Chapter 85 – Crossing over (the ocean)…(again)

August 29-30, 2004

Yet again, I was unprepared for everything I was bringing back. This is now the second time that I thought that my one giant suitcase would be enough and wasn’t. The last time hadn’t been a major problem; I had a sports bag that served as a second piece of luggage. This time the problem was more weight than space (for future reference, 2 litres of maple syrup in a plastic bottle = 6 pounds), so what I really needed was a small, tough, second piece of luggage to handle the small, heavy stuff (books and maple syrup mostly). Unfortunately, all my most useful bags had already found their way to France, so I had to find another solution. And find I did; the ancient set of green suitcases, the largest of which is roughly equivalent to a normal small suitcase these days (which begs the question, why have suitcases gotten so much bigger? We don’t bring _that_ many extra gadgets and stuff than when we travel than 20 years ago…do we?). My dad happily offered the biggest one…in fact, he would have gotten rid of the whole set if he could have. I took the suitcase, falling apart as it was, packed it tightly, and planned to have it wrapped with that giant plastic wrap machine at the airport (which, incidentally, was a very good option; about $7.00, but a good idea under the circumstances).

In a couple more hours, I was back on a plane. Once again I was very lucky with my seat; an inner aisle seat with nobody next to me, but once again my headset didn’t work very well (which is still better than not at all like my flight back to Canada this summer). I managed to get in an hour or two of sleep, but no more. At Frankfurt the passport check lines were long, and moving slowly. They seemed to be actually stamping passports for once (I’ve now entered France from Canada 4 times, and from elsewhere several times more, and the only stamps I have are back and forth to England). I was a little concerned though, this was one time I didn’t want them paying too too much attention; I was arriving in Europe the day before the expiration of my French residence permit. I had been told, however, that I didn’t need a visa while awaiting my new permit, but also that I couldn’t even apply for my new permit until September. They did check though…once again my lack of intimating…ness… worked in my favour, and I got no hassle, only the comment “almost time to get a new one” (or something to that effect). I glanced through my passport as he gave it back…still no stamp. I retrieved my luggage, and found the bus stop for Strasbourg, where there were already plenty of people, and more arriving all the time. We ended up being split into two buses, one making the stop at the train station, and the other making the other 3 stops in Strasbourg.

Our driver seemed to be in a bit of a hurry, and we actually arrived about 30 minutes early (although since normally there are three other stops before the train station, he probably wasn’t going any faster than he was supposed to, but it sure seemed like we got to the city itself pretty quickly). I got my stuff, and lugged it to buy my new train discount card, and my ticket to Mulhouse, missing the train by seconds. Another hour until the next… When I finally got to Mulhouse, I went to the bank machine to get some cash to pay for a cab…but the bank machine at the train station was broken…I ended up having to call a friend for a ride. At home a few hours later, Lynn and I sat in front of the TV, as I tried desperately to not sleep before night time. Eventually, I realized that I had fallen asleep sitting up. Surprisingly, I had only slept 20 minutes or so, but I felt much much better.

Chapter 86 – Never a dull trip

September, 2004
Within days of my return, I was in the front of a lecture hall proctoring a makeup exam. It floors me how many students have to makeup exams each September. The problem with a public post-secondary system is the sheer number of people that simply shouldn’t be in university…but are just because they can be. I say this less because of the people that never pass the first time, but the even more incredible group that didn’t pass the first time around, and don’t bother to show up for makeup exams. Wow. That being said, of course there are plenty of advantages to public education (one, which is equally a disadvantage depending on your point of you) is that the universities are simply not allowed to pick students based on marks, or anything else. If they passed their Bac in an appropriate discipline (the set of exams at the end of high school which is essentially equivalent to a high school diploma including the correct courses for the university programs you’re applying to) they are required to be admitted…I think there must simply be a limit to numbers, so it must go by the dates the applications are received or something.

The next two weeks consisted mostly of meetings, proctoring, giving makeup oral exams, helping one of the new guys find a place to live and get around Mulhouse, and a fair bit of free time. The weekend after I got back I got to go back to Europapark whose roller coasters are admittedly disappointing compared to Canada’s Wonderland, but nonetheless fun. I was amused that I was the only to be able to keep from holding on on the biggest of the coasters (French boys…or at least the ones I was with…would have a really rough time at Wonderland!).

