After years of trips with family, friends and tour groups, I am ready for a solo adventure. Montreal calls my name for no reason other than it’s accessible by train and, long ago, Jes posted a picture of a Chihuly sculpture near the art museum there. I am determined to conquer my reluctance to plan vacations (the main reason I opt for guided tours). Amtrak’s Montreal and Quebec vacation package provides me with tips for hotels. Tourisme Montréal has good tips. I bookmark the page. I have a general idea what to see and do. Sometime before the trip, I will do more detailed research, I tell myself. That doesn’t happen.
Rideshare
When I first book the trip to Montreal, I plan to take New Jersey Transit to and from New York’s Penn Station. As the day draws closer, I begin to backtrack. The train back from Montreal gets to Penn Station around 10 PM. After a day spent on Amtrak, no matter how wonderful the scenery, I’m not sure I want to take light rail to Metropark then drive from there. I check with Jeff. He can pick me up on the return journey but no way does he want to drop me off early in the morning on the day I travel to Montreal. What to do? What to do? Finally, I reserve an Uber to get me to Metropark at 6 AM.
My ride is supposed to pick me up at 5:25 am. Florencio arrives at 5:10 am instead. I dash outside, my wet hair still wrapped in an old T-shirt, tell him to give me five minutes. I scramble, giving the cats their breakfast, scooping poop, then dash off a note to Kelly to give Luca his fiber and probiotic supplements. Sorry, Luca.
I hop in the car. Elton John softly croons “I’m still standing…” As Florencio eases out on the street, someone swerves past us on the right. Really? At 5:30 am?! Chill out, folks.
Florencio’s car has a sticker that says ‘No food or drink’. I sneak a sip of my water. Florencio doesn’t comment. Once we get on the highway, the car is doing a fast clip. Florencio probably thinks I will miss a 6 am train.
Metropark
“Happy Friday!” I hear as I heave my carry-on to the platform. There’s a young woman walking towards me with a businesslike stride. “Happy Friday,” responds someone behind me. There’s a thriving 6 am community at the station. There are not too many people, but they all know each other. They probably take this train each morning.
“How do I get where you are?” yells a frizzy-haired woman on the opposite platform.
“Go down the stairs and come through the tunnel,” someone responds.
As I wait for the 6:04 New Jersey transit, I decide to do my Squatober challenge. I ain’t doing jumping jacks to warm up, so I work in 35 Sumo squats before the train arrives. My companions on the platform are too polite, but I can almost see them miming, “She’s craaaazy.”
NJ Transit
“Tickets please,” says the conductor. I brandish my phone, tap the ticket in the app, then ‘activate’ followed by the button on the right. Which is ‘no’. Although he isn’t used to this level of ineptitude at this hour, the conductor patiently walks me through, guiding me to the ‘yes’ button.
As we pull into the tunnels near Penn Station, the first pink fingers of dawn make their way across the sky.
Penn Station
There is a long line for the restroom. The woman behind me sniffs and stamps her feet. Later, when she leaves the stall, she demonstrates to all how to move quickly as she washes her hands, dries them and dashes out to wait impatiently for her train.
Zaro’s
A spinach and cheese croissant calls my name at Zaro’s Family Bakery. A Zaro’s breakfast is becoming my fall break tradition. The croissant (really a rectangle of croissant dough oozing with spinach and cream cheese) is liberally covered in everything bagel spice. The taste of everything bagel is growing on me.
Moynihan Train Hall
I cross the road to Moynihan Train Hall. It is huge and I’m a little lost. As I walk over to the security booth there is an announcement about my train. They want passengers to report somewhere for an immigration check. “Ah, don’t worry about it,” says the guy at the security desk. ”Check the track number 10 min before departure.” as he turns away, he throws over his shoulder, “Confirm with customer service if you like.” He points to just the place I need to be.
At customer service, a burly agent tells me I need a paper ticket. A pleasant young woman checks my passport and gives me one. Around the corner, there is another check, and another line. We stand there for a bit. I mull over the day’s inktober prompt, ‘exotic,’ and come up with nothing. I sketch the faces of my fellow passengers.
An agent calls. We follow like a long line of ducklings. As we walk on the platform, I hear, “Canada in the back.” They corral us into one section of the train. Easier for Canadian customs when we get to the border.
Adirondack 69
“Is someone sitting here?” a woman asks, pointing to the aisle seat beside me. As I shake my head, she mutters, “Well, this won’t work because I want a window.” Good luck with that, lady. All the window seats seem full.
“The train is frickin’ moving,” someone exclaims. It sure is, and right on time.
“Tickets out, please!” The conductor pulls up expectantly. I have to think a moment, then fumble in my passport sleeve for the ticket.
“Faster than fairies, faster than witches…” Robert Louis Stevenson’s From a Railway Carriage plays in my head as it always does when I am on a train. Moving through the suburbs of NYC, lost in Yonkers, meandering along the Hudson, we go at a steady pace, hardly dashing along. There are no hedges, horses or ditches. The speed picks up once we are away from the hubbub of cities. We hurtle through White Plains, Croton-on-Hudson. There is less graffiti, more nature.
“The flight just takes an hour, Lya,” my boss says to me when I tell him about my vacation. Sure, but does the flight give me spectacular scenery, ample leg room, a huge overhead rack for luggage, additional racks near the entrances, a cafe car with a view, spacious restrooms?
Zoë Schlanger’s ‘The Light Eaters’ is a thoughtful book, but the scenery we pass is too compelling. Rocky walls outside the windows are adorned with foliage; there are vast swathes of tall grasses and little, unnamed waterfalls bathed in sunlight. It feels churlish to bury my head in a book or tangle with devices.
