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Linearity may not be available here: I remember most of what I did, but not which day goes with which event. (If you want sequential time, see Rysmiel or Papersky's journal.)
The first thing I did was get up much too early, because the train to Montreal leaves at 8:15 a.m. on weekdays, and I had to shower, have tea, and get downtown. But I did all that, and got the seat I wanted, which meant that I spent much of the ride up staring out the window instead of reading. Herons and hawks and red-wing blackbirds and Lake Champlain. (I took four books with me, for two ten-hour train rides, and actually read two of them.)
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rysmiel, papersky, zorinth, and Rysmiel's mother Mary all met me at the station. We had pasta for dinner, then went to their house and talked. That was the basic pattern for the weekend: wander about, eat tasty things, and talk. I suppose a better holiday might be possible, but not much. I gave Rysmiel a birthday card on the Metro, and was pleased to have chosen one well: by chance, I'd come up with a card in the perfect colors.
Friday Papersky and I had tea and then went out for pastries, as other people slowly awakened. This is just our pattern: she and I are early risers, Rysmiel and Mary are not, and Zorinth varies. By the end of the weekend, rising early and going to bed late meant it was just as well I didn't need to do much on Monday.
After breakfast, we took the Metro down to Marche Atwater, for an assortment of tasty things: fresh veggies, smoked meat, cheese, all sorts of nice stuff. Then we took things easy, and Papersky cooked a fine lasagna for supper. Jon Singer and his friend Lisa arrived late that evening, but in time to say hello, eat some fiddleheads and other good things, and start making plans for Saturday.
Stupid border "security": for no reason I can justify or understand, the US government, over Canadian objections, now looks at everyone's papers as they leave the US for Canada by train. There was a team of three armed men doing this on our train. The person sitting across from me, who is Quebecois, objected to this on principle, and was really unhappy when two of them asked how much money he was carrying. They asked if he had more than $10,000, and he said no. Then they said (really) "Are you sure?" and he said "no" again (I'm not sure whether he understood them). So then they asked how much money he had with him, and he complained that this was poor security, and he didn't want to tell the whole train. Meanwhile, the third team member had gone on toward the front of the train. Eventually, he told them quietly, and when they'd gone to the next car explained that he would feel safe answering that in Montreal, where (he claims) there are no muggings, but not here. I observed that, in the course of demanding this information from him, they had overlooked me entirely: each part of the team assumed the other had looked at my papers (which are boring and legitimate). If there were any reason for this inspection, I'd be worried about how poorly it's being done.
The Americans got off the train, we proceeded, and then stopped again for Canadian customs. The agents were polite, looked at our immigration forms (which are concerned mostly with protecting agriculture), and then we went on. As an additional note, on the way back, my form said I was carrying food. It almost always does. I expect to be asked what I have, tell them, and be waved in (they don't object to chocolate and tea, but it is food, so I tell them). This time, the agent glanced at my passport and added my form to a stack without looking at it.
The first thing I did was get up much too early, because the train to Montreal leaves at 8:15 a.m. on weekdays, and I had to shower, have tea, and get downtown. But I did all that, and got the seat I wanted, which meant that I spent much of the ride up staring out the window instead of reading. Herons and hawks and red-wing blackbirds and Lake Champlain. (I took four books with me, for two ten-hour train rides, and actually read two of them.)
rysmiel, papersky, zorinth, and Rysmiel's mother Mary all met me at the station. We had pasta for dinner, then went to their house and talked. That was the basic pattern for the weekend: wander about, eat tasty things, and talk. I suppose a better holiday might be possible, but not much. I gave Rysmiel a birthday card on the Metro, and was pleased to have chosen one well: by chance, I'd come up with a card in the perfect colors.Friday Papersky and I had tea and then went out for pastries, as other people slowly awakened. This is just our pattern: she and I are early risers, Rysmiel and Mary are not, and Zorinth varies. By the end of the weekend, rising early and going to bed late meant it was just as well I didn't need to do much on Monday.
After breakfast, we took the Metro down to Marche Atwater, for an assortment of tasty things: fresh veggies, smoked meat, cheese, all sorts of nice stuff. Then we took things easy, and Papersky cooked a fine lasagna for supper. Jon Singer and his friend Lisa arrived late that evening, but in time to say hello, eat some fiddleheads and other good things, and start making plans for Saturday.
Stupid border "security": for no reason I can justify or understand, the US government, over Canadian objections, now looks at everyone's papers as they leave the US for Canada by train. There was a team of three armed men doing this on our train. The person sitting across from me, who is Quebecois, objected to this on principle, and was really unhappy when two of them asked how much money he was carrying. They asked if he had more than $10,000, and he said no. Then they said (really) "Are you sure?" and he said "no" again (I'm not sure whether he understood them). So then they asked how much money he had with him, and he complained that this was poor security, and he didn't want to tell the whole train. Meanwhile, the third team member had gone on toward the front of the train. Eventually, he told them quietly, and when they'd gone to the next car explained that he would feel safe answering that in Montreal, where (he claims) there are no muggings, but not here. I observed that, in the course of demanding this information from him, they had overlooked me entirely: each part of the team assumed the other had looked at my papers (which are boring and legitimate). If there were any reason for this inspection, I'd be worried about how poorly it's being done.
The Americans got off the train, we proceeded, and then stopped again for Canadian customs. The agents were polite, looked at our immigration forms (which are concerned mostly with protecting agriculture), and then we went on. As an additional note, on the way back, my form said I was carrying food. It almost always does. I expect to be asked what I have, tell them, and be waved in (they don't object to chocolate and tea, but it is food, so I tell them). This time, the agent glanced at my passport and added my form to a stack without looking at it.
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From:
no subject
This is the first I've heard of this. Do you know when this started? They didn't do this when I returned by bus from Minicon and I can't think of a good reason for doing something like this with trains and not buses. (Well I can't think of a good reason for doing it on either but it seems even odder to differentiate.) I don't blame the guy. I wouldn't want to announce to a train full of people how much money I was carrying no matter where I was.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
Singer...
From: (Anonymous)
Re: Singer...
That's just one of the reasons why I envy Vicki's trip!
Anita Rowland (http://www.anitarowland.com/)
From:
Re: Singer...
From:
So familiar....sigh
Out West, where many folks go back and forth by road to do their shopping (gasoline is cheaper Stateside, and food is cheaper Northside), there are occasionally roving Customs exit roadblocks about 5 klicks south of the line, mostly checking (so far as I can guess) to see whether young men travelling in groups have their draft papers in order. Canada has now signed a protocol calling on them to refuse any suspected draft-dodgers, and to deport any they subsequently find Northside.
Handmaid's Tale, here we come, one fence at a time.
Disgustedly,
Mev