Canada (3/3)
11 PM, 10/26/2016, Canada Border
Dear Mom and Dad,
Bonjour from Montreal, Canada! Our late night drive through the backwoods of Maine was uneventful. Despite the warnings from many locals and road signs to BEWARE OF THE MOOSE, we saw nothing. NOTHING!
At 1 am, at the United States/Canada line, we had an entertaining search by two border control officers. They inspected our passports and performed background checks. They interrogated us on the specifics of the rental van and asked us if we had any weapons. Embracing complete transparency, I said, “Pepper spray and camping knives”. James said, “BB gun”. My head swiveled to look at him in surprise. I didn’t know we harbored a BB gun! The “bad cop” policeman asked to see the gun, stating that if it looked real, it would be confiscated. James told him that he could throw a BB harder than this gun could shoot it. The ‘good cop’ patrolman laughed. The ‘bad cop’ patrolman scowled. After 20 minutes, we were cleared to pass into Canada, with the BB gun, our knives, and pepper spray. We were given firm instructions not to use them on people.
Around 2 am, we rolled into the campground and parked in our spot per the instructions left taped to the office door.
Waking up near civilization was comforting. We drove to the closest gas station to get coffee and use their ATM. I tried to use my limited French knowledge by asking for “un café chaud s’il vous plait” or “one hot coffee, please. The cashier said a slew of words I couldn’t understand. I responded sheepishly, “English?” She smiled and complied. Quebec is the only Canadian providence to have French as the official language. 95% of people speak French, while 47% speak English and 43% are fluent in both. We fueled up both the van and ourselves and headed into Montreal.
The first stop was the Jean-Talon Market in Little Italy, which is a cluster of fresh-air food vendors and shops. I browsed the vegetable stands, stopping at a gourd-of-odd-shapes station. At the spice shop, I bought souvenirs for the chefs back home. At a homemade goods stand, I purchased local maple syrup for the stateside eaters. One store contained a plethora of unusual meats, from bison to boar to partridge. Another booth had every kind of chili pepper imaginable. The collective cacophony of colors created a visual explosion.
After seeing and smelling all the delicacies of the market, I needed some lunch. Wandering through the historic district of the town, we came across a French creperie, Chez Suzette. We immediately concurred that this was the place. The chef packed the menu with crepe options, both savory and sweet. I decided on a strawberry and banana crepe with a creamy custard topping. Feeling very French, we toasted with coffee and said “C’est bon”.
On the way out of the city, I noticed that the license plates read “Je me souviens”, which translates to “I remember.” It reminds residents to remember past lessons and misfortunes and then move forward. Smiley emoticon.
We stopped at Reno Depot, the Canadian version of Home Depot. I had recently completed many home improvement projects. I looked at the foreign options and determined that everything Canadian was better. There were rustic wood countertops, better styles of doors, and way cooler 5-gallon buckets.
The Reno Depot bathroom stall contained some interesting graffiti artwork. It said in French, “Why do we trust people who have a nice appearance?” The responses from another was, “Because we love what is beautiful.” And another commented, “I don’t trust anyone.” Insightful musings.
Back at the campsite, dinner consisted of leftover items from the dwindling “kitchen”. We ate PBJ sandwiches, popcorn, and Moon pies. We organized ourselves for the trip home. We took turns showering in the (again) unheated shower room. We settled down (again) for a frigid night’s sleep. We head home tomorrow with mixed emotions.
Love you.
Maria
10 PM, 10/27/2016
Dear Mom and Dad,
It is the last day. And when better to discuss that oft-asked question “Where do you go to the bathroom in the van?” Before we left Maryland, I researched the options and came across three possibilities.
1. There are portable flushable johns. This toilet flushes and carries waste away like a conventional toilet. There is a fresh water reservoir for the flush. Then the waste is carried to a holding tank underneath. Chemicals break down solid waste, kills germs, destroys smells, and degrades toilet paper. This method requires emptying the tank in a proper waste disposal station.
2. There are more rudimentary combinations of a bucket and a toilet seat. You line the bucket with a double-bag system, which features an inner waste bag inside a sealable, leakproof outer bag. The inner bags are pre-filled with a gelatin powder that solidifies liquid waste and masks unpleasant odors.
3. You go outside if you are in a wooded area. Etiquette says to bury solid waste 6-8’ deep and pack out your toilet paper. Some more delicate wooded areas require packing out all solid waste. There are smaller, portable WAG (Waste, Alleviation, Gelling) bag kits similar to the bags in #2. (Hee hee.)
Luckily, all the reserved campgrounds for this trip had some form of a toilet. A bathroom was always available, as long as you were willing to walk to it. That is all I have to say about that.
This morning started off quietly. I cooked an odoriferous breakfast of bacon and eggs. Quietly, I was preparing myself for the return trip.
Everything was strapped down. James accelerated onto the highway and we headed south.
The ride home began sullenly. I had an amazing time and saw some unforgettable things. My psyche wasn’t ready to settle for my routine life. The freedom of lifestyle and location to which I had become accustomed was far from my everyday existence. It was a 9-hour straight shot back into reality.
I am home now. I am unpacked, settled, and feeling happy to be in a home that doesn’t echo and shift gears. Work is tomorrow. Grocery shopping, email checking, bill paying, and schedule making will follow.
This trip is now ingrained in my being. My memories of flexibility and travel and experiences can always be recalled. The possibility of having that freedom be a part of my life is like a dangling carrot…
Love you.
Maria
