the voyage home begins
I cried a tiny bit as the train pulled out from the station, and I looked back over the downtown area which was entirely grey, and didn't look like anything I should miss at all. But then the conductor made the announcement that he was coming through to collect tickets, so I stopped. I'm good like that.
It was kind of strange that it was so grey and cloudy. I've associated Montréal with blue skies, but often hideously cold temperatures at the same time. And then there have been approximately two days of warm temperatures and gorgeous weather. Like the day I sat in Parc du Portugal playing my ukulele in a sundress. That was nice.
The night before I left was lovely. Anna tried to get me to come over to her place for dinner, but it would have been in the company of two couples, and I was spending the evening with Val and Q anyway. I am sad that I didn't get to see her before I left - but there's a possibility that I'll never see Val and Q again, and despite the fact that she's spending another 6 months in Montréal, I will definitely see Anna again. It's inevitable.
Val brought home Aux Vivres BLTs, we drank cheap red wine (because red wine is what we do, and cheap is what we are), and we made s'mores with bittersweet chocolate and giant marshmallows in the oven. They were successful and subsequently delicious. There was no time spent on the porch with anyone smoking anything, but that was fine. We stayed inside because the temperature had decided to turn slightly more traditional, we reminisced, and I realised, again, how much I'm going to miss those girls. In a distant kind of way, the kind of way where I'll think about them every now and then and think how long it's been since I've seen them and how nice it would be to see them. I'll survive, without problems, without my 'Canadian' roommates. Q wondered aloud if winter was a temporal description or a temperature description - which, I suppose, is a valid thing to wonder when you're a Northern Hemisphere dweller with little to no blatant exposure to the Southern Hemisphere. We are so much more worldwise down under, I feel, because if we weren't we wouldn't know anything. There isn't enough to fill up an hour of 6 o'clock news, so we reach out. (I told her that it's a temperature thing, we call the 'cold' part of the year winter too)
Already, it's seeming like a kind of misty dead section of my life. Maybe it's because I'm still sort of tired, and there's so much stuff ahead of me that I'm excited about. The twelve hours of train made for a substantial period of contemplation and reevaluating and reestablishing myself for this new part of my life that I'm in right now, however short it may be.
They gave me a fresh slip of paper in my passport to go with my US visa, and a new stamp with an expiry date in October, which was a relief, upon contemplating the fact that the current stamp was dated for June 26th. Considering that I'm still going to be very much in the States then. They charged me $6 for it, which has never happened before, but I survived. I 'befriended' an Australian called Ruby and two guys who also go to Concordia (Ruby does as well) from New Brunswick and Colombia respectively. The New Brunswickian was called Christopher, I never caught the Colombian guy's name, despite the hours spent in theat carriage. We discussed accents and people demanding 'SAY SOMETHING' when they realise that you 'have one' (I will never ever accept people saying they 'don't have an accent'. So many Americans I've encountered say this. EVERYONE has an accent) and Ruby kept having these 'we should' and 'what if' things that involved hijacking the train and driving it off the rails and going on adventures just driving the train around, taking photos posing with the train at Mt Rushmore, marrying the train in Vegas, etc. All of us marrying each other for the colourful citizenship we would all have as a result. And suggesting parties in New York with conga lines and maracas. She's leaving New York today, so I guess any NYC party plans fell through or I wasn't invited. She's going back to Melbourne for two months. How nice.
(she was a little much to bear after a while. I snuck back to my seat and wrote. I actually wrote about 1000 words of blog-stuff that I decided to rewrite and merely use as a point of reference.)
But because I can, here is an extract from the original, which is better in original form -
"I am sitting on the train with my shoes kicked off, monopolising the free seat beside me, my legs tucked up on the seat. something smells slightly like urine or something bodily, for sure, but not overwhelmingly unpleasantly so. I am leaning against the window, it kind of hurts my head a little but that’s okay, for the most part. I don’t know why the view out the window of these American trains doesn’t appeal to me as much as driving through the New Zealand wilderness. I just can’t do the relax and listen to music and look out the window, for some reason. maybe it’s the lack of familiar and pleasant maori place names along the way, but I know that I’ve enjoyed the bus ride from wellington to Auckland, and the train trip either direction, and the bus from Christchurch to Cromwell, past tarras and the like, past the pukaki and tekapo and the most beautiful fucking places on earth. I need to learn to drive and Go To These Places again."
and then...
