The Wong Trousers

It was pointed out to me the other day that I may never really have finished the story here. I took a trip on a train with my dad from Toronto to Vancouver – but with the way that I wrote things, it seems like the whole trip ended with a quick dinner. Part of this has to do with the fact that I took far too long to write about the trip. I had notes at the ready, but I really only got to writing about the Canadian months after it had happened, and so some details were simply lost to the fog.

However, the other fact of the matter is that the train really didn’t register chronologically for me. I mentioned on more than one occasion that I lost track of time, and I really did. There’s something mesmerizing about the rumble of the train on the tracks. Then there’s the dulling sensation of not having moved very much in days, thanks to being cooped up in a train. The point is that, despite my notes, my version of a train ride is still a very sleepy affair, and so I attempted to share those little moments of wakeful clarity that I enjoyed between long hours with the letter Z.

The question at this point then is: would I do it again? Well, yes and no. The $2500 price tag does seem like quite a lot, and the $500 ticket seems much more reasonable, so I’d wait for another discount. The food was phenomenal and a major highlight of the experience. VIARail really has a restaurant on wheels. The Canadian is also a great way to meet new people, whether you like it or not. There’s plenty of food to chat over and vistas aplenty for you to delight in with others, but it’s best to be open to it, and that takes a bit of energy. A train ride can be restful, but it’s ironic that it’s best to be a little rested beforehand.

In the end there really isn’t anything else like taking a train across Canada. The paths that the Canadian can cut – right across the mountains, especially – are spectacular and there’s a special kind of magic in waking up at 5 AM to an orange sunrise and a completely alien view outside of your window.

Oh, and if I ever did embark on this trip again, I probably wouldn’t expect Wi-Fi. I think this is VIARail’s subtle hint that “getting away from it all” won’t work if you end up bringing it all with you on your phone, anyway.

Living in a basement has taught me that it’s really...

Sat, 07 Apr 2012 22:26:29 -0400

Living in a basement has taught me that it’s really refreshing to see light that doesn’t come from a bulb.

The Canadian - Day 4

Sat, 25 Feb 2012 11:16:00 -0500

This is one part of a four-part series of posts describing a cross-canada trip I took with my dad last Fall. Here be links to Day 1, Day 2, Day 3.

We passed through Edmonton at 6:30 in the morning. It was a brief stop and it was far too early for me to do anything but blink once, register the name of the city, and head back to sleep.

Sleep came pretty easily on the train, but I still wasn’t completely comfortable in my room. In fact, I opted to sleep fully clothed and with socks on – partly to ward off the cold, and partly because doing anything in my room aside from sleeping or leaving just didn’t seem appealing. Quite frankly, I would also have preferred not have a toilet right under my bed. Pillows and poo should never be that close together (unless you’re Christopher Robin).

Breakfast was served at 9 AM and I don’t recall what exactly I ate. I do, however, remember wondering about much weight I’d gained by gorging on three meals a day and making very little use of my legs. My weight can fluctuate wildly and it’s always surprising to see that I’ve gained five pounds in two days and then somehow lose it all in one.

After I had finished with breakfast I headed to the public bathroom to wash my hands. It occurred to me only then how strangely the faucets were designed. The separate hot and cold faucet triggers are pressure-sensitive, but in a totally binary way. There is either pressure on the trigger which results in flowing water, or no pressure and no water. The problem then was that you couldn’t actually place your hands on the triggers while washing them, so the best you could do was resort to having one hand awkwardly wash itself in a strange “alms for the poor” motion.

As noon approached, it was announced that we would soon be arriving in Jasper. The traveler inside of me told me to look out the window because only a fool would miss the view. The techie inside of me told me to take advantage of decent Wi-Fi and order an iPhone 4S, because real nerds never ignore a good signal.

The Jasper sky greeted us like a big blue hug. The town itself is wide and open and the drivers seemed very accustomed to people sloppily crossing the road on wobbly, barely-used legs. My dad and I spent our time stretching, inhaling (and exhaling) the crisp air, and chewing on very fresh sandwiches before re-embarking. It would have been interesting to see where the giant Jasper National Park started, but there really wasn’t any time.

We ended up spending the entire afternoon on the rearmost panoramic car. I read books on my iPad and chatted panoramically with Logan, who served up tea, little sandwiches, and big conversation. He apparently works six days on, and then gets three days off in his home town. It’s a very seasonal job for him, but he is constantly traveling, and he often gets chances to take on more shifts, if he wants to.

Every once in a while I would wonder if I was reading too much and enjoying the mountainscape too little — as if I was supposed to view more peaks between pages. But I eventually figured, “what the hell, I’m enjoying myself anyway”. It was just good to be on a trip with my dad.

