Trois-Rivières, Québec: the start of my "immigrant experience"

Bonjour! If you are reading this, you probably know the basics of my last couple of years. In June 2018, I retired from a 32-year career teaching mostly French and Latin. In September 2018, I returned to my school as a long-term sub for the 2018-19 school year for the Latin teaching half of my position because they couldn't fill it. My catch phrase all year was "#irreplaceable." My other catch phrase was "bonus year." I was delighted to have a year at a school I really did enjoy, with kids and families I really did enjoy, and with fewer responsibilities and time commitments, just pure teaching and doing the fun stuff.

So why have I just moved to Trois-Rivières, Québec for a year? There is a little bit of backstory to fill in here, too. I spent the summers of 2017 and 2018 here at the Université du Québec à Trois-Rivières (UQTR), at the École internationale de français (French Summer School). My particular program was sponsored by the Road Scholar organization, formerly Elderhostel, which I found simply by Google searching French immersion programs in Canada. I knew that I wanted to spend some of the summer of 2017 living in French, and really wanted to do it in Canada just because I like spending time in Canada. So I applied, got in, came here, and really liked it. The city is a clean and safe city of 137,000 with a cool art, music, and theater scene -- right in my wheelhouse! The university has an excellent reputation and the campus is also clean and safe. There were 40 of us and we stayed in on-campus apartments which were like new, four to an apartment with our own bedrooms and shared kitchen, living room, and bathroom. I tested into the advanced class; my instructor was outstanding. And several times a week we had excursions to museums, historical sites, parks, everything the area had to offer. The three weeks also included two Saturday trips to Montréal and Québec City, each about 90 miles away. To explain to people where Trois-Rivières is, I always tell people to imagine a straight line between Montréal and Québec City; Trois-Rivières is at the midpoint.

In 2017 I kept careful track of every hour I spent in class or on a sanctioned educational activity and used that for my teacher recertification hours for 2018.

I enjoyed 2017 so much that I came back for 2018. I was very pleasantly surprised to have the same outstanding instructor again. I had roommates that I really hit it off with, an English teacher from Arlington, Texas, a retired entertainment industry attorney from Los Angeles, and a nurse from the south shore of Boston. And I experienced it differently this time since I wasn't tracking contact hours for recertification credit. I was just here to enjoy being here.

And something else felt different in 2018. I noticed that I felt really comfortable making my way around the city, and I'm not a city person. Once I drove somewhere just one time, I remembered how to get there again with no problem, which isn't like me; usually I'm writing down distances, street names, landmarks, etc. because I know I won't remember and I have no visual aptitude at all. And not only did I feel really comfortable communicating in French with francophones (Canada term for people whose first language is French) on campus and in the city, I enjoyed the challenge. I mean, I was hardly ignorant of French having taught it for 32 years ... but I've spent almost all those 32 years teaching beginners. It never really put my French to the test. And I really enjoyed feeling like I was learning something new every day, as much about Québec culture and history as about the French language.

So that's why I'm back here. I wanted to put myself to the test. I could very easily have stayed at my school and transitioned from my half-time long-term sub job this year to continuing on as a day-to-day substitute teacher. Everything about my Maine life has been great. But I knew that if I settled into a routine next year of subbing and doing other fun stuff, I would be happy and have fun, but there would be no learning, no challenge. And I felt really called to look for a learning and challenge opportunity -- and specifically, here. Many of you reading what I'm about to say will think I'm nuts if you don't already ... but I am feeling very specifically called to be here at the UQTR. Not a specific reason. Just purely intuitive. I wrote a poem about it over the winter called "The Sirens' Song." Everyone reading this who knows me as a Latin teacher will no doubt appreciate the reference to the Odyssey. Here is the poem. (I write all my poetry in English and French.)

la chanson des Sirènes / The Sirens' Song
The ancient Greeks believed in the Sirens
   who sang to sailors to seduce them and draw them to their island.
I know that they exist today.
   But not in Greece.
   They live in the St. Lawrence and St. Maurice rivers
   and I hear their song every day.
Should I answer their call?
Les Grecs de l'Antiquité
   croyaient aux Sirènes
   qui chantaient aux marins
   afin de les séduire et de les attirer vers leur île.
Moi, je sais qu'elles existent aujourd'hui.
   Mais pas en Grèce.
   Elles habitent le fleuve St-Laurent et la rivière St-Maurice
   et j'entends leur chanson chaque jour.
Devrais-je répondre à leur appel?

So I don't know yet why I'm being called to be specifically here. But I'm giving myself until April 2020, the end of the university school year, to find the answer. I'll be taking classes with regular students in the École internationale de français. And I'll be looking for music opportunities too. Some have actually already materialized. That will be the subject of my next post.

So how is it going so far, four days in? I keep thinking that what I'm experiencing must be what it feels like to be an immigrant to the USA. Interacting with a landlord, a bank teller, a post office clerk, a store clerk, and a librarian in French definitely raises the bar from teaching a French I class. I'm soaking up new vocabulary all the time. I'm constantly on websites to find out key words I'll need before I need them. I haven't heard spoken English here even once. But that's part of why I wanted to be here and not Montréal or Québec City. Montréal has a huge English-speaking community and is truly a bilingual French-English city. Québec has loads of tourists. Trois-Rivières has neither tourists nor an anglophone (Canada term for people whose first language is English) community.

Even as much as I wanted this experience, there's an adjustment involved. I haven't understood everything that people have said to me, which is frustrating, and embarrassing if I think I'm answering the question they asked and that wasn't it. And I've found myself engaging in three "cheats":
1. I'm taking the self-checkout when I can instead of interacting with a clerk. I need to stop that.
2. I walked all over a store looking for light bulbs instead of asking a clerk where they were because I wasn't sure of the word for light bulb. I thought "ampoule" but wasn't sure. (It is indeed "ampoule." A lesson to me to trust my instincts -- just like I've been telling students to do for years!)
3. I can actually speak French very well (and am not just saying so myself, I get compliments from francophones on the quality of my French), but my speaking ability exceeds my listening comprehension ability. I have a little hearing loss and am wondering whether that's a factor. So I caught myself in interactions with a store clerk a couple of times speaking much more slowly and hesitantly in French than I do naturally so they would go slowly and speak clearly in return. I need to cut that out.

