I'm sitting in Montreal stealing wifi from the national archives for some reason, this gives me a chance to tell my story before this night is over. Getting out of Ottawa was almost as difficult as getting in. I'm sure as an atheist I shouldn't be looking for the hand of the divine in thwarting my every move... but this might also go a way towards explaining why it feels the need to thwart me in the first place.
So, setting the scene. Everything was perfect, I'd wondered round town aimlessly for hours, sat underneath the giant spider, been into the Parliament building, chatted with the protesters outside for a bit. Ate unhealthy lunch, wandered some more. Loaded up on food for dinner, useful as it turns out: I went into the little diner thing here and the lady told me something in french which sounded like 'we're closed' but could have been 'bagels are half price' or even 'Here, have my cat' for all I knew, utterly flumxed (my lack of french skills being a reason why Montreal fell off my original list) I decided to bluff it, let out a decent french 'pardon?' at which point she repeated, I nodded sagely and retreated.
But back to my original story.
So I'm all done, head back to the hostel, pick up my large rucksack from storage (dodging all the little kids complaining about having to stay in a jail, don't they know that's really cool??), get instructions for getting the bus back to the coach station (apparently coach isn't a word like that here, must remember). Walk to the bus stop, it is 4.15, my bus doesn't leave until 6.00. I have all the time in the world. I could walk it, but I don't want to because there's no need, there will be a bus. I need the number 4. heading to Hurdman (which I know is a bus transfer place out in the middle of nowhere, I know this because it's one of the places I ended up yesterday whilst being lost and where I decided to walk from). The signs are helpful, the instructions good, the bus stop is where it should be, buses are lined up to the horizon (later I would realise this was a bad sign), so I went and waited. No. 26, No. 18, 48, 01, 03, I had the pick of the whole town, but there was only one bus for me. I knew time was with me, and this bus was special, so I waited some more. And some more. At 5.00, I decided to give up on it and find a taxi.
But before I did, I decided to hold out an olive branch to fate. I asked one of the other bus drivers if the 4 was running, he was quite confident and reassuring, "Oh, I've seen them. They're just delayed in the traffic, they'll be one along in a minute". At this point those of you who've had your trust broken, perhaps by lovers or, perhaps more typically, by complete strangers driving buses might already be ahead of me. You'll understand that I wanted to believe him. This was clearly a vengeful angel, send to spite me. I recognized it's siren song for what it was, but still I chose to listen (partly because I hadn't actually seen any taxis in a while so finding one would involve lugging those two bags all over town to find an area less congested to flag one down) Waiting 10, 15, 20 more minutes for a bus that would never come.
So I gave up, and wondered down the road. It was now about 5.20 and missing my bus was starting to be a possibility. I wandered down (finding a much faster route to Parliament using an innovative straight line that I hadn't considered before), the roads packed with traffic. I got across the bridge and into one of the side streets (figuring that no taxi that wasn't already carrying would be wasting their time in the traffic), and to my delight found one. 5.35. This was starting to seem possible again (of course you, dear reader, you read this knowing all is well, but pretend this is not known so you may feel the peril), We were stuck in traffic, this was concerning...but then! We broke off away from the traffic and it was smooth sailing all the way to the station. I paid a cheap fare and was on my way in. I looked on the signs for my bus but then realized that, naturally, it was the one with the enormous queue in front of it. Being greyhounds, I wasn't guaranteed a place so this could be troubling.
I got in the queue none the less, watched the coach fill up as I got closer to the front. I was second to the front, the driver came and talked to the man on the door, he then turned to the pair in front of me and asked "Are you traveling together?", they replied yes. He said there was only one space left, then he looked at me, and asked if I was traveling alone.
I said I was.
He beckoned me forward. Not looking a gift horse in the mouth (nor indeed the faces of the two nice old ladies I'd just moved in front of), I moved on and onto the coach. Against all the odds and a matter of a single position in the queue (there was a solo traveller behind me also), I'd made it.