The trees are starting to light up, their foliage tipped in scarlet, neon orange, brilliant yellow. Endorphins pump wildly. I feel a deep sensation of wonder and joy. There is a silly smile plastered on my face. Everyone takes pity on me and smiles back.
I am SO happy I have a window seat. The window is dotted with water rain stains and pocked with indentations from years of plying on this line. These imperfections lend interest to my pictures.
After a night spent tossing and turning with excitement and the early morning ride to the station, I stifle the occasional yawn but manage to stay awake for the better part of the journey.
Around Poughkeepsie there are glorious valleys on the other side of the train. Further along there are ponds edged with water hyacinths, their foliage upright but brown. Aquatic birds dot the water. Mostly Canada geese, the odd heron. Two white swans float along in the distance.
There is a little knot of smiling people at the red brick Hudson station. The wind ripples through rows of corn. The colors of the landscape switch back and forth - now lush green, now autumnal, one patch is even brown, all the tree leaves have fallen. The train gathers speed between Hudson and Albany, then slows to a crawl as we get to the capital of the Empire State. My phone feels warm from picture taking.
We stop for a long time in Albany. The first car detaches, the café shuts, bathrooms not operational 😬 … and, the power is off. It’s quiet. Just a faint whisper of someone’s incessant chatter and the British tourist next to me snores gently.
A short while later, I am stifling. It is more than warm. Should I step outside to cool off? Everyone is craning their necks now, wondering when the torture will end. The chatterbox in front of me is louder now, mansplaining something to his partner. A cell phone rings loudly and is hastily silenced.
Will there be a surge to the restroom when it is functional again? Should I head there and wait? My phone’s battery indicator is now red after all the picture taking. I fish the cable out of my backpack then remember that there’s no power. The power surges back with a whoosh of relief.
When I get to the restroom, there’s just one person in line. As I wait, I glance past the facilities. We’re in the last car, so there’s a view behind us. The father and daughter I sketched this morning are drinking it in. They kindly step aside to share.
I am gasping for water but have to wait until Schenectady, when we are told the café car will reopen. Hopefully with fresh stock.
There’s much more gold in the scenery now
Schenectady arrives at last. What a relief. Water and sustenance are not far away.
The line at the café car isn’t long. I already know what I want to try. The three people in front of me peer at the menu, deciding. One finally gives up and asks for coffee. As he balances in the rocking train, adding sugar and cream, the attendant gestures with her chin and tells him where the trash cans are. In case he was planning to leave the detritus for her to clear up. The man in front of me finally decides, then pays cash. I pull up to the counter and ask for the barbecue vegan burger from the hot favorites menu. The burger is interesting and contains what feels like… gristle?! Faux meats have come a long way. The sweet barbecue taste hits a couple of bites in. The bun is soft and a mite soggy but the steaming burger is rather satisfying.
A pink-haired woman across the way fishes out a box of colored pencils and spreads out a huge sketchpad on a cafe table. There are spectacular views outside but her artwork represents a different genre. I am disappointed. Back at my seat, I try to capture autumn beauty on paper, but put away my crayons after one half-hearted attempt.
Onward we travel through the Adirondack Mountains, winding alongside the Hudson. Despite all the pictures that fill up my iCloud account, there are many I miss. A gaggle of Canada Geese take a siesta in a pond, the pale blue of the water a perfect foil for their black, brown and white plumage.
The café car closes near Canadian border. We stop at Rouse’s point. Ripe apples hang on a tree by the customs checkpoint. Does anyone know it exists? Do they gather the blushing fruit and eat it?
Several tall customs officials walk to the back of the car and stop at each seat, collecting forms, asking questions. Are you carrying any arms? Alcohol? Tobacco? Been to a farm recently? Satisfied with the responses, they say, “Welcome to Canada,” and leave.
As the sun dips and the clouds begin to turn pink, I wander to the café and order a ham, egg and cheese bialy. “Breakfast?” the attendant asks. I shrug. She says they don’t serve bialys at dusk but throws one into the microwave anyway. I pair it with tropical fruit - a lone chunk of mango, several pineapple pieces, red grape, slices of kiwi and a hunk of orange. The bialy is delicious, the fruit sweet (possibly with the aid of sugar).
We pull into Gare Central as it grows dark. Lights are twinkling all over Montreal.
“You jump out, I’ll get your bag,” says a kind agent as I get to the train door. I follow the crowd, see a sign for Boul. René Lévesque. I know the hotel is on that street, so I wander in that direction. Turns out this is 800 Boul. René Lévesque, Terminal Tower, a Montreal landmark and an exclusive clutch of offices, condominiums and the Queen Elizabeth hotel. A clerk sits, back straight, looking down his nose at me (politely, of course, this is Canada.) I shrug, give him a sheepish grin and walk out into the open. It’s quite warm. The long sleeved shirt I am wearing is warm enough. Two additional layers, a light jacket and a warm down puffer are overkill.
After eleven hours on the train and three hearty meals through the day, I need to stretch out. It’s a 15-minute walk to the hotel. The street is busy. Knots of people laugh and chatter as they walk around.
The hotel staff are polite and attentive. I get the key, wrestle my bag to the room, unpack a little, then crash into bed.
This was a great journey! And your sketches are so evocative. Beautiful. Thank you!
I’m excited to hear how the rest of the trip went! Also can’t help but share Roo Panes’ song “Remember Fall in Montreal”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nUgKAo3qENQ