There is also the adjustment to being away from loved ones. I would have almost certainly been spending these last few days doing things with friends and seeing people I know wherever I go. I'm six hours away now. I have two friends up here, one of whom I met in the Road Scholar program, one whom I've known since University of Maine years. The former is out of town until Monday, the latter is busy moving, so neither is available. So I guess I'm more of a social creature than I realized as I've felt a little lonely and am not used to that at all. That will pass, of course, so I'm not in the least bit worried about it. I just surprised myself.
A really nice moment happened just when I needed it to: I was out for a walk on Thursday and the two Road Scholar program leaders from the previous years were driving by together, saw me, called out and waved, and did a U-turn to come say hi and give me a hug. That felt great at a moment when I'd been feeling a little isolated.

There are probably rules about how long a blog post should be and this is probably it. So I'll leave these stories for the next post: what my living arrangements are like here, photos of my apartment and the neighborhood, and stories about how I've already found musical opportunities.

Two footnotes:
1. There are older posts on this blog that have nothing to do with this Trois-Rivières experience. Feel free to read those and comment on them!
2. I mentioned my poetry. Here is the link to my bilingual poetry site which has a lot of poems inspired by my summer 2018 experience here: http://sites.google.com/view/poetepoetdiane

I like to end my posts with discussion questions, so here we go:
1. Have you ever taken something on just because you felt called to as opposed to having a rational/analytical reason?
2. Have you ever been in a situation where you felt out of your element but knew it was a good learning experience for you?
3. Have you ever surprised yourself with your reaction to something?
I love it when people respond to my post in the comments, and I'd love to get a good discussion going, so please jump in.

I'll try to incorporate more photos in future posts; the following will be a good start!

Is it healthy to "never forget" 9/11?

As I write this on the 15th anniversary of 9/11/2001, there is a front-page story in the Maine Sunday Telegram reporting that we have arrived at the point in history at which high school students do not remember 9/11 because they weren't old enough, or in the case of the freshman class, hadn't been born yet. The question was posed as to how to teach 9/11 as a historical event when we teachers have horrifying memories of it, whereas to the students in class it's just an item on the timeline of U.S. history.

I've been asking myself for years now whether it's healthy to keep opening the 9/11 wound every year. Most of us have had traumatic or deeply upsetting events occur. Would it be considered healthy if we relived every detail every year on the anniversary date? I suspect not. To choose the most devastating example I can think of,  I know people who have lost a child under various circumstances: stillbirth, cancer, accident. Of course they never forget their lost child; indeed, that lost child is always thought of as part of the family. And many families observe a ritual of their own design. One family I know takes balloons to their stillborn daughter's grave site on holidays. Another family goes swimming every year at their son's favorite beach on his August birthday. It is vitally important to these families that the memories of their child not fade. And it is wonderful that they have found ways to find solace and to come together to remember their child. But do they commemorate the grim circumstances of their children's deaths? I would imagine that any families who annually observed and relived the worst moments at the hospital or the scene of the accident would be urged to seek counseling and to heal from their trauma as best they could. And for 9/11, it is time to bring an end to photos and video in the media of the burning towers. 

I commend the efforts of community groups who have taken steps in the direction of refocusing 9/11 by organizing blood drives or events to honor and thank police officers, firefighters, and emergency medical personnel. I am less enthusiastic about reframing it as a patriotic holiday in view of the anti-Muslim sentiment that some elements of society persist in perpetuating. We have Memorial Day, Independence Day, and Veterans' Day on the calendar of U.S. holidays. Little mention is made anymore on the anniversary of December 7, 1941 as a grim event in U.S. history. I personally will be relieved when September 11, 2001 also fades from public attention. Of course everyone processes grief and trauma in their own way and in their own time. As for me, my 9/11/2001 memories have become gray and indistinct like other bad memories from my lifetime, and I choose not to partake of the media coverage. Healing is healthier than obsessing.

Results of my social media survey: who is most vulnerable to abuse? Not whom you might think.

I conducted a survey of volunteers to ask about the impact of social media on their lives.

Demographics
The 25 survey respondents were contacted personally by me or invited by a family member whom I had invited. So it is skewed toward people in Maine or from Maine, all of whom either have a college education or are college students now. Yet I'm comfortable generalizing from the results, as the respondents were evenly dispersed through the age categories as I defined them (18 and younger being the youngest, 75 and older being the oldest), and between men and women (14 women, 10 men).

Noteworthy results
• 68% spend more than an hour on social media every work day or school day.
• 76% spend more than an hour on social media on a day of no work or school.
• 76% occasionally or frequently "get sucked in and find myself on longer than I had planned."
• 64% had suffered some consequence of being on social media too long. Tops on the list: not getting enough sleep. Next: not getting work / schoolwork / tasks done. Third: not spending time with people.
• 80% have unfriended or blocked someone, the most frequent reason being objectionable content of that person's postings. Only one respondent reported a negative consequence of having unfriended someone, a message with an angry reaction.
• 64% have wished they spent less time on social media.
• 40% have felt addicted to social media.
• 20% have experienced a negative impact on a relationship as a result of social media.
• 16% have temporarily deactivated a social media account. 24% have permanently deleted one. Reasons in descending order of frequency: got bored with it or tired of it, to avoid contact with a specific person or group, spending too much time on it.
• When asked in an open-ended question "What do you like about social media?", one respondent said keeping up with breaking sports news. All others mentioned connections with people, especially family.
• In an open-ended question, parents of adolescents reported concern about their children's social media use, not so much time spent as fear of negative consequences.

Harassment
I expected mostly young people to report having been victims of harassment or threats on social media. It wasn't. It was adult women in positions of authority or visibility. All the women respondents who fit that description had a harassment story. Most reported having to involve the police or Facebook administrators. That reflects what I have observed this presidential campaign season as well. Just considering cartoons and memes as opposed to more in-depth writing (which doesn't really have a home on social media anyway), anti-Donald Trump cartoons or memes tend to make fun of his physical appearance, while I have seen much more threatening ones directed at Hillary Clinton, the most disturbing one being a "Hillary Hunting License."

Mention was also made of harassment of gay people, but without further detail. I did not ask respondents to declare their sexual orientation on this survey, only their age and gender identification, so this would suggest a need for further research and investigation.