As the Anglos began to arrive (Nate from Iowa, Liz from Blackburn, England, Holly and Joshua from South Carolina, and Tim from ummm…I forget…but he went to school on Washington State with Nate), we planned for a Anglos at the Zoo day, since it was to be free on Sunday, September 12th. I ended up bowing out when I was invited to Paris for the weekend, as did Lynn, however a new member; Lynda, a Canadian exchange student from Laurier!!!!, somehow met up with the others and was adopted into the Anglo crowd. In the meantime, my trip to Paris was, of course, not without its quirks. On the way there, I showed my ticket and the discount card which I’d bought in Strasbourg the day I arrived in France (August 30th) and which I’d used for the trip from Strasbourg to Mulhouse. There was only one problem; the card was dated September 30th, so it wasn’t yet valid. The controller pretended to be comprehensive, and to believe me, but refused to give me any less than the 10 euro fine plus the rest of the full price of a ticket (even though even without my discount card I’m entitled to a decent discount until I turn 26). He said that he’d clearly indicate everything on the fine, and that I should go to the customer service desk when I arrived in Paris to fix the dates on the card and to get my money back. After having to go to a different train station (that wasn’t far from the one we were arriving in, but still) and waiting not too too long, it was finally my turn. The lady was very nice about it, but said that since the controller had clearly indicated the fine, they could not reimburse those 10 euros (but did reimburse the rest). So while the controller was trying to act like he was helping (he really could have just given me a warning under the circumstances, so that I could get my card changed and not get caught with an invalid card again on the trip home) when really he was pouring a little extra salt on the wound.

Later in the weekend, a guy working at a metro station proved no kinder; we slipped fresh tickets in, and went tearing down to the platform hoping not to miss the last train that night, only to find that it had already left (when the guy who saw us cancel our tickets and run down called to us over the loud speaker). When we asked for replacement tickets, he refused, saying that it was clearly indicated that only the train going in the other direction was still running. I hope people don’t really wonder why travellers think all French people are jerks; I mean, who else to tourists see most, than people working for public transportation. I was furious. The hour and a half of walking that night (plus 10 or 15 minutes on a bus when a night bus happened by) only increased my anger. I’d been tired before leaving the bar too, so it just made it that much worse. There had, as all my trips to Paris have, been a lot of walking around and seeing places and things that I hopefully hadn’t seen on previous trips. We had found ourselves, that night, at a bar run entirely by Anglophones, who actually knew how to make cocktails (pardon my cynicism towards the French inability to mix liquors and mixers into tasty beverages). It had been a good night, but it ended on a bad note. Sunday saw us discovering the villette (if I remember correctly) and a science centre-type place, which was pretty cool, but pales in comparison to the Ontario Science Centre. It seemed like a lot of the exhibits didn’t really work, but a few things were pretty cool. It was an early night, as I was taking an early train back in the morning, and giving oral exams in the afternoon. The train ride home was boring (the friend I had been with, Pierre, had stayed in Paris) and uneventful. I managed a bit of sleep, and thus survived my exams that afternoon, made easier by the fact that only 4 out of the 14 people I was supposed to test actually showed up.

Chapter 84 – 3 French girls in Canada

August, 2004

As I arrive in Montreal (at least in terms of the story; in reality I’ve been and gone, and am back in France) I should also mention an as-yet unnoted battle; the psychological one. The last time I had driven this car, I was 18, and on vacation just before starting university in Montreal, where I was rear-ended by a cab. I had had to cut my holiday short, leave the car behind, and take the train home with an eye patch and gauze covering my mangled face; airbags are evil…particularly when combined with sunglasses. I have driven in Montreal since, and had lost some of my fear of driving there, but not all.

I kept a sharp eye on the time, as I knew Magali (a friend from France who was moving to Montreal for the year) was to arrive around 4:00, but I had no idea what flight she was coming in on or anything, so I had to be on time (she also didn’t know I was going to be there). After standing around the airport for over 2 hours, I finally saw her, much to my relief. Unfortunately, she was short a bag, and two other French girls who had arrived with her, but who she had lost when she went to report her missing bag. When the three found each other, the next challenge was figuring out how to get into town. There was simply no way the 2-door Geo Metro was going to handle 4 people, and a year’s worth of luggage for 3 of them (even minus one bag). I took Magali and about half the bags, and the other two took a taxi and we met at the place they were staying. Once they were checked in, I headed to Ben’s. Herein was the next issue; it was Friday night, and Ben was away for the weekend, but had said that I could stay at his place anyway…but I would have to wait until 9:00, when his roommate, Adam, who I’d never met, got home.

