Canada 1989

Monday 24 July — Montreal to Quebec

The same breakfast as on the last two days, with the addition of a small fruit salad, attracted tax. So I loitered through the morning until it was a reasonable time to head for the station. The timetable shows the train to be a “Rapido”, whatever that is meant to be, but the rolling stock was just the same as any other train, a type 64 loco on front of a few dayniter cars. The light meal and beverage this time was just that, ham roll, grated carrot, small bit of sponge cake, soft drink and tea.

We were half an hour late into Quebec, another credit for future use, due to track maintenance and being held to cross a freight. Nice station at Quebec, recently renovated, down beside the Lower Town. I consulted the map and headed off up the hill to the hostel. Booked in for three nights. Four beds in the room, two others occupied by a couple, not around. Sorted a few things, went out for a walk and retired.

Tuesday 25 July — Quebec

Had a light breakfast in the hostel cafeteria, with the worst croissant I’ve ever come across. Washed it down with a pint of milk from the depanneur. Ambled around the city walls in an anti-clockwise direction. Too late for the changing of the guard in the Citadel, just as well as I didn’t want to go in anyway. Went forth upon the Plains of Abraham, only the coastal fringe of which has been preserved as a park, Montcalm fell in the middle of a dual carriageway (slight exaggeration, he actually fell on the pavement). They have built a reservoir under the park so I suppose it is now more level than it was. There is also a Martello Tower, one of four built in the 1820s in case the Yanks attacked again

The way back into town took me along the Governor’s (board) Walk, sort of suspended between the Citadel wall and the cliffs, and the Dufferin Terrace upon which stands a monument to both Wolfe and Montcalm, originally inscribed in Latin for which Parks Canada have provided translations into French and English, translating Rex Britanicum as Roi d’Angleterre or the King of England.

Time for a late lunch in a pub, ambled around a bit more then back to the hostel to do some laundry. The hostel doesn’t sell soap powder, the nearby depanneur does. I looked in the laundry first in the hope of finding some overlooked packet, none, but an English couple were happy to give me some and refused payment. Short, heavy shower while I was in the laundry, the first since Edmonton I think. [Is this true? What about Montreal? Ed.] Out for a walk in the evening (slightly) cool.

Wednesday 26 July — Quebec

Decided to have milk before breakfast, but after the milk, I didn’t bother with the breakfast. Headed away from the old town, roughly following the St Charles River. Stopped in a cafe for a cup of tea - English Breakfast. The lad behind the counter spoke better English than I speak French. He said he would speak whichever the customer used, regardless how badly. I soon gave up on the French. Ambled down the hill to pick up the river bank at Victoria Park, then downstream back to the port. This water was very grubby. Thunder, lightning and a downpour while I was in the shopping mall (or was that on Thursday?). Dined on lobster salad, $10.95 plus three small pitchers of beer at $6.50 each or so.

Thursday 27 July — Quebec

It was a bit hazy in the morning, but I took the ferry to Levis anyway and took some photos from The Terrace there, looking across the river. Ambled around a bit, had a couple of beers in a pub, watching the news on TV in French, didn’t make much of it. Returned to Quebec, ambled around a bit, decided to dine again, lasagne and chianti, then back down to a pub in the Mall for more beer. Returned to the hostel at 2115 to find my backpack missing. Enquired at the desk, they know nothing, looks like it has been stolen. Very awkward. Decided to leave it till morning in case the day shift know anything.

Friday 29 July — Quebec to Montreal to ...

Well, no-one else knew anything about my pack, so I reported it to the police, with a bit of help from the warden. Walked down to the cop shop, near Victoria Park, and had a little language difficulty which was overcome with a bit of help from four other polis besides the one handling the report. They held out no real hope of recovering my pack but the important thing, apparently, is to get a file number for my insurance company. Refused the offer of a lift back to the hostel and walked, muttering under my breath.

I stacked the remains of my gear in a locker and asked at the desk for advice on where to go looking for new stuff. They recommended trying the main shopping malls out at St Foy, half an hour on the bus, but I walked. Just couldn’t find the right sort of shop, and ended up with a sports bag from Sports Experts, large enough to hold what I’ve got left. I caught a bus back, being by now pressed for time, stuffed my stuff into the sports bag and headed off for the station. Farewell Quebec.

The train from Quebec to Montreal via Trois Rivieres was a rail car, sufficient for the number of passengers, a surprising number of whom seemed to be going right through. The light meal and beverage was laid out on a table at Quebec and, a bit later, the guard told us to help ourselves. No steward. Some Yanks set out to consume it all, but not before I grabbed my share. The train seemed a bit light, bouncing a bit, but not too bad. Last year, there was a major upgrade on this line, disrupting services for some time, the line must have been pretty bad before.