Solutions
• People of all ages would do well to ask themselves how much of their social media use is driven by the FOMO syndrome, an abbreviation I recently observed which, I eventually learned, stands for "Fear of Missing Out."
• For getting "sucked in" and spending too much time on social media with deleterious results, I would suggest people set limits for themselves and set an alarm on their devices. When the alarm goes off, that's it for the day.
• As with most issues, parents would do well to keep a dialogue going with their children. It is of little use for parents to be Facebook friends with their children for the purpose of keeping abreast of what those children are doing on Facebook as there are ample ways to conceal posts and activity from specific people.
• For all of us: put the gosh-darn phone / tablet / laptop down and go engage with people, have a face-to-face conversation, get outdoors.
• Saving the most serious for last: people who are being harassed need to be vocal about it, report the harassers, and hold them accountable. The fact that women in authority or power are susceptible to this has implications far beyond the scope of this post. And the fact that people who are gay have felt threatened suggests that even though marriage equality has helped the world come a long way, the world has a long way to go.

Conclusion
Social media outlets are here to stay. People like the connection and the immediacy. But I'm not convinced that social media isn't doing as much harm as it is good due to harassment, time taken away from responsibilities and healthy activities, and the effect on relationships. If people will set limits on their use and call out harassment when they experience it or see it, those will be steps in the direction of a solution.

Is social media really antisocial?

A friend of mine received a death threat from a fellow member of a Facebook group who didn't like her post - a death threat which included her home address. The group? Maine Birds. Maine Birds?!?! Aren't bird-watchers usually a pretty gentle and genteel bunch? Despite urging by me and many others to report it to the group admin, to Facebook, and to the police, she didn't because she feared further retribution. She's no longer on Facebook.

One of the stars of the new Ghostbusters movie (a remake with all four Ghostbusters played by women this time) was violently harassed on Twitter. Her offense? Being a black woman playing one of the original Ghostbusters. Despite overwhelming support for her in the face of the abuse in the form of a deluge of hashtags and positive tweets, she's no longer on Twitter.

An owner of two area restaurants posted on social media that open-carry gun users were no longer welcome in her restaurants. The Yelp sites for these two restaurants were overwhelmed with pro-gun posts from all over the country giving her one-star reviews. Presumably none of them had ever eaten there. But they weren't commenting about the food. They just wanted to drive her out of business. They didn't succeed.

Facebook does nothing about outrageous, harassing, or even criminal comments. Facebook has a vested interest in having as many visits and clicks as possible to bring in advertising revenue.

Twitter will disable an account that is disruptive, but only after much damage has been done.
UPDATE: About an hour and a half after I uploaded this post, I discovered an article published that morning on this very topic on the Washington Post site. It references the case of the Ghostbusters actor cited above (not using her name because the poor woman has gotten enough attention over this). https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/the-intersect/wp/2016/07/21/what-it-takes-to-get-banned-from-twitter/?tid=pm_lifestyle_pop_b

Yelp, however, responded with a protocol called "Active Cleanup." This is a practice that started at Yelp last fall. When a business is in the news and people flock to Yelp to post a positive or negative review that has nothing to do with the quality of the product or service but is just taking a stand on the issue, Yelp will delete those reviews.

Social media had great potential to bring people together. But sites like Facebook and Twitter have been taken over by puerile loudmouths whose only interest is in harassing people because they find it amusing. Both sites host an abundance of fake profiles whose sole purpose is harassment. Anyone who stands up to the bullies online becomes a target of abuse as well, and the harassers proceed with utter impunity.

The solution is for sites to exercise some social responsibility like Yelp has and push back. Reviews that only seek to harm the business are deleted. I would like to see Yelp delete the accounts as well, as those individuals are clearly abusing the terms of the site.

Another negative consequence of the proliferation of social media is the unfortunate consequence to news coverage. Users go for the quick take on the "trending topics." In-depth coverage takes second place. Thoughtful reflective posts receive the dismissive comment "tl;dr" which stands for "too long; didn't read." Discussion of issues is reduced to memes which are often juvenile in execution and expression. The goal of memes is to make their subjects look foolish or to stir up anger or hatred. The result is polarization and a lack of nuance in discussions of complex issues. In the online world, there are no complex gray areas; everything is black and white, short and not so sweet.

Finally, people spend significant amounts of time curating their personal social media accounts. I refer not to businesses for whom online advertising has become necessary to be successful, but to individuals and their Facebook, their Twitter, their Instagram, their Snapchat. Everyone with access to one's account is a "friend." Lines get blurred between close friends, acquaintances, and strangers. Superficiality is the standard. People live for likes.

Long ago, a mentor told me that if I pointed out a problem, it was incumbent upon me to suggest a solution. So here goes.

The first issue, online harassment, must be addressed by the sites that host it and by the law. Users must demand a level of civility and must protest when it is breached. The sites must delete the accounts and permanently block the e-mail addresses associated with those accounts, and must prosecute cases of criminal threatening.

The second issue, in-depth news coverage taking a back seat to tweets and memes, should be addressed in the schools. Starting in middle school and continuing through university, students should be required in English and social studies classes to research issues, to read material critically, to identify bias, to articulate a position on an issue, and to defend it with evidence. As a high school teacher, I know that some of that is already going on in some schools and some grade levels. I would like to see all of that become part of the curriculum in all schools. And I would like to see one further step: I would like to see students be taught to respond respectfully and thoughtfully to opinions they disagree with. Making respectful discourse part of the curriculum has great potential to reverse the tide of ever-increasing superficiality and meanness both online and offline.

As for the third issue, the impact of social media on personal lives and relationships, I am going to make that a topic of research starting immediately. Usually, I end these blog posts with "Questions for Discussion." This time, those questions are coming in a survey. If you wish to participate or to read the results, and I haven't been in touch with you by another channel, please comment below. And if anything in this post has struck a chord with you, please comment on that too. I would love to see this post in particular and my blog in general become a source of the respectful and thoughtful discourse that we desperately need to encourage in American society. Looking forward to reading what you share!

The Hobb-Whit, or, California and Back Again

Today I was interviewed by a senior student looking for suggestions about gap year travel. I recommended train travel to him. Then I remembered this story about my Maine-to-California Amtrak travel in December of 2001. Amtrak came to Maine on December 15, 2001, and I left for California on December 22, arriving on December 25. Two conductors told me that to the best of their knowledge, I was the first person to go from Maine to California on Amtrak.

On the trip, I read, or re-read, The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings trilogy since the movies were starting to come out about then. And I was moved to write my travelogue in Tolkien style. This was it, written during my December 2001 travel to and from California. The title is repeated as the title of this blog post.

