May 12: Bussing Out

I gained a room-mate after midnight. The hostel had set up his bunk in my room, but he arrived somewhere around 2:00am. He tried to set himself up by phone light as quietly as he could.

Come morning, I had breakfast (leaving a few items in the Free bin) and finished packing. That’s when I discovered the pull-handle on my large bag wouldn’t pull out; try as I might, it remained stuck. I could still wheel it using the main handle on the top, however.

I handed back my door card to the hostel, left Children of Men in their library and headed out into another cold, drizzly day. Luckily, my next destination was just five minutes’ walk away: Halifax Railway Station, also the terminal for the Maritime Bus service to take me to Bathurst. The station is next to Halifax Harbour. A large Norwegian cruise ship was in dock nearby.

The station, though roomy, was largely empty. I had time to watch another Ripping Yarns before the coach arrived. After everybody was aboard, the bus driver ran through various rules, including telling us in a very friendly manner that he’d leave without us if we didn’t return to the bus on time during the stops along the way.

The coach first stopped at Dartmouth across the river, then headed north. I napped for most of the time until we reached next stop, Truro.

Thereafter, the bus travelled north-west through the countryside, stopping at other large towns: Amherst, Sackville, Moncton. For most of that part of the journey, I read another book-that-had-been-waiting, Black Magic by Ayden Agagnostellis-Carter. It’s a YA novel I bought at a convention. After getting halfway through, I could see why he had to self-publish it.

At Moncton, we got off for a bus change, as the sky began to clear. The terminal was also the local VIA Rail station, but it was largely empty with no trains scheduled; that’s because VIA Rail only runs trains along its eastern line every second day or so, which is why I had to take a coach in the first place. One oncoming passenger discovered her ticket was for May 13, so she had to rush to the Maritime counter to get a replacement.

Continuing north-west, we stopped at other small towns along the long way. I mostly just looked at the countryside: either small clusters of houses around towns, or large stretches of woodland filled with fir, birch and spruce, some verdant, some scraggily.

When we finally reached Bathurst over eight hours later, I expected we’d stop at the local railway station. Instead, we were dropped off at a service station in South Bathurst. After some thought about the distance, I opted to take a taxi to the Comfort Inn in the north side of town. On the way, the taxi driver said Bathurst, and many small Canadian towns, hadn’t much public transport either. A service had been set up last year, but it was a door-to-door and you had to book ahead first.

At the Comfort Inn, I was given the keycard to my room with the queen-sized bed. (There are no hostels in Bathurst.) I checked news from the outside world for a while, then had a comfortable sleep.

May 13: Nowhere to go

The Comfort Inn served a breakfast with many selections; you could even make your own waffles. Check-out time was 11:00am, so before then, I sought out a nearby pharmacy and bought fresh supplies of toothpaste, sunscreen (small bottle) and a toenail cutter (I left my Swiss knife in Melbourne to avoid potential international incidents). I also wandered around the local neighbourhood and looked out over Bathurst Harbour.

My train wasn’t due until 8:00pm and the station is halfway through town, so I figured I could walk there in stages. Pulling the large case with its main handle rather than its pull handle (still stuck) was frustrating but doable. The sun was out and I had both screen and hat on. The road I started on had several chain stores along, strip-style, but as I went through the middle of town, these petered out into suburbia with nowhere to stop and sit. Outside one house was a little library. No books there interested me, but evidently someone had just got over Danielle Steele.

After a lot of walking and pulling, I finally got to the train station—and found it locked. A check online revealed it opened at 5:15pm on Wednesdays. Bugger.

After some internal ranting, I looked at the surrounding area on Maps (I’ve become very phone-battery conscious on this trip) and found a local bar-&-grill and cinema several blocks away. Having a fair bit of time on my hands, I headed therewards. I passed the community college, briefly looked through an op shop, then walked a few more blocks to Cast and Crew Gastropub. There, I had a nice meal, used their toilet and got change for future taxis. Checked the cinema next door for the prospect of seeing a movie, but it was shut.

Tried to fill in more time by checking out the nearby shopping area and having a coffee at an eatery (long black was all they served). With nothing else to do there, I walked back to the station, sat down outside the front door and worked on my blog. The station’s wi-fi was accessible, so that was one plus. Some people appeared at the door at one point, but this was just to repair it.

I passed time in the afternoon sun wading through Black Magic. 5:15 finally came and I could enter the station and check in my large bag. Found a power point, plugged in the electrics and finished off the last of Ripping Yarns. While I watched, the station steadily filled with other travellers; French as much as English was bandied around.

At last arrived our very long train. Its final destination was Montreal, but I would change at Saint Foy Station along the way. The passengers were sorted into their correct carriages (with named slips of paper stuck above particular seats) and we were finally on our way, watching the countryside go by from our comfy seats.