The day ended with a dinner alongside Varic and Sasha, a couple of Russiantonians. It turned out that Sasha also studied at UofT and we compared notes on German professors, as well as favourite courses. She also mentioned she was from one of the northernmost ports in Russia where the wind chilled you to the bone and the forest doesn’t even reach your waist. I decided not to mention that I grew up in Manila, where the breeze cooled the near-perpetual sweat on your skin, and the people are always shorter than the trees.

The Canadian - Day 3

Thu, 23 Feb 2012 23:08:00 -0500

This is one part of a four-part series of posts describing a cross-canada trip I took with my dad last Fall. Here be links to Day 1, Day 2, Day 4.

Thursday, the 6th of October, started at 6:50 in the morning. We broke our fast on ham and cheese omelettes, a side of bacon, and freshly baked chocolate muffins. Our partners in dine that morning were Craig and Diane, although it was really just Diane for the most part. Craig could open his mouth to eat his food, but his eyes seemed to have trouble staying open. I didn’t blame him. It was really bloody early.

We arrived in Winnipeg at 10 AM, and with the city came the first hint of a cell signal, so I opened all of the relevant news apps on my iPhone to download articles for the ride ahead, and then disembarked with the rest of the passengers.

We found the gift shop in the train station empty, almost as if we’d taken Winnipeg by surprise. The lounge looked more like a grazing area with seats.

When we walked outside the station to enjoy our hour-long break, we found relatively little to see. People were at work, streets were empty, and there were few buildings higher than 10 storeys. Passengers who disembark at Union Station in Toronto see a vastly different sight. That’s not to say that I was disappointed by the initial view of Winnipeg – but rather that I have no impressions.

When “All Aboard” played over the P.A., we headed back to our car to find a new attendant waiting for us. His name was Dan, just like our previous attendant, Other Dan. Dan knew Other Dan because they’re apparently best friends. This Dan turned out to be extremely friendly and he went above-and-beyond when it came to keeping us informed, showing us how to smile widely, and throwing extra chocolates into my room.

As we rolled away from Winnipeg, the P.A. chimed in with a few Manitoban factoids: there are over 100,000 lakes in the province and -50 C winters are not uncommon. That’s absolutely frigid.

Lunch on the 6th was probably the best lunch we ever had on the trip: rare roast beef and common potato salad. My dad and I were separated during the lunch call, so I dined with Morgan Davis (an award-winning country blues musician) and his wife, Victoria (who reminded me a lot of Helen Mirren). It turns out that Morgan was the in-house entertainment for the trip, which meant he had to bring three guitars across 10 cars (and 20 sliding doors) on a day-to-day basis. He later played us songs on his cigar box guitar and perfectly smoky voice.

There are equal parts lots and little to see as you blaze across the prairies, but it’s great to sit by a window with an album playing. There’s very little sense that you’ve traversed any ground, so songs can sometimes last forever, and only the ping of a low battery on your iPod reminds you that any time has passed.

To my surprise, the 3G signal was more prominent in Manitoba, and I heard many passengers delight over the access to wireless data on their smartphones. As I sat down in the evening to do some reading and writing on my iPad (which was completely offline), I realized that the Internet and a tether to the outside world held little appeal for me at the time.

My pulse was just more steady and even that day. Almost sleepy, but steady, like the waving wheat outside.

The Canadian - Day 2

Sun, 19 Feb 2012 16:38:00 -0500

This is one part of a four-part series of posts describing a cross-canada trip I took with my dad last Fall. Here be links to Day 1, Day 3, Day 4.

It was early morning as we surged through Ontario and the mist over the lakes looked absolutely mythical. The wilderness looked so serene and I couldn’t help but wonder whether anyone ever really walked through the places we were whizzing by. Places without people are almost an abstract concept to a city dweller like myself. I don’t believe I’d ever seen anything like the view out the window before, and if I’d forgotten, I’m glad I remembered.

Breakfast that day wasn’t bad. I had French toast partly to invisibly make my sister happy (she doth love the French Toast) and partly to try something a little different. We dined with Craig and his mother, whose name I can’t recall at the moment. My dad had scrambled eggs, re-heated hash browns, and that oily-and-melty breakfast sausage.

As we broke our fast, Craig’s mother noticed the blur of White Birch trees and noted that those kinds of trees simply didn’t grow around her home. Frankly, I’m still in awe of people who can recognize trees without name tags.

There were huge swathes of colour across the top of the treeline. Yellow, green, brown. Like riding right through nature’s palette.