*****

The Hobb-Whit

or, California and Back Again

Yuletide was approaching, and Diane was desirous of an adventure. For Diane was a Whitmore, and Whitmores are not like Hobbits. Hobbits are an unobtrusive people who love peace and quiet and good tilled earth, with large hair-covered leather-soled feet, of height between two and four feet of our measure. Whitmores, however, are tall and robust, intense and passionate, and endowed with prodigious intellectual capabilities. So when Richard, a Whitmore dwelling in the Land of California, inquired, "Want to come for Christmas?", and Billy, a Whitmore dwelling in the Land of Maine, shire of Falmouth, added his approbation, and Jack, the sire of these three Whitmores, responded with equal enthusiasm as well as provisions for making the journey, plans began to be made. And thus, four days before Yuletide, Diane, along with two backpacks, one red and one blue, clothing, fruit, water, a cellular telephone (a communication tool unknown to hobbits), and a notebook, mounted the silver steed Amtrak and set forth from the shire of Portland.

Almost immediately Diane realized how much more pleasurable travel on the steed Amtrak was compared to mounting the backs of the great silver birds known in the Common Tongue as "airplanes." Amtrak did not necessitate the use of fabric restraining devices locked about the waist. Amtrak's seats were much larger and more widely spaced than that of the airlane, reclined fully, and were set next to large windows. Amtrak was equipped with a "dining car" which offered continuous food and drink which was tasty, if a bit highly priced. And, most pleasurable to Diane, being a Whitmore and thus possessed of prodigious intellectual capabilities, among which a desire to experience new things and see new places, the landscape outside the large window constantly changed.

Early in the voyage, the attendants to the steed Amtrak, known as "conductors" in the Common Tongue, advised Diane that, as the steed Amtrak had first set hoof to ground in the Land of Maine just one week prior, she was in all probability the first person in the history of the great steed Amtrak to journey from the Land of Maine to the Land of California. Diane was pleased but not surprised at this revelation, for Whitmores are accustomed to achieving noteworthy accomplishments.

The first dark cloud on the trip passed over at the approach to the shire of New York. As the city skyline came into view, an abrupt quiet descended in the train. All heads turned toward the southernmost point of the shire, where, on the eleventh day of September past, in shire reckoning, two silver birds had flown into the Two Towers. The now-Towerless silhouette looked strange and otherworldly. No one spoke, but all all were nevertheless united in common thoughts of sadness and grief. The eyes of a few, Diane included, bore tears. Several minutes passed in wordless emotion.

At sunset that night, which was a pinkish-orange over purple mountains, Diane realized that she had passed into the Land of West Virginia, and enjoyed deep contentment at the realization that she had now spent time in every Land which lay to the East of the great river Mississippi.

Next of interest, at the next midday, was the great lake Michigan, which was in fact so great that the other shore could not be seen. Were it not for the absence of a seabreeze, seagulls, and seaweed, one might have thought oneself in fact seaside. But it was nothing of the sea that bordered Lake Michigan, but rather the great shire of Chicago, with its vast Sears Tower, tallest on Earth or Middle-earth.

The steed Amtrak was known by many different names in different lands. Particularly appealing to Diane was his name between the shire of Chicago and the Land of California, the "California Zephyr." As a student of the classics, Diane appreciated that name and thought it a poetic one in the context of a cross-country journey, for Whitmores, like hobbits, are fond of storytelling.

After Chicago, darkness came quickly. She expected sleep to come quickly as well, but instead something most unexpected happened, as at the dinner hour Diane beheld an acquaintance from Maine, whom she had known while employed at the Sign of the Great Boot. They talked until the wee hours, through the Land of Iowa into the Land of Nebraska, when her acquaintance disembarked to join family for the Yuletide holidays. For the rest of the trip, Diane marveled greatly at the coincidence of encountering a Maine acquaintance on a train in the Midwest. Both Earth and Middle-earth are small worlds.

Diane awoke to an utterly different Nebraska landscape, of great brown flatness punctuated very rarely by single farmhouses. This was yet another Land which she beheld for the first time. A short time later she beheld, again for the first time, the Land of Colorado and the magnificent snow-capped Rocky Mountains. Diane had seen the Mountains a few times from the back of a great silver bird, but had never passed through. The steed Amtrak wended its way through mountains and valleys in a serpentine manner. The sharp peaks and dizzying steep drops were marvelously unlike the rounder hills in the Land of Maine. Likewise the creatures she saw from the window, known as "bald eagle," "elk," and "silver fox" in the Coloradan tongue.

As sleep came again, Amtrak passed out of the Land of Colorado to the Land of Utah, of which Diane beheld none except the shire of Salt Lake City with a magnificent white-lit palace of six towers, which her traveling papers identified as the Mormon Temple. She had known of the Mormon influence in the Land of Utah but had not realized that its architecture also dominated, knowing little about Utah and its people, except that they probably were little like either Whitmores or hobbits.

When morning came, Diane awakened on Christmas morning in the desertous Land of Nevada. Amtrak at that point was populated by a mere thirty-six passengers, plus crew, whereas Amtrak was equipped for 289. It was a unique experience, surreal but pleasing, to be wishing Merry Christmas to people who two days prior had been total strangers but were now familiar faces. And by midday again, Amtrak strode into the Land of California, well into the mountains, which, Diane was startled to see, bore several feet more snow than did the Land of Maine.

By eventide, Amtrak had reached journey's end in the Land of the Bay Area of California. Richard of the clan of Whitmores awaited, and soon Diane was in the company of a gathering of Whitmores, dominated by several little hobbit-sized Whitmores who were noisily occupied with piles of new toys under a brightly lit indoor evergreen tree. And that night as she lay in bed, she noticed that for the first time all week, the bed wasn't moving.

Her days in the Land of California were marked by much time among all the Whitmores, both hobbit-sized and full-grown, including a trip to see the shire of San Francisco with its cable cars and Pacific Oceanside atmosphere. It was a most unusual Christmas week, with the hobbit-sized Whitmores playing outside in shorts and the people of the shire mowing their lawns. On her last day, she boarded a silver bird back, which, to her contentment, presented a smooth trip. At her arrival in the shire of Portland, Billy of the Maine Whitmores awaited her return. She boarded his vehicle in pleasure, and, in relief that the journey by silver bird had proceeded uneventfully, said, "Well, I'm back."

Train stories; why I love train travel

I love train travel so much. When I was growing up in Ellsworth, a freight train passed a few blocks from our house on a regular basis. The train whistles went off at precisely 5 a.m. and 5 p.m. I thought that was a very cool sound and developed a very romantic notion of train travel.