A reprive? A gift from on high? Perhaps, but I try not to be grateful for problems fixed by agents that can probably be held responsible for those problems in the first place. I would say, Alex -1, God-0, but as I still have many miles to go before I sleep, those would be dangerous words to say.
So, setting the scene. Everything was perfect, I'd wondered round town aimlessly for hours, sat underneath the giant spider, been into the Parliament building, chatted with the protesters outside for a bit. Ate unhealthy lunch, wandered some more. Loaded up on food for dinner, useful as it turns out: I went into the little diner thing here and the lady told me something in french which sounded like 'we're closed' but could have been 'bagels are half price' or even 'Here, have my cat' for all I knew, utterly flumxed (my lack of french skills being a reason why Montreal fell off my original list) I decided to bluff it, let out a decent french 'pardon?' at which point she repeated, I nodded sagely and retreated.
But back to my original story.
So I'm all done, head back to the hostel, pick up my large rucksack from storage (dodging all the little kids complaining about having to stay in a jail, don't they know that's really cool??), get instructions for getting the bus back to the coach station (apparently coach isn't a word like that here, must remember). Walk to the bus stop, it is 4.15, my bus doesn't leave until 6.00. I have all the time in the world. I could walk it, but I don't want to because there's no need, there will be a bus. I need the number 4. heading to Hurdman (which I know is a bus transfer place out in the middle of nowhere, I know this because it's one of the places I ended up yesterday whilst being lost and where I decided to walk from). The signs are helpful, the instructions good, the bus stop is where it should be, buses are lined up to the horizon (later I would realise this was a bad sign), so I went and waited. No. 26, No. 18, 48, 01, 03, I had the pick of the whole town, but there was only one bus for me. I knew time was with me, and this bus was special, so I waited some more. And some more. At 5.00, I decided to give up on it and find a taxi.
But before I did, I decided to hold out an olive branch to fate. I asked one of the other bus drivers if the 4 was running, he was quite confident and reassuring, "Oh, I've seen them. They're just delayed in the traffic, they'll be one along in a minute". At this point those of you who've had your trust broken, perhaps by lovers or, perhaps more typically, by complete strangers driving buses might already be ahead of me. You'll understand that I wanted to believe him. This was clearly a vengeful angel, send to spite me. I recognized it's siren song for what it was, but still I chose to listen (partly because I hadn't actually seen any taxis in a while so finding one would involve lugging those two bags all over town to find an area less congested to flag one down) Waiting 10, 15, 20 more minutes for a bus that would never come.
So I gave up, and wondered down the road. It was now about 5.20 and missing my bus was starting to be a possibility. I wandered down (finding a much faster route to Parliament using an innovative straight line that I hadn't considered before), the roads packed with traffic. I got across the bridge and into one of the side streets (figuring that no taxi that wasn't already carrying would be wasting their time in the traffic), and to my delight found one. 5.35. This was starting to seem possible again (of course you, dear reader, you read this knowing all is well, but pretend this is not known so you may feel the peril), We were stuck in traffic, this was concerning...but then! We broke off away from the traffic and it was smooth sailing all the way to the station. I paid a cheap fare and was on my way in. I looked on the signs for my bus but then realized that, naturally, it was the one with the enormous queue in front of it. Being greyhounds, I wasn't guaranteed a place so this could be troubling.
I got in the queue none the less, watched the coach fill up as I got closer to the front. I was second to the front, the driver came and talked to the man on the door, he then turned to the pair in front of me and asked "Are you traveling together?", they replied yes. He said there was only one space left, then he looked at me, and asked if I was traveling alone.
I said I was.
He beckoned me forward. Not looking a gift horse in the mouth (nor indeed the faces of the two nice old ladies I'd just moved in front of), I moved on and onto the coach. Against all the odds and a matter of a single position in the queue (there was a solo traveller behind me also), I'd made it.
A reprive? A gift from on high? Perhaps, but I try not to be grateful for problems fixed by agents that can probably be held responsible for those problems in the first place. I would say, Alex -1, God-0, but as I still have many miles to go before I sleep, those would be dangerous words to say.
No comments:
Post a Comment