"all the flags when you go across the border. ‘land of the free’. ‘I can taste the FREEDOM’. irony. oh beautiful. no one has said anything about swine flu. such craziness. I wish I could get online and check email and twitter and suchlike, I see two geese flying just above the water, if it was the sea they would be riding on the crests of waves except that they wouldn’t be, really, because to the best of my knowledge there aren’t actually any geese who live at sea. this is my travelling hat. I am close, now. I will drag my self and my belongings off this train, up to the main level. I’ll find a kiosk and buy myself a very expensive public transport ticket. I’ll catch a train that takes me to fulton or the CORRECT canal st station, and then I’ll switch to the j and then I’ll sit and keep my stuff safe and listen to that smooth female voice rattling off the names of stations as we leave manhattan and drift onto Lawn Guyland, which I now know is NOT a state and is in fact technically where I’ll be living, and it will head into deeper Brooklyn, Bed-Stuy, apparently, and I will get off the train and I will stagger down the steps and hopefully I will see The Assistant waiting there. Hopefully she’ll carry my duffle bag. it will be rad.
it’s really quite beautiful outside right now. I think we’re in some kind of sound. it definitely reminds me milford and malborough. and it’s misty now, which is rather gorgeous. last time I made this trip by train, which was, actually EXACTLY four months ago, though that was in the other direction. last time I made the exact same trip was exactly four months and one day ago. how strange."
Staggering through public transport at both the Montréal and New York ends of the voyage was the worst part. I somehow thought coping with my pack and duffle bag would be totally fine. It was not totally fine, it sucked. Like woah. Beth met me part was home from the Kosziusko St station, and carried the duffle bag. It was almost the best thing that happened that day. We got home. I had a brief exploration of my suite that is soon to be shared with Kayla. I met the new cats (Awesome the kitten is adorable. For serious) and we talked. And then I went to bed, in my bed, in New York City.
I think yesterday's exploits have to be another blog entry. I wonder if life will continue to demand so much blogging of me?
I can only hope.
Love,
Briar
It was kind of strange that it was so grey and cloudy. I've associated Montréal with blue skies, but often hideously cold temperatures at the same time. And then there have been approximately two days of warm temperatures and gorgeous weather. Like the day I sat in Parc du Portugal playing my ukulele in a sundress. That was nice.
The night before I left was lovely. Anna tried to get me to come over to her place for dinner, but it would have been in the company of two couples, and I was spending the evening with Val and Q anyway. I am sad that I didn't get to see her before I left - but there's a possibility that I'll never see Val and Q again, and despite the fact that she's spending another 6 months in Montréal, I will definitely see Anna again. It's inevitable.
Val brought home Aux Vivres BLTs, we drank cheap red wine (because red wine is what we do, and cheap is what we are), and we made s'mores with bittersweet chocolate and giant marshmallows in the oven. They were successful and subsequently delicious. There was no time spent on the porch with anyone smoking anything, but that was fine. We stayed inside because the temperature had decided to turn slightly more traditional, we reminisced, and I realised, again, how much I'm going to miss those girls. In a distant kind of way, the kind of way where I'll think about them every now and then and think how long it's been since I've seen them and how nice it would be to see them. I'll survive, without problems, without my 'Canadian' roommates. Q wondered aloud if winter was a temporal description or a temperature description - which, I suppose, is a valid thing to wonder when you're a Northern Hemisphere dweller with little to no blatant exposure to the Southern Hemisphere. We are so much more worldwise down under, I feel, because if we weren't we wouldn't know anything. There isn't enough to fill up an hour of 6 o'clock news, so we reach out. (I told her that it's a temperature thing, we call the 'cold' part of the year winter too)
Already, it's seeming like a kind of misty dead section of my life. Maybe it's because I'm still sort of tired, and there's so much stuff ahead of me that I'm excited about. The twelve hours of train made for a substantial period of contemplation and reevaluating and reestablishing myself for this new part of my life that I'm in right now, however short it may be.