My first train experience was a couchette in France, which is a sleeping car with six bunk beds in it. On a school-sponsored trip to France over April vacation, we took an overnight train from Paris to the south, were down there about a week, then took another night train back. I remember my couchettes having some of my travel mates and some strangers. Back then we took that for granted. Now I wonder if couchettes even exist any more. I can't imagine that sharing a room with strangers would ever fly nowadays. What I learned from my couchette experience in France is #1, it's so cool and relaxing just to sit back and watch the countryside roll by, and #2, I sleep great on a train. The subtle motion of a train just zones me right out.

My next train experience was in 2001. That detail is important. My brother out in California invited me to come out for Christmas. He never came our and said so, but I suspect he thought it might be a tough holiday that year. This was three months post-September 11 and absolutely nobody was flying. And Amtrak service came to Maine for the first time on December 15. So I researched Amtrak schedules online and decided on a train adventure. The most direct route from Boston to Chicago (as noted, the train I'm on as I write this) was sold out. So my route was Portland to Boston, get from North Station to South Station, Boston to Washington, D.C., D.C. to Chicago, and Chicago to the San Francisco Bay Area. -- I repeat, if you're thinking this sounds like a cool idea, which it is, note that the Downeaster goes to Boston North Station and trains to anywhere else leave from Boston South Station. Your options for getting from North to South Stations include a 25-minute walk, the subway (called the T in Boston), or a cab.

All of Amtrak's lines have romantic names. For the ones I took on this maiden voyage, Portland to Boston is the Downeaster (actually, that's Brunswick to Boston now), Boston to D.C. is the Northeast Corridor, D.C. to Chicago is the Capitol Limited, and the fabulous two-day trip from Chicago to Emeryville, California is the California Zephyr. (Zephyr, for those who don't know, was the west wind in ancient mythology.)

So on December 22, 2001, off I went. My first impression boarding the train was how easy it was. No security screening, just walk onto the platform, get on the train, and take a seat. And no seat belts on the seats. And they were spacious and comfortable. Very auspicious start.

Then came a landmark moment. The conductors came around to take tickets. At this point, the Amtrak Downeaster had been in service for one week. As my ticket was taken, the conductor asked, "Traveling to Boston today?" and I replied that I was headed a lot farther than that. Two conductors told me that they believed I was the person to do that. So I am (unofficially) the first person ever to travel from Maine to California on Amtrak.

I had the Lord of the Rings books with me since the movies were coming out about that time. So I wrote a travel journal in Tolkien style. I still have it. When I get home, I'll post excerpts on here.

The first very memorable moment came as we were approaching NYC. Reminder: this was three months after 9/11. There is a moment on the Northeast Corridor train when it rounds a turn coming into NYC and the whole of Manhattan appears as a panorama. On this date, at that moment, the whole train car fell completely silent. For many or most passengers, including me, this was the first time seeing NYC without the towers. It was eerily quiet. Some people were tearful. And it stayed that way probably until we got to Penn Station.

The next memorable moment was watching the sun set in the mountains of West Virginia. Just beautiful. Up to that moment, West Virginia was the only state east of the Mississippi that I'd never been to.

Then there was the moment in Nebraska when I saw someone I knew on the train. It was a woman with whom I had worked at L.L. Bean that fall. She told me she had left her husband a few days ago and was heading out to make a new life for herself somewhere else. I never heard from or about her again.

Throughout the course of the trip, I realized that I was seeing everything the United States had to offer. The Atlantic Ocean. Big cities. The Appalachians. The Great Lakes. The prairies. The Rocky Mountains. We went through a mountain. Not around it, through it. We were in a tunnel for ten minutes and were told in no uncertain terms not to change cars while we were in the tunnel. We stopped in Salt Lake City in the middle of the night and I saw the big temple all lit up. I slept through Denver. The Sierra Nevada was snow-covered and beautiful. And we pulled into Emeryville, CA in the Bay Area on Christmas Day.

I didn't return from California to Maine that year by train, though. Flights were super-cheap because no one was flying. So the prospect of saving $$$ overrode any anxiety about flying.

Another of the many cool features of long-distance train travel is the people. Everyone has a story. The way people meet is at meals and in the lounge car. At meals, they just seat you at tables of four in the order you come in. So you are seated with random people. And almost everyone wants to chat and swap stories; it's that kind of vibe. On this 2001 trip, I hit it off with a family of five. The kids ranged from about 17 to about 9. Their name was Hopkins or Hawkins and they were from Pittsburgh. They were also headed to California to spend Christmas with family. The oldest child had her clarinet with her because she was practicing for auditions to major in music at college. So we had a lot to talk about. I had every intention of getting their address to keep in touch, but we got separated on the platform and they were gone. From time to time, I've thought about trying to find them online somehow just to say hi and find out how they've been doing.

I did learn that it's worth it on the long trips to reserve a spot in a sleeper car. I found that I just couldn't sleep in the seats. And I had lots of company on the second night of the California Zephyr sleeping on benches in the lounge car. Be advised, it's significantly more expensive. But three generous and good-quality meals a day are included. I've never had a bad meal on a train. Au contraire, I've had some very good ones. Plus, if you compare the cost of a sleeper car to the cost of driving, which includes gas, tolls, meals, and lodging, you come out about even, plus you get to your destination sooner than you would driving because the train goes through the night.

And just as the boarding process is super-easy, so is the disembarkation. The train stops, you take your bags, and you walk off the train and away. No taxi-ing to the gate, no waiting for the doors to open, almost no waiting for other passengers since there are multiple exits instead of just one, and no baggage claim.

Since my inaugural transcontinental trip, I've been to Boston on the Downeaster countless times. I've taken the Acela Express from Boston to NYC and Washington, D.C. for conferences. I've taken the Silver Star from NY to Orlando and plan on doing that again in February 2015.  And I've taken the Lake Shore Limited from Boston to Toledo and back with a bus connection in Dearborn, MI. As noted twice, at the risk of repeating myself, I am on the Lake Shore Limited westbound as I write this.

On all of those trips I've seen beautiful views of all parts of the country and met neat people. I think the common thread among us trainiacs is that we don't want to deal with the stress of flying, we are laid back and appreciate the slower pace, and we enjoy the view of the countryside. My dinner companions last night were a retired high school science teacher from St. Louis, his wife who was a retired children's librarian, and the production manager from the Ensemble Studio Theater off-Broadway. We did not lack for topics of conversation!

The one thing to be aware of is that with long-distance train travel, as with car travel, things happen and arrival times are approximate. So you need to be aware of that and plan accordingly. It's part of the laid-back nature of train travel. It definitely beats dealing with stressed-out people at airports!

