Familiar Terrain

Before moving on to Quebec, here's a brief update on our return trip to Montreal:

Early in the morning, we had to leave Long Beach by train and then take the Greyhound bus from Manhattan back to Montreal. We were somewhat familiar with Manhattan, so we knew our way around right away. As soon as we entered the bus station, George* (*name changed) stood before us with a donut bag in hand, the bus driver we trusted who had previously taken us from Montreal to New York. 'Oh, Hi George! - How are you? Uh, are you going to drive the bus from NY to Montreal today? Yes? Oh, uh, great!'

Just like on the way there, no passenger could take a seat without first being thoroughly scolded by George. At the first stop, a new passenger who had boarded refused to tolerate this treatment, sparking a dispute with the agitated bus driver. All passengers watched eagerly, and just as they were about to place bets on the outcome of the argument, the game ended as abruptly as it had begun with a draw. Both suddenly referred to each other as 'brother,' expressed their love for each other 'I love you, brother,' 'I love you, too and I respect you,' and almost embraced. Mrs. Waas wondered if this absurd drama was included in the ticket price or if an additional fee was now required. However, she kept these thoughts to herself, as one never knows what psychiatric medications George is taking and whether such behavior is part of the side effects profile. Mrs. Waas didn't want to be impolite and chose to remain silent.

From then on, the window pane next to where we were sitting in the bus was more entertaining than George. Water had collected in this double-glazed pane. And we're not talking about a few drops - no, a column of water almost 10cm high had formed, swaying back and forth as the bus moved. By observing this water level, we could immediately tell whether we were going uphill or downhill, and if George had driven more evenly, we could have even measured the slope angle. It was very strange that there was a distinct 'splat' sound in the pane when the bus braked abruptly.

After 10 hours of travel, there was a big splash! - and we had arrived.

After so many new experiences in recent weeks, it was nice to return to a familiar hostel (our hostel in Montreal). That evening, we prepared a small snack in the communal kitchen and then fell soundly asleep, not with a 'splash' but with a 'plop'