They gave me a fresh slip of paper in my passport to go with my US visa, and a new stamp with an expiry date in October, which was a relief, upon contemplating the fact that the current stamp was dated for June 26th. Considering that I'm still going to be very much in the States then. They charged me $6 for it, which has never happened before, but I survived. I 'befriended' an Australian called Ruby and two guys who also go to Concordia (Ruby does as well) from New Brunswick and Colombia respectively. The New Brunswickian was called Christopher, I never caught the Colombian guy's name, despite the hours spent in theat carriage. We discussed accents and people demanding 'SAY SOMETHING' when they realise that you 'have one' (I will never ever accept people saying they 'don't have an accent'. So many Americans I've encountered say this. EVERYONE has an accent) and Ruby kept having these 'we should' and 'what if' things that involved hijacking the train and driving it off the rails and going on adventures just driving the train around, taking photos posing with the train at Mt Rushmore, marrying the train in Vegas, etc. All of us marrying each other for the colourful citizenship we would all have as a result. And suggesting parties in New York with conga lines and maracas. She's leaving New York today, so I guess any NYC party plans fell through or I wasn't invited. She's going back to Melbourne for two months. How nice.
(she was a little much to bear after a while. I snuck back to my seat and wrote. I actually wrote about 1000 words of blog-stuff that I decided to rewrite and merely use as a point of reference.)
But because I can, here is an extract from the original, which is better in original form -
"I am sitting on the train with my shoes kicked off, monopolising the free seat beside me, my legs tucked up on the seat. something smells slightly like urine or something bodily, for sure, but not overwhelmingly unpleasantly so. I am leaning against the window, it kind of hurts my head a little but that’s okay, for the most part. I don’t know why the view out the window of these American trains doesn’t appeal to me as much as driving through the New Zealand wilderness. I just can’t do the relax and listen to music and look out the window, for some reason. maybe it’s the lack of familiar and pleasant maori place names along the way, but I know that I’ve enjoyed the bus ride from wellington to Auckland, and the train trip either direction, and the bus from Christchurch to Cromwell, past tarras and the like, past the pukaki and tekapo and the most beautiful fucking places on earth. I need to learn to drive and Go To These Places again."
and then...
"all the flags when you go across the border. ‘land of the free’. ‘I can taste the FREEDOM’. irony. oh beautiful. no one has said anything about swine flu. such craziness. I wish I could get online and check email and twitter and suchlike, I see two geese flying just above the water, if it was the sea they would be riding on the crests of waves except that they wouldn’t be, really, because to the best of my knowledge there aren’t actually any geese who live at sea. this is my travelling hat. I am close, now. I will drag my self and my belongings off this train, up to the main level. I’ll find a kiosk and buy myself a very expensive public transport ticket. I’ll catch a train that takes me to fulton or the CORRECT canal st station, and then I’ll switch to the j and then I’ll sit and keep my stuff safe and listen to that smooth female voice rattling off the names of stations as we leave manhattan and drift onto Lawn Guyland, which I now know is NOT a state and is in fact technically where I’ll be living, and it will head into deeper Brooklyn, Bed-Stuy, apparently, and I will get off the train and I will stagger down the steps and hopefully I will see The Assistant waiting there. Hopefully she’ll carry my duffle bag. it will be rad.
it’s really quite beautiful outside right now. I think we’re in some kind of sound. it definitely reminds me milford and malborough. and it’s misty now, which is rather gorgeous. last time I made this trip by train, which was, actually EXACTLY four months ago, though that was in the other direction. last time I made the exact same trip was exactly four months and one day ago. how strange."
Staggering through public transport at both the Montréal and New York ends of the voyage was the worst part. I somehow thought coping with my pack and duffle bag would be totally fine. It was not totally fine, it sucked. Like woah. Beth met me part was home from the Kosziusko St station, and carried the duffle bag. It was almost the best thing that happened that day. We got home. I had a brief exploration of my suite that is soon to be shared with Kayla. I met the new cats (Awesome the kitten is adorable. For serious) and we talked. And then I went to bed, in my bed, in New York City.
I think yesterday's exploits have to be another blog entry. I wonder if life will continue to demand so much blogging of me?
I can only hope.
Love,
Briar