Update: Greetings from another romantically named train, the Wolverine. I'm adding 6 extra train hours to the trip back to Maine so as not to be hanging out in the Toledo bus station from 11:30 p.m. to 3:30 a.m. Here's another hint about regional trains: like on European trains which have first and second class, it's not that much more expensive to go first class (Amtrak calls it business and coach instead of first and second), and you get a bigger seat and more space. Plus a free newspaper and bottle of water. Here's a photo of business class on the Wolverine.

And I'm in the back row. These are single seats on the left. So it's a pretty small cozy environment in business class.

Update to the update: I'm eastbound for home now, or will be once the Lake Shore Limited departs for Boston any minute now. Here are some photos of a "roomette" sleeper car for 1-2 people.

- standing in the door looking left

- standing in the door looking right

Yes, that's a toilet under the brown lid. And yes, all the windows and doors to the roomette have a privacy curtain. Sleeper car passengers who want nothing to do with the in-room toilet just walk to a regular car. There's also one shower for the whole sleeper car.

This is the room with the top bunk pulled down. I know it's hard to see much, but that's the best I can get with a narrow hallway and tiny door. I always just throw my stuff up there. There is a place at the end of the car to leave luggage, but since there's just one of me, I keep everything here. When I'm in the dining car or just walking around, or stepping off the train which is allowed if there is at least a five-minute stop and if they tell you it's o.k., I take my purse and iPad with me. But there's an attendant in the car and it has always felt safe.

And here is what the roomette looks like when it's not made up for sleeping; two seats like this facing each other.

The only downside is that you can't open the train windows. So those five-minute fresh air breaks (most of the attendants call them "smoke breaks") are most welcome.

Update Thursday 8/14/2014, 9:15 a.m.: Good morning from the Ohio-Pennsylvania border. Going back to what I said about the need to be very flexible about time, the train is a little over two hours behind schedule. The scheduled arrival in Boston is 9:10 a.m. The last bus to Portland is at 11:15 p.m.  At Albany there is about a 30-minute stop while this loooooooong train (about 18 cars) splits in two with half going to Boston and half to NYC. When I see what time we leave Albany, I'll know whether I have to plan on a night in a Boston hotel. Obviously I'd rather not have the extra expense, but I'm very grateful that I can afford not to stay in South Station in the wee hours untl the first bus at 5:45 a.m. - although if we get very far behind, which happens very occasionally, and I would only be at South Station for an hour or two, I could manage that. - And while I'm on the subject of gratitude for having options, when I walked through six coach cars a while back to get to breakfast, I saw a whole bunch of people who looked very weary. Clearly they were experienced coach sleepers as they had brought pillows and blankets, and some folks were curled up on two seats. So I'm grateful for having slept great in the roomette, a lot better than I would have in a seat.

I wish I could post photos of all the cool countryside views, but photos out the train windows don't come out. Too bad, especially not to be able to share things like a beautiful sunrise over Lake Erie on the trip out, a stunning sunset last night over fields in southwest Michigan, and a just-beginning-to-wane moon over the city of Chicago as we departed last night.

Update a week after returning: I heard from a lunch companion who had been taking the Lake Shore Limited for 20 years that it is almost always significantly late. Good to know for the future.

My dinner companions very late the evening of Thursday 8/14 were another collection of colorful characters, all about my age. Across from me was a man who claimed to have been to 65 countries and seemed to have the photos on his phone and the stories in his head to validate that claim, but was very vague about the circumstances that took him to all those countries. Plus, he said he only speaks English.  Next to me was an olive and milk farmer (interesting combination) from near Chico in northern California. He farms with his four sons ages 21 to 15, and with several Mexicans whom he pays well and treats well because he wants them to have a good life. His wife left him in an amicable divorce because she was "tired of living in a house that smells like cow shit." At the next table across the aisle from me was a very pleasant gentleman who had been along for the whole trip and who was wearing a pretty gold necklace, a woman's blouse, and a nice denim skirt. (Yes, I'm sure it was a guy due to the male pattern baldness, Adam's apple, and voice.) His male companion was kind of crotchety, but the guy dressed in women's clothing was very nice. And the best one of all was the woman kitty-corner from me. She was born and raised in Lewiston, Maine, spoke French before she spoke English, and was in her 80's (didn't look it). She said her maiden name was Charlotte Gélinas (I wouldn't forget that detail, my mom's name was Charlotte) and that her mother's family was Philippon. She lives in Chicago now where she does stand-up comedy. Her favorite routine, which she performed part of for us, was about the word "fuck." The gist of her routine: why does a word for a pleasant activity get used in unpleasant ways? "Fuck you." "I don't give a fuck." "I really fucked that up." When I got home, I Googled "Charlotte comedy Chicago" hoping to find a video or article or something. No luck. Too bad; there was something about a very elderly woman dropping F-bombs all over the place that was hilarious.

For discussion: do you have any train stories to share? If you've never been on a train, where would you like to go? Want to travel with me sometime? :)

Toronto travelogue: not just baseball

One day this past winter, which was a particularly brutal one, my friend Danielle and I were chatting, me in Portland and her in Calgary. Danielle is a very enthusiastic traveler and has been all over the world. In 2011 she expressed an interest in seeing Boston, so I offered to play tour guide, and of course the tour included a Red Sox game. Interestingly, the visiting team was the Toronto Blue Jays and the promotion was Nova Scotia Day, both of which were appropriate because Danielle is Canadian and we met at a French immersion program in Nova Scotia. Back to the chat this past winter: at the point of this particular chat, I must have been fed up with winter and missing baseball, because I asked her completely on the spur of the moment if she would be interested in seeing the Sox and Jays in Toronto this summer. Her immediate response: "YES!!!" So we settled on the July series, I made my reservations, and she made hers. And when my alarm went off at 3:45 a.m. on Tuesday 7/22, I made my way to the Portland bus station and to Boston.

I spent all my bus time, wait time at the airport, and time in the air learning about Toronto. Before the morning of the trip, I knew almost nothing about Toronto. The limit of my knowledge was that it's the largest city in Canada; the Toronto Blue Jays play there; their park is the Rogers Centre, formerly the Skydome; there are hotel rooms in the Skydome which face directly into the ballpark, which became a topic of some notoriety in the late 1990's when a couple in a hotel room decided to indulge in an activity significantly more intimate than attending a baseball game and chose the window as the site of said activity; and that my favorite band, Barenaked Ladies, is from Toronto, as was a band I followed a long time ago when they were still together, Moxy Fruvous.That was the extent of my Toronto knowledge. So I used a 12-year old Lonely Planet Toronto Travel Guide and a Toronto app I found while waiting at Logan and read about the history and the neighborhoods.

