¡¡TRAIN!!

ONTARIO

DAY ONE – Toronto – Capreol – Elsas

The Man in Seat 61 recommends staying at the Toronto York Fairmont Hotel just across the road from the Union Square Railway station. Don’t bother. You can go for breakfast. You can have a brilliant buffet with everything you can imagine eating in a morning in an attractive surrounding with a server who cares for you and happily accepts a tip of five dollars as though he really is grateful. However, other aspects of this phenomenally expensive railway hotel are snooty to the max. For instance, the electric jug for your cup of tea is hidden in the cupboard under the television – probably because you are expected to be dressed in tinsel and swanning about the foyer. You, like me, might prefer a quiet night in where you have to fill your little electric jug in the bathroom sink and then wander about for half an hour to ascertain the best position to plug it in without hazard. Eventually you turn the rubbish bin upside down to make a plinth wide enough to boil water.

Just so you know, Man in Seat 61 fans, one problem with the Toronto York Fairmont is the main entrance and the ungainly approach with luggage. When the door people are not there one has to lug luggage upstairs – unbelievable in this day and age – no lift or secret method of transporting heavy bags from street level to reception. And down again. I had another tipping incident. I received a Death Stare. I don’t want to go into it.

That night I paid $25 Canadian plus taxes to watch a film, Challengers, that I could have watched for free on the aircraft from the UK. I enjoyed it very much. Fantastic energy, driving soundscape brilliant: music, conversation and ball spring, racquet smash, grunts and screams all weaving in and through crisp close ups and slow mo. Relentless, exciting, sexy and fun. Good work, Luca Guadagnino. Keep going.

A good breakfast before boarding the train is pleasant. You will have to carry your bags to the check-in counter so you need your strength.

I was quickly herded into a queue and appeared to be one of the first on the train. Later I discovered that I’d bypassed the waiting room where most people were apparently given some sort of boarding lecture. Not sure how I managed that – I did have to sit and wait for the car attendant to appear – not like I was late or anything. Try for the waiting room. It will set you up.

There was a slight tang of sewage through the air. The toilets no longer open directly onto the tracks. For the last ten to fifteen years (according to my steward) blackwater is collected in a septic tank and disposed of – perhaps part of that is the refueling exercise?

I was ready for four days on the train. All I needed was a desk in a quiet space and all would be well.

Each carriage had an attendant – I’ll call mine steward. Upon boarding he gave me a safety lecture and instructed me how to lower the bed (already made up and super comfy) over the toilet and lock it down. I was able to do this small task by myself so I rarely saw my steward again. For others who had a more public seat during the day there were curtains at night and the car carer had to make all those beds up during the dinner season. One person took the upper bunk (no window!) and the other had the lower and could stare out at rushing lights, glimmering waters and flickering trees all night long.

We had to stay in our little cabins until our turn at the OH&S talk was finished. Whilst waiting it was good to discover hooks and things to utilise in our four-days stay. The berth really is a little cupboard but I had packed sensibly and my small pack fitted nicely under the seat. All very comfy and sturdy and feels solid, made in the fifties when things were meant to last. I faced the engine so the window to my left revealed all the pine trees and glittering lakes sliding past. In my room was a toilet, cunningly disguised as a seat. I was wary of lifting that particular lid and on the first day chose to use the public lavatories out in the highways and byways. But eventually having a private loo in the middle of the night proved too convenient and the sprung-loaded bed never did crash down on my head. It is a game of Tetris to put the stuff away before peeling the hefty bed down and clicking it into place. Realised I had to be careful of twisting when I pulled the arrangement down after a three am wee. CORE! BRACE!

Once stowed and lectured, I marched down to the end of the train for my constitutional only to be told off by a Prestige Staff that as a lower passenger I was not allowed in a ‘Chateau’ before 16:00. However, during the sortie I learned just how long the train was, how many retired folk were on board, and where the games tables were. Sadly, nowhere for me to work, no private business centre. The steward reckoned he could find me a fold down table – they’re not built into the private chair in the little cupboard berth. This is not an aircraft. ‘Great,’ I said, hopefully.