It was probably 8:30ish when I pulled up in front of their place, and pulled out a book to kill some time. When Adam did get home, he invited me in, and without a second thought offered me some of the salmon and latkes which he was cooking up for himself. He was hugely generous and helpful, and in the morning ended up not only coming with us to show us a good, cheap, Polish restaurant, but then drove us downtown for a bit of a tour of Old Montreal and downtown. It was a busy week as we found places to live for the girls (Magali ended up taking a spare room at Ben’s, and the other two found an apartment about 50 feet away…actually before Magali decided to take the room at Ben’s) and (what turned out to be even more frustrating) tried to find cheap furniture for all three, since none were moving into furnished rooms. We showed the girls around a bit, and they did some discovering themselves, and all in all it was a pretty successful and enjoyable trip!

Chapter 83 – Trippin’ to the east

August, 2004

With a lot of luck and help from my parents, I was able to get my hands on a borrowed vehicle for my planned trip to Ottawa and Montreal. Actually, there’s even a bit of a story there; it’s my mom’s car, which had been off the road for about a year, due to the fact that it just wasn’t serving its purpose for where my mom lives. So there were a few battles to overcome. First, it had to be re-insured, but to an Ontario resident, which also meant changing the ownership. This involved both the bureaucratic battles (ownership and insurability are a vicious circle that depend on the road-worthiness of the car among other things) and the physical ones (getting the car safety’d). Getting the papers back and forth signed and everything proved to be more difficult than expected, but I had everything in hand to actually switch the ownership the morning after I had intended to leave. When I brought everything to the desk, hoping to get everything done and be en route to Ottawa by the end of Toronto rush hour (which is sort of leaving the window open, since it seems as though rush hour in Toronto doesn’t actually have a beginning or an end anymore). I was more than dismayed at the first comment made by the lady “you’re going to need both your parents here to have their signatures notarized.” Minor complication; I was in Oakville, my dad was in Kitchener, and my mom lives in Quebec. She explained that this was necessary for the ownership to be transferred as a gift, and not be taxed. I breathed a huge sigh of relief; my dad had already expected to pay the tax on the transfer which (for those interested) is based on the greater of the price paid and the current wholesale value, which they have in a database. Upon checking the database, it turns out that the wholesale value of the car was such that it wouldn’t be taxed, unless my dad had paid for the car, which he hadn’t. So, no need for notarized signatures or taxes. That was a pleasant surprise (especially coming out of the less-than-pleasant surprise that the conversation had started with). So, I got it done, got the new stickers for the license plates, and was on my way back to the house to get my stuff and head out.

I mentioned physical battles, and those are the battles fought with a car that hasn’t been used in a while…every now and then the car took to cutting power for a split second, and spitting a significant cloud of white smoke out the back, which was clearly blinding to anyone travelling too closely behind me (in retrospect, maybe that would be a good way to get people to back off, but at the time it was quite unnerving and worrying…not to mention the bizarre noise coming from right around the rear passenger wheel – incidentally the very wheel that decided it no longer wanted to be a part of the Justy).

I was relieved to be able to give the car a break when, approaching Belleville, I called a friend that lives nearby to see if he was around. The car seemed to stop spitting smoke once I got off the highway, and I hoped that the short break would make the car happier. I was surprised when my short break was upwards of an hour and a half (including the distance from the highway to his place), but thrilled that the car never again spit out white smoke for the rest of the trip to Ottawa. My time there seemed a little “speed” (as the French would say; rushed for normal people that use English the way it was intended, rather than stealing words, and using them to mean something else…remind me to tell you about more of those) since I was committed to being in Montreal Friday afternoon, and it was already Tuesday evening by the time I arrived…and since I had 3 people to visit with. So I hung out with my friend Matt the first evening, but it was relatively short-lived, since he had to work first thing in the morning, at which point I headed off to kill some time, and then to visit Cynthia at her cottage an hour outside of Ottawa for a day. We made it down to Smiths Falls for the years-overdue planned trip to the Hershey Factory, where I stocked up on Reese products for Lynn (who LOVES them), and Kisses and Twizzlers for myself. Thursday I headed back “into town” to visit with my sister, and go to Swiss Chalet, and Friday I was back in the car heading for Montreal, just hoping that the car was done recovering from it’s driveway-bound vacation and it’s smoke-spitting ways.