I landed in Toronto and as always made my way quickly through Canadian customs. I have never had a problem on the Canadian side of the border. The U.S. side ... well, that's for another blog post. The funny part, though, came when Danielle and I tried to meet up. Her flight was due about the same time as mine and indeed we arrived within a few minutes of each other. But we quickly figured out that we had flown into different terminals. I thought it was because hers was a domestic flight and mine was technically international, but she says it's because we were on two different airlines (Air Canada for me, WestJet for her.) Through a flurry of texts, we finally found each other, and decided to take public transportation to downtown. This revealed the first two of many things that Danielle and I discovered we had in common as travelers: we don't mind heading out on busses and subways to save a few bucks, and we're good at figuring out public transportation. After we went as far as we could on the subway, we struck out walking to the hotel. It was a lot longer than it looked on the map! I've since looked it up and we walked over two miles, Danielle with a rolling suitcase and me with everything in a good-sized backpack.

We stayed at the Hilton Garden Inn four blocks from the Rogers Centre. We lucked out by having a young woman check us in who, after she did all the check-in stuff, switched to concierge mode and was SUPER-helpful with city info. We knew we wanted to take the hop-on-hop-off bus tour around the city. My travel-time research had yielded the info that there was more than one company providing that service. She recommended one whose tour included a free 45-minute boat cruise around the Toronto Islands (which I didn't know existed until that morning). So we thought that sounded like fun. We found a place to eat dinner early, an Italian restaurant near the hotel, went swimming in the hotel pool, and called it a night early knowing that we were going to pack a lot into the next day.

Next morning: hotel buffet breakfast and off to the tour. It was a full two hours around the downtown area and that really helped us get oriented. It was a double-decker bus and we were able to get seats on the open-air top deck. The two guides, one for each hour, one young woman and one young man, were dynamic, funny, and full of info. The other tourists on the bus were just about as multi-national as it was possible to be. I think all continents were represented. That was one of the themes of the week; Toronto is supposed to have the biggest mix of nationalities and languages in the world, and I observed that about every place we went except probably the baseball game. I kept thinking of Toronto as New York without the edge; huge financial district, huge entertainment district, ethnic neighborhoods. The only thing it had that I don't believe NYC has is an old neighborhood analogous to Vieux-Québec/Old Quebec.

There was something else Toronto had that I've never seen anywhere else except San Francisco: a dedicated gay village, what our tour guide called the "gayborhood," known locally as Church-Wellesley Village for the intersection in the center. (Oops, forgot about Canadian spelling, make that "gaybourhood.") Toronto had had its Pride Week a few weeks before, and apparently it's the largest Pride gathering in the world. It had a very different vibe from what I remembered of the Castro district in SF. I visited San Francisco for the first time in 1987 during my first trip to California for my brother Richard's wedding. It was April school vacation, so I went for the whole week, and I had a few days on my own while Richard was working or busy and the rest of the family hadn't gotten there yet. It was the beginning of the AIDS crisis and I remember the Castro district having a subdued, hard edge to it, and being just about all men, no women. Not Church-Wellesley in 2014. There were rainbow flags, signs, and murals everywhere. (Toronto loves murals. They were everywhere, not just here.) There was a mix of men and women. There was a few identical permanent installations. And I saw a Pride 2014 guide and learned a new abbreviation. I've seen LGB, and LGBTQ, but do you know what all the letters represent in LGBTTIQQ2SA?  I didn't! As Danielle said, "If they're going to include allies, why don't they just say 'people'?" I have to give Toronto Pride credit for inclusivity, though! And I will admit that even after learning what the letters stood for, I didn't know what all those terms meant. (Answer key: lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, transsexual, intersex, queer, questioning, two-spirited, and allies.)

The rainbow helix in this photo appeared to be a permanent installation.

Then it was on to the Rogers Centre for the Toronto Blue Jays vs. the Boston Red Sox, the event that had sparked this whole trip. I had on a Sox t-shirt and was in a distinct minority! Very active Jays fan base. As I always do when I visit a park for the first time, I got there early and walked all around it. Lovely park. 

Another thing I always do at a park new to me is take a "view from my seat" photo. This is it. Don't be fooled by the empty seats; it was about 45 minutes before the game time. The place was eventually packed.

Must be nice to just close the roof when it's raining and not deal with rain delays and rainouts. The Tuesday tour guide said it takes 20 minutes and ten dollars' worth of electricity to open or close the roof. I checked out the whole concourse. Nice and clean and wide with great sidelines. Planned on dinner there. This is probably the only MLB park that has poutine on the menu, so chicken poutine (which probably isn't strictly poutine) was my choice. The game ... well, David Ortiz hit a three-run homer in the top of the 1st, I got all excited thinking it was going to be a great game for the Sox ... and the pitching was lukewarm and they lost 6-4.  But it was still a cool experience. I love getting to know a new park. We had terrific seats high above home plate ... for $14!!! Huge crowd, very well-behaved; that Canadian politeness again! Fenway faithful will be impressed to know that the parking lot a block away cost $8. Not per hour, for the whole game. And we had just a four-block walk back to the hotel. As always, I'm a purist who can do without all the electronic entertainment on the Jumbotron and speaker system, but I understand that MLB is marketing to people who want loud stimulating entertainment and that they're doing it to fill seats. And one more piece of personal trivia: I made sure I knew the Canadian national anthem in English so I could sing it, since I only knew it and had sung it in French! Never did an American sing the Canadian national anthem with more gusto. Yes, and the Star-Spangled Banner too, in case you're wondering.

Thursday, our last full day, started with breakfast at Cora, a popular Canadian breakfast and lunch chain with delicious food. Not Cora's, Cora. For past and present Latin students, that's nominative case, not genitive. :)  Then the free-with-our-tour-bus-ticket 45-minute cruise around the Toronto Islands, which, as noted above, I didn't know existed until 48 hours prior. Nice intro to what is an interesting combination of a small airport, a tiny village of 300 (I think) year-round residents and a school!!!, parkland, cafés, and beaches. -- including a clothing-optional beach. I absolutely love it that the tour guides talked about the nude beach and it was on the map and everyone was utterly matter-of-fact about it. Between the gay village and the clothing-optional beach, I have to say that Canadians are quite free of hang-ups. About sexuality and the human body, anyway. - although the tour guide did share one funny fact. It is legal in the city of Toronto to be nude on a beach, but illegal in the province of Ontario to swim nude. So people can be on the beach nude, but not go into the water that way. I wonder how they enforce it. I wonder whether that's even possible. No, the boat cruise did not go to the west side where the clothing-optional beach is. There are regular ferry boats from the mainland to the islands, so we decided to come back later - for the rest of the island, not the clothing-optional beach! First we had to do what was #1 on Danielle's list, and something we were both scared to death of even though neither one of us admitted it to the other until after we did it ... go up the second tallest building in the world, the CN Tower. That's CN as in Canadian National railroad, not CNN as in news. Someone said that people make that mistake all the time.