Only one minute late at Montreal, arriving at the station through the tunnel under Mont Royal. I consulted a telephone directory in search of backpacking equipment vendors but it was all French to me, so I was reduced to aimless wandering in the hope that I would come across something, without success. The only thing to do was to repair to the Peel Pub for liquid consolation. I talked to a chap called Chris, a tutor in computer software, we started with our own jugs, then half a jug from two girls who were leaving, then he bought a jug, then I bought a jug, but when he ordered another, I demurred and left. His girlfriend (who was not present) came from Edinburgh as a child and still goes back for a visit every other year.

I caught the overnight train to Senneterre and dozed.

Saturday 29 July — ... Cochrane

This train was hauled by a class 65 loco, I forgot to note the number but it looked much like a class 64. The passenger accommodation was for coach cars (where I was), a bar/diner and two sleepers. There were two baggage cars which began to seem reasonable when, north of Hervey, we turned into a supply train, stopping frequently in the middle of nowhere, dropping off small parties and supplies. I overheard a member of one of these groups ask another - “What do we do now, put the canoes in the river and paddle?“ and the leader said - “That’s right.” Last I saw of them, they had the canoes in the water and were shifting a small mountain of equipment down the embankment.

We had been running about twenty minutes late, I thought, but were suddenly fifteen minutes early at Senneterre. Here, the sleepers, bar/diner and one coach car were dropped, a couple of spare engines were tagged on and we became the train to Cochrane. The first hundred miles were not too bad, but then the track got really bad and we rarely exceeded twenty miles per hour. Even at that speed I had doubts of our safety at times. The highlight was probably stopping before a bridge and then inching across it at a snails pace. We were ninety minutes late at Cochrane.

Cochrane turned out to be a small place, it didn’t take long to walk round the town centre and check out the facilities. The first hotel I tried was full, but I got a bed at the second, opposite the railway station, deciding to pay five dollars more for en-suite facilities, which turned out to be a good thing as they are at the back of the hotel, and booked for three nights. I was a bit peckish by then and went forth in search of sustenance which I found in the shape of a pepper steak and half a litre of wine in an establishment called The Spinning Wheel. Back to the hotel for a reasonably early night.

Sunday 30 July — Moosonee

A river from the Polar Bear Express

I had breakfast at the railway station while waiting for the Polar Bear Express. I suspect that the facilities in the station here are more geared to the excursions to Moosonee than to passengers on regular services. The train is operated by Ontario Northland, runs every day in summer and always has the same shape regardless of the number of passengers. They reckon that’s easier than shrinking and extending it from day to day. The locos 1508 and 1520 hauled what appeared to be a baggage car, four coach cars, three food service cars four coach cars and another apparent baggage car. The three food service cars offer dining, buffet and takeaway facilities respectively. There is one designated smoking car which we were exhorted to vacate when finished. Passenger loading seemed reasonable, but not heavy.

The track was in much better condition than that to Cochrane and we made good time to Moosonee. Nice enough place for a visit, just enough time to look around without going to Moose Factory. Quite hot, I got a few funny looks in my Swannie but it’s the easiest way to carry it.

On the return journey, filled in a passenger satisfaction survey and found out that Kapuskasing is a good bit bigger than Cochrane but the only attraction listed in the guidebook is a park. Milk for supper and another early night.

Monday 31 July — Kapuskasing

Having slept on the idea, I decided to take a day trip by train to Kapuskasing. The train, known as the Northlander, starts from Toronto run by VIA to North Bay, then by Ontario Northland to Cochrane, then VIA again to Kapuskasing. My Canrailpass is valid except between Cochrane and North Bay, for which the fare is $43 one way, and I hope the track is better than it was between Cochrane and Kapuskasing, which was just as bad as the track between La Sarre and Cochrane.

Kapuskasing was not the most exciting town I’ve ever visited. There was nothing remotely suitable in the field of backpacking equipment, people in this neck of the woods seem still to be using triangular iron frames. However, the park was indeed very nice.

Back at Cochrane, another dinner in the Spinning Wheel, this time a fish called “pickerel”, a local product, a “fresh water white fish” was the best description I could get of it, done in cinnamon butter. Very nice, not to mention the half litre of wine. Definitely better than the Arctic Char. My plan for another early night went awry, there was live country music in the A-Lou-Ette Bar so I sat in there for a while, I don’t know why.

Tuesday 1 August — Cochrane to La Sarre to ...

For comparative purposes, I decided to have the same breakfast in a different restaurant this morning. Much the same price, lettuce on the cheese sandwich but the orange juice came in a tin. I watched the departure of the train to Kapuskasing and the twice weekly stopping train to Moosonee, two coach and a food service car stuck on the back of a half mile long freight train. Next, I walked round the lake a couple of times then repaired to a pub or two to kill the rest of the time till train departure.