I did see folk, who usually used a walker in real life, making their way slowly down the corridors but these passages are not wide enough to accommodate mobility aids. There are trip hazards between the cars and a slow person may well have a trail of other humans behind them, all heading to a meal at the same time. A few folk chose to have their meals bought to them so all eventualities can be catered for.

The train cars smoothly engaged, feeling the strength of the engines, and towing began. Very calm after my walk to the end. Even the officious woman sweeping me away couldn’t spoil my walk. There’s unwritten rules on the train and you only find out if you cross the line. However, in my unruly rampage, I discovered the Canadian One was MUCH more luxurious than my Chinese train in 2019 had been. I passed visible innocent people lounging in facing seats that I assumed would fold down at night. Deeply grateful I’d spent the extra money for a private cupboard and lying down bed.

At 11AM the first call for lunch came. Very pleased to have been given the second call.

And the train rolled on.

As we left Toronto, the industrial buildings quickly gave way to parklands and on to swamps.

Another surprise waited for me in my little cabin. Resting on the sink was an information pamphlet called, ‘Guide Voyage Toronto – Vancouver. Le Canadien’. Luckily, I had a year of Duolingo French to rely upon to translate this guide but even luckier was sighting the English version copies that were scattered throughout the train. Many of our fellow passengers were French speakers and the entire journey was bilingual.

Taking photos of the engines is not as easy as it was on the TransSiberian (read about my adventure on that train here). Here in Canada we were allowed a daily ‘Fresh Air Stop’, which were actually refueling stops at secret destinations. This is as close as I got (by sheer ignorance) and after that there were security guards. Two engines are required to pull two hundred-ish tourists plus more than sixty staff up and down mountains.

Joseph Brant (Thayendanegea) was a Mohawk war chief and diplomat during the American Revolution, loyal to the British, and fought for indigenous causes for the rest of his life. He also owned slaves.

The dining car was fun. White table cloths – nice moving view – and convivial company. First lunch found convivial single lady table talk. Nat, on holiday from finances in Oxford and a large kitchen extension project in a Tudor house was vegan. Ruth from California, grieving for a family member, recovering from medical treatments, nursed a secret birthday on that very day. Poor Ruth cowered away from my incessant comments about birthdays. She did receive an overloaded and heavily decorated piece of chocolate cake as a result. But come dinner she avoided me like the plague. The waiters were more understanding and let her quiet birthday evening meal pass unremarked.

No longer the only vegan in the village, Nat was plant based by necessity, as she is seriously lactose intolerant. She suffered a grim reaction after eating a so-called ‘vegan’ chocolate cake. Not sure VIA rail really put much thought into the vegan menu side of the TransContinental.

Lunch was veggie burger with salad, while dinner was veggie stir fry with rice. Saw that one again for breakfast plus spud and tofu which was considerably better than the dinner version. Luckily, I always carry vegan choc and fruit so no dessert was no problem. Later in the day caught up with Iain from Edinburgh (the man from Niagra!) and Nat and the three of us wandered about the train – stopping to chat in all the public areas. Nat recommended a British veg cook Substack which Iain promptly sent off to one of his daughters in Scotland. Immediately she responded with, ‘Met some nice people, then?’ Come on! The train is FULL of them!

The young man ostensibly looking after me (concierge?) stopped me in the corridor. He had a harried look. He said he had not had luck in finding the desk that might fit over the cabin chair for me. He knew of one passenger who had meals in his cabin and he might be able to work out a time-share for the table unit. Would that be agreeable? I assured him if he could work that out then I would indeed be open to sharing. (I would even wipe any gravy away myself.) I did not hold my breath.

In the evening – sun slanting through the trees, beech, maple, fir, lighting up gold and shadow straight stems. Nothing old in these forests. Where we stopped to refuel, Iain, who had the guidebook, told us the area used to be a mine and the regrowth entirely sown by birds and wind. Why wouldn’t the mining company take responsibility for rewilding?

Hypnotised by containers flipping past my window. Random gusts of wind between the boxes like waves on a pebbly beach. There is an art to taking a good photo from a moving train. Some people have it and some are just arty. I understand some people may get a little impatient with too much art so I’ll just get on with our trip through this giant province. Or you could listen to that Canadian mega-star, Céline Dion singing about trains …

Regarde-moi Celine Dion English lyrics