We got in the Canadian at 1 in the morning, and went quickly to bed. My venerable progenitor not being as lissome as she once was, I got the top bunk, and was very happy with it, because everybody knows it’s the best bunk. The sheets were white and soft, the train was rumbling noisily, jolting along and rocking softly, and I soon fell asleep.
My poor dear mother, for her part, didn’t. Indeed, the constant movement of the train didn’t agree much with her, and for the next 4 days, she was never so well as when we were out of it, both feet on the ground. When inside, she was somewhat green in color, with a certain tendency towards irascibility, and a definite penchant for denying any bright side to anything.
I awoke, refreshed and alert, and explored our new unstable surroundings.
Well, now, to be perfectly candid with you, dear reader, they were somewhat what you could call a deception.
Of course, I knew it wasn’t going to be the Orient Express with its magnificent old-timey luxury. I had appraised myself beforehand of the fact that the train was old, and not the joy for the eyes I could have wished. Still, I was expecting something better. The cars themselves were built in the 50s. It looks like the original carpeting is still there, so, hooray? Vintage dirt?
Our cabin in day position (beds removed)
I’m not saying everything was gross and dirty. Common areas were quite clean. I’m just saying that our cabin looked as if it had only been cleaned the way a French waiter cleans up your table at noon in a busy Parisian bistro, by which comparison I mean, not very well, using an uncouth rag of doubtful aspect, and with very bad grace.
The washstand in our cabin – aka the other side
Saddest of all was that everything looked old and gloomy. It looked tired. Modern tables and chairs from the 70s had dismal discolorations and bumps. Seats were dispirited and scratched. Doors between cars were so disheartened and heavy that the White Owl couldn’t open them on her own. Their little brethren, the doors of the cabins and bathrooms, were on the contrary plainly opposed to being properly shut. The train itself shake and hissed and groaned in a much worrying manner.
The outside of our car
They gave us a welcome bubbly drink, which, it being quite early in the morning, I didn’t enjoy much. We had a late breakfast, then I went to a lounge area and started to knit. This made me an instant favorite with most ladies of a certain age. If you go on a train like that, do not forget to bring a good book, and music, because there is no Wi-Fi on the Canadian! No Wi-Fi for 4 days! No Netflix, no Spotify, no email, no Rambling Blue Owl! Still, I was quite ready for this. Also, knitting, listening to a book or music, and watching the landscape go by while being rocked by a moving train is perfect in its own way.
I was knitting flashy pink mittens, in case you’re interested!
I could not be blissfully happy, though, for 2 reasons:
The first reason was obviously that I was worried by the White Owl, who was restless, unwell, disappointed, and, well, not at her best.
The second reason was that we were crossing Ontario, and I was getting claustrophobic. From what I’ve seen of it, Ontario is basically one big forest, with sometimes a lake in it. The train spent the whole day in a tunnel of fast-moving trees, and it seemed to me, with each hour, that it was getting smaller and smaller, and that I was stuck in a shrinking metal box.
Treeeeeeees!!! More treeeeeeeeees!
At some point in the evening, I couldn’t take it anymore. I just wanted to go out of the train with an axe and cut all of those damn trees! I was muttering to myself: “I’m telling you, next tree I see gets it!”
I assure you, dear reader, I love trees!
We saw a female moose. She was looking at the train with curiosity. Moose are great. Their ears are awesome. I’ve learned that the plural of Moose is not Meese, when it obviously should. Life is full of such disappointments. I shall write to the Parliament about it.
Note: if we follow the plan of the Murder of the Orient Express, the murder should happen this night. I hope it’s the nice lady who speaks so loudly. She’s nice, but my God, I’ve never heard a real stentorian voice before, it’s quite a phenomenon, it really resonates in this tin box, and in my head.
And, as a finishing touch for this week: some other trees.