—-

The Dome car, which is ideal for landscape views and sunlit reading sessions, can get crowded fast. There’s a strange cold up there where you feel fine up top, but chilly around the legs. When I first saw the windows I thought they were remarkably clear, but as I started to review pictures later on in the trip, I was a little disappointed by how much dirt was actually captured in my shots.

Some travellers had brought their books with them to relax, others some had e-readers, and some had actual friends (wistful sigh). I was glad for the iPad and not just the iPhone, as the larger screen helped me get a lot more reading done.

—-

Lunch consisted of Angus burger, brownies and vanilla ice cream. De-freaking-licious.

Marilyn and Rory from Australia were our lunch buddies, retired teachers both. Marilyn was very nice, but I think Rory was partially deaf and seemed more content to simply munch on his own.

—-

When I checked in on my room in the early afternoon I noticed that Old Man Anger, who had emitted all the colors of the swearing rainbow the night before, was gone. Not even an Angry Bag was left in his suite. As I walked back towards the dome car I tried to remember if spontaneous combustion had anything to do with being old and angry.

—-

Later in the afternoon we heard over the PA that the last dome car on the train had been jettisoned due to a case of overheating (and a case of generally working not so good). The way the announcer put it sounded like “well, it’s somebody else’s problem now”, but I also thought that it could just as easily be someone else’s party. Free domecar in the middle of nowhere? Score!

We made our first quick stop in Hornepayne, the largest supplier of unicorn morphine. The town doesn’t seem to receive many visitors, as was evidenced by the broken down school building right by the train track. Its shattered windows and boarded up doorways made it look like a Halloween display that people had forgotten to take down (year after year). The stop was just 15 minutes, but it was good to stretch.

I ended up sleeping until 8:30 PM and I awoke to an orange sunset in the distance and what seemed to be oil pumps in the fore.

Dinner was medium rare prime rib with wine, potatoes, seafood chowder, and chocolate torte for dessert. Every part of the prime rib was juicy, fatty, and delicious. We dined with Marilyn and Rory again, and Rory suggested, between bites, that the bumps we heard in the night could be moose that we were simply bowling over.

We were told to set our watches back an hour during dinner, but it simply didn’t seem to matter. Time mattered less on the train.

I spent the rest of the evening in the dome car alone reading iBooks as the last bits of western Ontario whisked by.

The Canadian - Day 1

Sat, 18 Feb 2012 16:39:00 -0500

This is one part of a four-part series of posts describing a cross-canada trip I took with my dad last Fall. Here be links to Day 2, Day 3, Day 4.

My cross-Canadian trip started in the Departures area of Union station, in the VIA Rail Lounge where Old People Go to Graze. To be allowed entry, you must first present your ticket to the train crew and select which “call” you’d like for dinner. The first was at 5:00, the second at 7:00, and the last at 9:00. My dad and I opted for the last call and then jammed ourselves into the snack room for a quick round of juice and diet coke. Unfortunately, all the leather couches were already beset by rear ends, so we elbowed our way into the main seating area…the juice-less, leather-less waste outside.

It didn’t take long to board the train on Car 116, but it did take a while to get used to our accomodations. We had booked a set of discounted $500 tickets (normally $2500) for separate one-room compartments in the First Class section. It was advertised like a moving hotel, but felt a bit more like a homely motel at first. I tried to keep my spirits high, though, and told myself that I’d catch whatever this trip threw at me and spin it into something awesome.

The Old Man (not my dad) across the hall from my compartment had a stronger reaction to the size and state of our rooms:

“FFFFF-UCK, I paid for this?! Am I paying for this shit? We’re like animals!”

Dan, our car’s attendant, tried to calm Old Man down, but only got so far as suggesting he might be able to move quarters the next day. The yelling continued, and so I opted to leave Car 116 for Car 117: the one with the champagne, observation deck, and dessert.

Natalie, our surly Activities Manager, plied us with Bubbly and assorted sweets while people piled into the upper area of the “Dome Car”. I had wondered about whom we would be travelling with, and the sea of grey hair in the car swayed in reply. It seemed as though everyone else on the train was more retired, and more grand-childed than me.

There was no view at 11:30 in the heart of downtown Toronto, but as we sipped and sat on the second level of Car 117 – just a head above the rest of the train – the promise of the upcoming four-day trip took on new life.

After we had finished imbibing our free Bon Voyage Champagne, I caught one of our attendants and asked about where we could find Wi-Fi on the train. He apologized and said that there simply was none. Corridor Trains only, he said.

That put a dent in my regular posting plans for iSource, the website I write for, but I was okay with it. Four days mostly offline? Sure thing.

The last thought I had before heading off to sleep was:

Will Old Man Anger still be himself tomorrow? Which will die out first, him or his rage?