After Vancouver I headed east to Montreal, Quebec to spend one day with Alice. Alice’s has definitely put her degree in French and Spanish into good use judging by how fluent she is and her swanky Rolls Royce job.
Montreal is proud of its French heritage. It was like being in Paris again – the architecture, the cobbled streets, the old lampposts, the cafes and the wines. It was magnifique. Speaking English was like taking the poor man’s option. Even though I have an A* in French GCSE, without Alice being there as my translator, I would have been so lost.
The night went too quickly. It’s amazing how even after a year apart, we were still able to talk the night away and at no point did we run out of things to say. But our reunion was limited due to work for Alice and me heading down to New York by the Amtrak bus at 9am the next day. The bus was by far the cheaper option. Now in hindsight, googling the address of the station at 2am after many mojitos and vodka tonics was not the wisest of decisions. I got an address from the Amtrak website. Destination: Le Gare Centrale (or something to that effect.) So come 7.30am with a mild hangover Alice dropped me off at what turned out to be the train station. Hmm maybe it’s all together. Having waited in the queue with my heavy luggage, surrounded by commuters, a nice lady who spoke perfect English said I needed to go over to the main building for Amtrak. So off I went again crossing the main roads on a busy Thursday morning heading towards the main train station.
Fifteen minutes, three men and a possible lost reservation later, I find out that I needed the bus station… which was 10 minutes back where Alice and I came from. Cue panic. I needed to be at the boarding gate at least 30 minutes before departure and the thought of being stranded in a place where no one would understand my top grade GCSE French terrified me. So I ran (it’s becoming quite a habit this) to the taxi rank.
It was just my luck that I get a driver who not only did not speak English but was also the moodiest, glass-smashed-into-a-billion-pieces, unfriendly person I came across during the whole holiday. I got as far as Bonjour before I gave up all hope of making any small conversation. The silence was painful.
Then came paying the $14 bill. Now the night before I had spent all my small bills with Alice leaving me with single $100 note. My fault I admit but before I could attempt to explain myself, Monsieur Moody started yelling at me – in French and English! By some sheer miracle he managed to say, “No! No! No! No! I have no change for 100. Look. I want $14!” I asked if I could go to the taxi drivers in front and ask for change. “No! They have no change!” Je ne parle en anglais - come again? He then told me to leave my belongings with him, go into the shop and get the change. As if!
Then a light went off in my head. I have US dollars. On the flight to Montreal, I overheard some businessmen talking about how the Canadian/Dollar exchange rate was at its strongest. So I offered US $20 to Monsieur Moody telling him to keep the change. Obviously he took it and boy did he speed off quickly. I sure hope he treated himself to something pretty because damn he needed loosening up.
Having just made it to the boarding gate, the silver lining was the kind bus driver let me off with having an extra bag. So off I went again on a nine hour journey heading for New York City – where dreams are made of.
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