May 13 again: Rolling West

The overnight train was fairly comfortable. I and another passenger had been assigned double seats facing each other; this meant we could place carry-ons beside us and stretch our feet out. The train wasn’t in a great hurry, either; I’d describe its speed as “fast amble”. This was fine for me, as I spent most of the time staring out the window at the passing view as long as the light lasted.

As the line began to follow the coast, the woodlands shared the view with coastal farms and towns and the glimmer of Chaleur Bay. The sky faded to dark blue and I could only make out the lights of houses, both on our shore and across the water, bringing up the usual musings of what life must be like to live in those places.

Once it became too dark to see, I tried various positions through the night to get fitful sleep, broken occasionally when the train stopped at various towns with overbright lights.

May 14: Into Quebec City

Come morning twilight, and I gave up further attempts at sleep and started re-watching FLCL on my laptop. After finishing the first episode, we approached my stop, Sainte-Foy, a station at the south-west edge of Quebec City, on a cold, wet morning. (Didn’t I just leave this?) I retrieved my large bag and waited in the station building.

After several minutes came the next stage: not a train, but a shuttle, taking myself and a few other passengers across town. The shuttle weaved through suburban hill streets, then ran along the Boulevard Champlain beside the St Lawrence River. The central city appeared rather suddenly and we arrived at Gare du Palais, Quebec City’s central station.

t wasn’t yet 8:30am and check-in to my hostel wasn’t until 3:00pm, so I had a bagel in the station and updated my blog. Looking around the station, I found the taxi area but, having time on my hands, I decided to see if I could sniff out the bus routes first. With ski jacket on and increasingly-damaged umbrella unfurled, I ventured out into the city streets.

Getting around Quebec City takes patience, because Quebec is very French: unlike the other Canadian places I’ve been to, signs here are in French first and English if you’re lucky. I walked with my bags down one of the central streets, pondering the website of the RTC, the local metro service, to see if I could find a bus stop that was on a route leading to the hostel.

I managed to find a shop selling day tickets and bought three. However, after a lot of puzzled searching, I was beginning to get soaked from the steady rain, so I headed back to the station and hailed a taxi.

The taxi got me to the address after 12:00pm. I knew I was early but hoped I could at least wait there out of the rain, as I’ve done at hostels in the past. The address turned out to be a two-level suburban flat, with no sign indicating a hostel, but with numbered push-buttons on the door handle. I paid the driver and rang the bell. No reply. Looking through the door window, it was clear no-one was home.

Not Clear on the Concept

I rechecked my booking details. The address was correct and I had the right day. But the place was definitely empty and I was stuck there with my two bags on a cold wet day and no umbrella because I’d left that in the taxi. (It was falling apart, anyway.)

I waited on the porch for a while for any signs of life. When none appeared and the rain eased a little, I left my large bag half-concealed on the porch, put my backpack on and walked to a nearby shopping area. The first place I encountered was Canac, which turned out to be the local Bunnings. Across the road was a service station, where I bought some marginally healthy food and walked back to the hostel.

Digging through my booking notes, I found a contact number and rang it. A man responded. After providing my booking reference, he texted me an access code for the front door and said I was in “Tokyo”. I typed the code in and was able to open the door. In the hallway were doors labelled “New York”, “Venice”, “Nairobi”… and “Tokyo”. I opened Tokyo and found a room with four bunks in it. At the end of the hallway was a small kitchen/dining area with lots of utensils. I realised this place was a sort of “self-help” hostel, set up in the ground flat of a suburban unit, like a cross between a traditional hostel and an Air B’n’B. I’d never seen anything like it before.

I put my bags in my room, had a shower and changed clothes. Then I sat in the dining area and drifted off for a while. After I woke, another traveller entered. His name was Matthew and appeared to be from elsewhere in Quebec Province, although his English was fair. So I wasn’t alone in the house.

Feeling that I had a better handle on things now, I put my coat and wooly hat on and headed out into the still-damp afternoon.

After walking around a few streets, I found a bus stop that I looked like it might take me into town. It indeed did and I was back in the central city. I bought a few supplies from a convenience store, then had a look around the streets. Some of the apartments in the side streets would fit very well in Paris.

Very prominent was St Roch Church, a big gothic cathedral. Several homeless people sat outside its closed doors. I think this is a regular thing, as there was a large old fridge on the church grounds where people could donate food.

After some more city-gazing, I joined a crowd of commuters waiting to get home and caught a bus back to the hostel. I discovered some more travellers had arrived: a wife, husband and two children. The wife knew as much English as I knew French, so we made use of our phone translators. They were confused because they’d just arrived and no-one was there to greet them. About 20 minutes later, Sandra, the proprietor, arrived and answered everyone’s questions. She said she had another job earlier in the day, which is why check-in time was in the afternoon. I’m staying in someone’s side-hustle.