We had gotten our tickets ahead so were spared a wait in line. We still had to clear an interesting gate which I thought was security but actually blew puffs of air at you from head to foot to "clear any particles." No idea what they were clearing or why that's important. We didn't have to wait too long for the elevator, then when we got on, we saw that one whole side was a window and we got to watch the whole 58-second ride up the equivalent of 114 stories to the observatory. I didn't look. I hate heights. I was holding on to a handrail and realized shortly after liftoff that my hands were cold and clammy. Then when we got to the top and the observatory ... THAT was COOL. First thing I looked at was the Rogers Centre below. Here's a photo of what a 50,000-seat ballpark looks like from 114 stories up. 

The Sox and the Jays were playing a day game at the time, not that you could tell! At one point, we heard a big cheer. The Jays had apparently scored. Story of my life this week for three out of the four Sox games in Toronto. :(  A big cheer sounds very cool from 114 stories up. The observatory had two levels, one windowed in and one open with mesh where the windows would be. There was also about a twelve-square-yard "glass floor" where you could stand and look down 114 stories under your feet. No way. Danielle did, though. The other thing that kept freaking me out was feeling the tower sway ever so subtly. I did fine for awhile, but after awhile I was ready to head down. Did I mention that I hate heights? I hate heights so much I don't know how I manage to fly anywhere. But I was very glad I did it, not only for the cool experience of seeing so much of the landscape, especially the ballpark, from 114 stories up, but I was glad that I didn't let fear of heights stop me from doing something that was perfectly safe. I regret not having gone up the Eiffel Tower when I had the chance just because of fear of heights, so I've promised myself not to let that happen again.

We grabbed lunch right there in the cafeteria of the base of the tower because we had one more big goal. We really wanted to go back to the Toronto Islands, whose existence I had only known of for 48 hours. It's about a 20-minute ferry ride over, so we walked to the ferry terminal and didn't have a long wait at all. For southern Mainers, it felt very much like going from Portland to Peaks Island, but without the ocean fragrance!

The Toronto Islands, as noted several paragraphs earlier, are a combination of a big park, beaches, lots of little cafés, and a tiny year-round community - with a school, even! I looked for the school but didn't find it, which gives me an excuse to go back someday! So we walked and walked and walked ... until we discovered the rental for bicycles, tandem bikes, and quadricycles. It was 4:45 p.m. and they only rented them until 6 p.m., so we moved fast, acquired a quad, and away we went. 

We went up and down a big garden, the little side streets in the inhabited park, and a gorgeous seawall on the side away from the city -- which, again for southern Mainers, reminded me of riding bicycles around the back side of Peaks. We got stopped and asked to turn around at one point because they were filming a reality show for the Food Network.

We got the quad back just in time and decided to grab dinner at the restaurant by the ferry landing. It looked like a nice restaurant on the outside but was more of a snack bar menu. We ordered and had a seat on the waterfront. Here's a photo with the Rogers Centre and the CN Tower in the middle since they pretty much dominate the landscape.

There was one more proof of the seemingly uninhibited nature of Canadians. A group of five, two men and three women, sat down at the next table which, like ours, was at the water's edge and directly faced the ferry landing. They were all about 40ish, suburban and well-dressed. We didn't pay much attention to them until the ferry was departing, people on the ferry and people at the restaurant were waving to each other ... and one of the women at the next table stood up and saluted the crowd by pulling up her shirt and bra. The response from the ferry was quite approvingly enthusiastic! We were both under the impression that she knew people on the ferry, but nevertheless, everyone on the port side of the ferry got to partake of the topless farewell, which didn't seem to concern her. So let's see, a historic sexual encounter at the Skydome that is still talked about two decades later, a festive gay village, a clothing-optional beach, and flashing the ferry. The cold must freeze Canadians' inhibitions or something. Definitely makes for great travel blog postings.

Our return ferry left close to sunset, which yielded more pretty views of the city skyline. Even though we'd had a very full day, it was beautiful weather outside, our last night there, and the harbourfront (yes, US friends, that's how it's spelled up there, along with colour, favour, etc.) was just so pretty and appealing. So, tired feet notwithstanding, we walked all the way back to the hotel so as not to miss out on one possible minute of lakefront time.

My day started at 4:30 a.m. with a cab ride to the airport. Too early for public transportation. To my utter surprise, I cleared U.S. customs before leaving the Toronto airport. It's all set up right there! I answered nearly all the questions on a touchscreen, the agent spent about ten seconds with me before stamping my passport and wishing me a good flight, and no one ever looked in my bag. What a contrast to the harrowing experience I had last April driving into Michigan after cutting across southern Ontario after driving from Maine. There was something about my car they didn't like and they ordered me to leave my keys and all my belongings except my cash in the car and to step into a windowless building where I was interrogated while they searched it. Really scary even though I knew they wouldn't find anything because there was nothing to find. Give me the Toronto screening any day.  Back to this trip, the flight to Boston left promptly and was quick and uneventful. As with the flight there, I enjoyed giving my French a workout as all the Air Canada cabin announcements were in English followed by French. We arrived in Boston, I disembarked, looked for the signs pointing me to customs ... and there weren't any! They really did do it all at the Toronto airport! So I went straight to ground transportation and caught the bus for home.

Toronto plans for the future:
• more time on the Toronto Islands, especially to find the school
• exploring some of the international neighborhoods
• seeing a show at the Princess of Wales or Royal Alexandra Theatre
• more baseball and perhaps a hockey game
• more walking! It's a very walkable city.

I've learned that Danielle and I are great travel partners because we have common interests, comparable energy and activity levels, and a keen interest in getting out and seeing things. And we're both fluent in French, which may come in handy someday!

For discussion: How do you like to get acquainted with a new city or destination? Have you ever done anything, either while traveling or at home, that you were afraid of but did anyway because you didn't want to miss the experience? What makes a person an ideal travel partner for you?