The forty-eight hour day
So, Thursday night we had this Gala. It was pretty good, and very long. We left at 4:30 and didn't return until 1:30AM, so there wasn't really any point to sleeping. I showered around three, met Caitlin (her name could be spelled incorrectly, but she's this girl from New Jersey who, on Thursday night, I discovered was going on the same train as I was. She's very nice; had she not been there, I probably would have died or been stranded or something) downstairs to check out. Everyone was just sitting around downstairs and sobbing, and I understand they'll miss their friends and they don't want to go home, but it didn't really make me cry; I suppose I'm just cold or stolid or something, but they're not dying, just returning home, which while very sad, is not so truly tragic -- the fact that they'll probably never be seen again after five intense weeks, a little tragic, but still...not enough to make me cry. Whatever. The point is that around 4:30, we got into this cab, and the cab was crazy. The first thing the cab driver said to me, as he was lifting my suitcase : "What, do you have your dead boyfriend in here?" okay -- that would have been a pretty thing dead fucking boyfriend because my suitcase only weighed around 85 pounds, but we laughed nervously and got inside. Here is an approximation of the ensuing dialog.
CD: You not crying. Why you not cry? Everyone cry. I want to cry. boohoohoo. (He proceeds to wave out some of our friends and people who are actually crying, while feigning tears himself)
US: [nervous laughter]umm...we need to go the Quebec train station.
CD: Train station? Not airport?
US: Yes, train station.
CD: Not train station. Everyone flies. Why you not fly? You sure you want to go to train station?
US: Certain.
CD: Okay, I take you to train station but I don't think its open for hour and a half. I call my friend and ask. [he speaks, in English, into some sort of walkie-talkie-radio] Hey! I got some girls here, they no go to airport. They go to train station. Is train station open now?
CDF: I don't know.
CD: He do not know.
US: [nervous laughter]
CD: How about I take you to restaurant; I know good restaurant over there -- how bout I take you there until train station opens?
US: No, we need to catch our train.
CD: You sure?
US: Yes.
CD: You would be cold.
US: That's fine -- we need to go to the TRAIN STATION.
CD: Okay.
So we're driving and driving, and this guy is talking on his cell phone in French and driving and we pull up to this dark little train station on the middle of nowhere.
CD: This is it, but its closed, like I tell you.
US: Umm...are you sure this is it. The Quebec train station.
CD: No, I take you to St. Foy train station -- the Quebec train station is forty minutes from your campus.
US: We know, that why we left early.
CD: Oh, okay. I can take you there.
So, he proceeds to drive us to the Quebec train station which was open. We dragged all of our luggage over to the track, and checked it. I had to pay $20 Canadian because it was so heavy. Then, this woman comes over to me : my suitcase was too heavy for them to lift. They don't transport anything over 70 pounds because of injuries, and I would, therefore, have to empty some of its contents into a box. So, I emptied all of the shoes and books that I could find into a box. It was still too heavy, so I emptied some more. Then, I waited, tiredly for the train with Caitlin and several other people from school. The train came, and I had a single seat and it was very nice and we road peacefully for several hours to Montreal.
In Montreal, I was especially glad to have someone else with me, as we weren't really sure what to do with our luggage. But, we found it in good time -- the box and everything, and we made our way over to the Septa track unsure of whether or not we should have checked our baggage. I couldn't even carry it all because the handle of my suitcase had stopped functioning. So, Caitlin had to take the box; she's amazing.
We waited around in line, filled out our customs form, had this girl from Israel take a photo of us and the box for a souvenir of the amazing box-like-adventure. Eventually the train started boarding, and I had such difficulty dragging all of the luggage down the stairs, and then across the platform. I had some help though, from several different absolutely amazing individuals, and thus, did not end up stranded at a platform in Montreal surrounded by a bunch of luggage I was incapable of transporting anywhere. Being on the train at Montreal was a relief because it meant that I was no longer responsible for the transportation of anything on my own and that the next time I got off the train, I'd be nearly home, but at the very least with my parents, whom I had not seen in over a month.
On the New York train, there were no two empty seats, so Caitlin and I sat one behind the other, with strangers (not that we knew each other that well -- I had met her a couple of times around campus, but we never really spoke). I sat next to this androgynous person, whom, after three hours, I devised was a woman. She wasn't bad to sit next to, I was just uncomfortable, not sitting next to a window, sleeping next to a stranger. Not that I could sleep. Or read. Or do anything. That was the most tediously painful and draining experience of my life. I was hungry and tired and really rather bored. My headphones had broken, so I thought I didn't have any music, but Caitlin, the savior of my life, had brought and extra pair that she lent me to save me from the bored silence. But seriously, I almost cried then. There were too many things all together, and I kept having dreams about French camp and waking up on this train next to these people. It was so long. It was a ten fucking hour train ride. Ten fucking hours. Uck. I kept waking up from my French dreams and thinking I'd been asleep for an hour, but it'd only been five or ten minutes. I just wanted to get off the train and I couldn't. At one point, we stopped without reason for about a half hour. When the train started again, the conductor made this announcement: "We had a bit of an...umm...unusual situation. We came up to this bridge and it was on fire, so our crew got off the train and put it out so that we could continue along." The bridge was on fire. What the fuck is that?