When I got to the station, expecting a long wait for the train to arrive, even, never mind depart, I was shocked to discover that the train doesn’t come to Cochrane on its weekday trips on Tuesdays and Thursdays, it stops at La Sarre and the rest of the journey is done by taxi. So, a taxi took myself and two other passengers to la Sarre where the train awaited, 6312 hauling a baggage car and two coach cars. Picked up another half dozen or so passengers en route to Senneterre where I went for a quick walk between showers, bought some milk, while they joined up the rest of the train. There were a lot of native Indian passengers, not too sober, most destined for La Toque. (Why?)

Wednesday 2 August — Montreal to ...

One of the Indians had to be assisted off the train at his stop, he was too comfortable to want to leave. Indians on trains don’t understand no smoking signs, nor, methinks, have they ever been told that they are not allowed to consume their own booze on the train. Or maybe the rules are different in Quebec. South of Hervey, all was sedate and quiet again.

In Montreal, I altered my travel tickets to allow a quick trip back to Toronto. Phoned home. Then I went out and found an army surplus store who were able to direct me to another shop, Azimut, which had a modest selection of outdoor equipment, mostly flash gear for the ski set, but I did select a(n inferior) backpack and a lightweight sleeping bag. No rain capes so back to the army surplus shop for that.

Then into the Peel Pub, again, for some beer and a pizza, before catching the overnight train, the Cavalier, to Toronto.

It left on time

Thursday 3 August — ... Toronto to ...

but only got a mile or so before stopping, then reversing back into the station. Engine trouble, they said. We left again just before one o’clock but still managed to be on time at Toronto. Never saw the engine. Did a little leisurely shopping in the morning, then ambled around the waterfront. Took the harbour cruise on Trillium, a steam powered, paddle driven ferry, preserved as a tourist attraction. Had a few beers in the evening, went looking for a feed and dined in the Acme Bar and Grill, not far from the Skydome, on halibut and real beer. It was very good. Back to the station and sat in the GO station bar watching the crowds going home. Blue Jays had lost, the crowd was quiet. I caught the overnight train back to Montreal.

Friday 4 August — ... Montreal to ...

At some point in the night there was someone sitting beside me, then there wasn’t. On time at Montreal. My plan was to go to the Railway Museum. I had breakfast and walked out to the bus interchange whence I would get the appropriate bus. I wasn’t feeling too bright and when I could find no indication of which bus I should get, I gave up.

So I wandered back through the town and along to the approaches to the Pont Jacque Cartier. Initially my intention was just to go a bit along the bridge to see what sort of view it gave of the city, but I ended up going across to the Ile St Helene, where still remains the Expo funfair. Took a photo or two before it came on to rain, so I sheltered under the bridge. When the rain went off, I travelled by bus and metro back into town and bought an umbrella.

Back at the station, I went into the bar, asked for a beer and got two. Happy hour strikes again, this time two for the price of one, so I had a few more. Still expensive at $2 per bottle (including tip) but better than $4.

For no apparent reason, we were twenty minutes late leaving but we recovered most of that by the time we’d left Levis. I was stuck with an aisle seat but the chap at the window was only going to Charny, so I spent most of the time in the bar, smoking my pipe (and drinking more beer). Thereafter, I slept through most of the night.

Saturday 5 August — ... Gasp�

I missed the activity at Matapedia, whatever there was, and by the time I was awake we were well down the line towards Gasp�. Whatever portion of the train had been behind the coach I’m in has gone to Moncton. Running more or less to time out the peninsula and arrived at Gasp� itself three minutes early. There, they turn the train after the passengers get off. Locomotive 6416 apparently hauls this bit between Matapedia and Gasp�, back and forth, each day. The loco from Montreal goes through to Moncton on the Ocean.

So, having got to Gasp�, I crossed the bridge and enquired of the first motel I found for a room. Quarante-quatre chaque nuit I can afford for two nights. Room not yet ready so I left my pack in reception and went for a walk up the road along the “inlet” for an hour then back again. Once I’d had a shower, for the first time in four days, I couldn’t raise the energy to go forth again and wasted the rest of the afternoon watching inferior TV programmes and so to bed.

Sunday 6 August — Gasp�

Well, I’d been putting off continuing this journal in the wrong shape book but I’d been looking for the right sort of book since Ottawa without success and by the time this got written, I was a fortnight behind. The next few days are therefore a bit scrambled. Still, I’d better get on with it.

