus driver.

I almost just got on the wrong bus. Fantastic. I'm happy though. I met two travel buddies. Mark from Ottawa (who did the carpentry program at Algonquin in Perth) and the girl standing in front of me in line, who is quite nice, though a little butch. Mark has been living in New York for six months working as a bicycle messenger.  That is super cool. I wish I could do something that exciting.

I've discovered that the best bus music is that of The Decembrists. Maybe it's because I don't know any of their endearingly mellow music, but the fact is that I did finally fall asleep about half an hour ago, only to be roused from my slumber to spend half an hour in this hellhole that is Albany.

I was thinking about something while travelling through the Lincoln tunnel. It may have just been the hallucinagenic effects of Nyquil (of which I hold there are many), but I feel like driving at night is something that perfectly mimics the flow of time. All you can see are the lights rushing past the window and suddenly you feel as if you're perfectly static in a rushing stream of light. Kind of like retro renditions of time travel. I feel like that about time when I'm on the bus. I can see the destination, I know where I was, and I feel as if I'm in a state of limbo until I get there - how terribly surreal.

* * *

At three a.m. I am woken by a screaming child. I may or may not have been sleeping, I don't really know. Really? Really? Who gave this child chocolate? Who decided that the candy bar was a better choice for a snack than the bag of chips? For God's sake, people. Let's think before we wire our children up, shall we? No!I see you at that vending machine! NO! For the love of all that is holy, do NOT give that child that chocolate bar.

Alright, he's pretty damn cute. He just tried to eat his little sister's face. That's almost cute enough not to be killed by me. He and his sister are half asian. Little half asian girls with pigtails are the cutest ever. (We're at the border, by the way. Perhaps Dad should take the kid outside and let him run around in the freezing cold for a while, hmm? Yeah, that should do it.

* * *

It's around 5am. We're arrived in Montreal in time for the Ottawa bus only to learn that there is, in fact, no 5am Ottawa bus. Good thing I have my handy-dandy netbook so that I don't go loco and take out my rage on anyone... Where is that little boy, anyhow? Seriously, though, people, control your children.

A man has just fenced us off from the doorway. Does that mean we have to move? My bag is quite comfortable and I would be very unhappy if I had to move at all. WHY IS THIS BUS STATION SO SKETCHY? We're standing. I see it is time for standing now. I don't want to stand. Why are we standing? You know, if  we all choose to sit, we can be all in this together... hmm? How does that sound, Mark? What about you, handsome fellow sitting behind me? Alright, we're sitting. Peachy.

I hope you all like this flow of consciousness thing because it's the only thing I can do without screaming at five am. Also, thank you to Zack for your music. Nothing cheers up the Montreal bus station in the wee hours of  the morning like some Benny Benassi. Mm.... I can pretend I'm out having a good time rather than stuck in a bus depot doing nothing. I wonder how these people would feel if I started an impromptu dance party. *Looks around* They do not seem like the dance party type.

I wish I could elaborate on my whole "Flow of time" thing. It's just a wierd feeling, you know? Back in the day I used to wish the things that I was doing could just be skipped. As in, suddenly I could be forward in time and could  have no recollection of the boring things, kind of like in that Adam Sandler movie. I THINK I HAVE SUBCONSCIOUSLY BEGUN TO DO THIS. I am so conscious of the fact that these memories will be practically erased from my consciousness that I pay them absolutely no heed. Almost eight hours have passed and I have neither recollection nor memory of this passed time. 

Methinks the Nyquil takes its toll.

Okay, Benny Benassi. You need to be turned off right now.Ah, a little Coldplay. How calming. Oh, hey. I'm right at the start of the line. Huzzah! I think I'm going a little bit stir crazy. Look at that, people. Look at that clock. Thirty six minutes have passed since I have sat down and I have absolutely no recollection of this time passage. There is something wrong. I know that in what feels like a moment (or it will once I'm there) I'll be coming back home to  school. A few minutes after that and I'll be done the school year, and then college, and then a few more and I'll be old and I'll die. This is very disconcerting. With every minute that passes my memory is condensed further and time, relative time, is ever so much shorter. When I was younger everything took forever. Now it is gaining speed exponentially.

Of course, this begs the question: does time exist at all? Trippy. I haven't learned the answer yet. Perhaps one of my classes this year will tell me. Dear Mr. Professor: does time exist? Why yes, dear student. Time is a dimension. Great, problem solved. Wait, what the hell does that mean for me? I know, I'll go and watch that ten dimension education video again. That will tell me.

The time is now 8am and I am sitting in the Ottawa bus depot waiting for mother. I managed to sleep some on the way here so I may not have to kill myself in four hours when it's time for work anymore. Funny story: I  picked up a bottle of vitamin water when I rolled in just a moment ago and imagine my surprise when I realized that it's sold as a medication here. Go figure.

Alright, time to go home. I hope you enjoyed my sleep deprived ramblings. 

Alyssa