Nothing else too exciting happened on the train except for the bridge fire. I was exceptionally bored. Toward the end, these guys (I guess they were around twenty-five, from California, traveling with their grandmother. They were so technologically equipped too -- they had an iBook and a video camera with a microphone and a palm pilot and headphones -- they burned Caitlin a CD for a change of music; she said it was weird) started interviewing us about French camp for their website and we chatted a bit, as we were impatient to get off the train. They were nice. But then, the train ride finally ended. I saw daddy standing outside the train. It was great. And then, I was home and I'm so glad to be home. I had an amazing month but being here is so good. Now, I have to go shower. So, au revoir.
CD: You not crying. Why you not cry? Everyone cry. I want to cry. boohoohoo. (He proceeds to wave out some of our friends and people who are actually crying, while feigning tears himself)
US: [nervous laughter]umm...we need to go the Quebec train station.
CD: Train station? Not airport?
US: Yes, train station.
CD: Not train station. Everyone flies. Why you not fly? You sure you want to go to train station?
US: Certain.
CD: Okay, I take you to train station but I don't think its open for hour and a half. I call my friend and ask. [he speaks, in English, into some sort of walkie-talkie-radio] Hey! I got some girls here, they no go to airport. They go to train station. Is train station open now?
CDF: I don't know.
CD: He do not know.
US: [nervous laughter]
CD: How about I take you to restaurant; I know good restaurant over there -- how bout I take you there until train station opens?
US: No, we need to catch our train.
CD: You sure?
US: Yes.
CD: You would be cold.
US: That's fine -- we need to go to the TRAIN STATION.
CD: Okay.
So we're driving and driving, and this guy is talking on his cell phone in French and driving and we pull up to this dark little train station on the middle of nowhere.
CD: This is it, but its closed, like I tell you.
US: Umm...are you sure this is it. The Quebec train station.
CD: No, I take you to St. Foy train station -- the Quebec train station is forty minutes from your campus.
US: We know, that why we left early.
CD: Oh, okay. I can take you there.
So, he proceeds to drive us to the Quebec train station which was open. We dragged all of our luggage over to the track, and checked it. I had to pay $20 Canadian because it was so heavy. Then, this woman comes over to me : my suitcase was too heavy for them to lift. They don't transport anything over 70 pounds because of injuries, and I would, therefore, have to empty some of its contents into a box. So, I emptied all of the shoes and books that I could find into a box. It was still too heavy, so I emptied some more. Then, I waited, tiredly for the train with Caitlin and several other people from school. The train came, and I had a single seat and it was very nice and we road peacefully for several hours to Montreal.
In Montreal, I was especially glad to have someone else with me, as we weren't really sure what to do with our luggage. But, we found it in good time -- the box and everything, and we made our way over to the Septa track unsure of whether or not we should have checked our baggage. I couldn't even carry it all because the handle of my suitcase had stopped functioning. So, Caitlin had to take the box; she's amazing.
We waited around in line, filled out our customs form, had this girl from Israel take a photo of us and the box for a souvenir of the amazing box-like-adventure. Eventually the train started boarding, and I had such difficulty dragging all of the luggage down the stairs, and then across the platform. I had some help though, from several different absolutely amazing individuals, and thus, did not end up stranded at a platform in Montreal surrounded by a bunch of luggage I was incapable of transporting anywhere. Being on the train at Montreal was a relief because it meant that I was no longer responsible for the transportation of anything on my own and that the next time I got off the train, I'd be nearly home, but at the very least with my parents, whom I had not seen in over a month.
On the New York train, there were no two empty seats, so Caitlin and I sat one behind the other, with strangers (not that we knew each other that well -- I had met her a couple of times around campus, but we never really spoke). I sat next to this androgynous person, whom, after three hours, I devised was a woman. She wasn't bad to sit next to, I was just uncomfortable, not sitting next to a window, sleeping next to a stranger. Not that I could sleep. Or read. Or do anything. That was the most tediously painful and draining experience of my life. I was hungry and tired and really rather bored. My headphones had broken, so I thought I didn't have any music, but Caitlin, the savior of my life, had brought and extra pair that she lent me to save me from the bored silence. But seriously, I almost cried then. There were too many things all together, and I kept having dreams about French camp and waking up on this train next to these people. It was so long. It was a ten fucking hour train ride. Ten fucking hours. Uck. I kept waking up from my French dreams and thinking I'd been asleep for an hour, but it'd only been five or ten minutes. I just wanted to get off the train and I couldn't. At one point, we stopped without reason for about a half hour. When the train started again, the conductor made this announcement: "We had a bit of an...umm...unusual situation. We came up to this bridge and it was on fire, so our crew got off the train and put it out so that we could continue along." The bridge was on fire. What the fuck is that?
Nothing else too exciting happened on the train except for the bridge fire. I was exceptionally bored. Toward the end, these guys (I guess they were around twenty-five, from California, traveling with their grandmother. They were so technologically equipped too -- they had an iBook and a video camera with a microphone and a palm pilot and headphones -- they burned Caitlin a CD for a change of music; she said it was weird) started interviewing us about French camp for their website and we chatted a bit, as we were impatient to get off the train. They were nice. But then, the train ride finally ended. I saw daddy standing outside the train. It was great. And then, I was home and I'm so glad to be home. I had an amazing month but being here is so good. Now, I have to go shower. So, au revoir.