Day 2 in Gasp� was also very quiet. Late start, four nights on the train without a bed seemed to have tired me out more than I’d expected. A leisurely wander around the coast a bit - pretty boring, heavy traffic on the road and no real access to the shore. Weather good. Didn’t go in to the regional museum, admired the interesting memorial to Jacque Cartier outside, and the cross dedicated not to the King of the Jews but to the King of France.

Interrupted my sightseeing for a moment to arrange a ticket to Halifax for the morrow, The booking clerk suggested changing at Mont Joli rather than Matapedia, it would reduce waiting time, and made out the tickets accordingly.

Had a look at the Cathedral, nice place, then a couple of beers in the 1534 bar, back to the motel and wasted the rest of the evening watching TV and dozing.

Monday 7 August — Gasp� to Matapedia to ...

Another late start. This seems to be a leisurely place. So I got up, more or less packed, had breakfast then checked out. Pleasant surprise, there is no tax on accommodation in Quebec. I took the pack down to the railway station and checked it through to Halifax. Visited the museum and climbed the hill to the sanatorium, but the view is much restricted by trees. Went and bought a shirt before train time. Departed on time, and even a few minutes early at Matapedia, six hours later.

They do a microwaved hot dinner on this train, advertised at $4.95 “only”, at which price it would be reasonable value, but they actually charge $5.50, tax plus rounding. I don’t think they have an advertising standards law here, some of the claims are distinctly dishonest.

Anyway, at Matapedia, the Ocean from Moncton was twenty-two minutes late. It was hauled by 6431 and 6614 and comprised baggage car, two coach cars, day-nighter, bar/diner and three sleepers. Obviously a busier route than Gasp�’s baggage car, sleeper, day-nighter, bar/diner and coach. They put the Chaleur between the baggage and coach on the Ocean and off we went, twenty-two minutes late.

Tuesday 8 August — ... Monkton to Halifax

By the time we reached Mont Joli, we were thirty-six minutes late. I got off and the train carried on a mere thirty minutes late. To my amazement there is a restaurant and bar opposite the station, open till two in the morning. However, being a bit short of cash, I went for a walk and discovered a cash machine. Now, when you use a Scotiabank machine, it asks if you wish to transact in English or French, this Caisse Populaire just read my card and used English. A police car passed twice while I walked up and down the main street. I didn’t actually see the St Laurence, but I did see the docks and a distant lighthouse.

Back at the station, still some time to wait so a bit of diarising. The eastbound Ocean arrived twenty-two minutes late, probably delayed crossing the westbound. 6421 and 6637 hauled the same configuration. Being half past two in the morning, most folk were asleep sprawled across two seats, however one old lady occupying four was a bit much. Her goods were moved to the floor and I climbed over them (and her legs) to sit in the seat that doesn’t recline. Still, I slept reasonably well.

At Matapedia, the train split and we went off towards Moncton. On time out of Campbellton but sat after Rogersville to cross a freight and were thirteen minutes late into Moncton. The Atlantic came in on time so a bit of a rush round to secure a seat. 6437 and 6613 hauled a baggage car, three coach cars plus I don’t know what except that there was an observation car at the end. Anyway, I grabbed this double seat and only later noticed that there was already a hat-check above it, but since the occupier was not there, he/she was probably in the bar and would stay there to Halifax. After Truro, the air conditioning broke down. Most people moved out but I’d been sweating for so long, another couple of hours wouldn’t kill me.

Just before Halifax, a chap came along and removed the pack that was above my, previously his, seat. After disembarking at Halifax and collecting my pack, I was walking slowly through the town centre, towards the hostel, when I noticed the other chap heading in the same direction. After a bit, he enquired my destination. So, we chatted a bit. Murray Mackay from Toronto.

At the hostel, booked in for the night, showered, did the laundry, and decided to go out for a bite to eat, probably fish. Murray had gone off earlier looking for a vegetarian restaurant and some jazz. I found a brewery pub called the Granite House where the beer was too hoppy but the vegetable and cheese casserole was very good, Murray didn’t find the vege restaurant and ate fish. I was still undecided what to do on the morrow. The hostel was very quiet that night.

Wednesday 9 August — Halifax

The morning was so glorious, weatherwise, that I decided to stay another day in Halifax and made arrangements accordingly before heading off downtown. The tobacconist in town sells Condor at an exorbitant price. I pottered around a bit, bought some film and went up to the Citadel. Lots of university students playing at being the 75th Highlanders. The piper was OK, the military museum a bit sparsely furnished in comparison with some in Scotland.

Into a pub, just at the shift handover, took fifteen minutes to get served. No tip there. Into another pub, in a basement, a definite drinking den, just myself, two barmen and a couple of guys playing pool, all to an extremely loud background muzak. The hostel was very busy.