CANADIAN TRAINS

            Switching Train Systems from Amtrak to ViaRail

            When first planning our trip, I expected that we could make a smooth, direct connection between our trans-American eastern terminus and a starting point for our trans-Canadian westward return. I imagined a straight shot due north from New Haven through Boston to Montreal or Quebec City. Reality proved much more complicated. Multiple south-to-north passenger-train routes existed in the past. But in today’s grid, we had to backtrack from New Haven to New York City and then take a 12-hour/550-mile ride far to the west on the Amtrak “Maple Leaf” from Manhattan to Toronto. Rolling stock was provided by Amtrak all the way, but a Canadian crew replaced their American counterparts at the Niagara border crossing. 

            At that border, we had to disembark, gather our luggage and wheel it across for Customs clearance on the Canadian side. There were brief but serious interviews, inspecting our passports and asking about our detailed Canadian travel plans.  

            This lengthy detour meant that, if we wanted to visit French Canada, we had to book a separate ViaRail loop 500 miles eastward from Toronto. We wondered what diplomatic, commercial or contractual impasse had forced this gigantic runaround.

            Our Overall Impressions of Canadian Trains

            We rode Canadian ViaRail trains from Toronto to Quebec City, Montreal and back, then from Toronto through Jasper to Vancouver. As an overall assessment, we found them far superior to American Amtrak. The cars were more modern, the roadbeds better maintained, the rides more smooth and swift (up to 90mph), and the food incomparably better. Canadian train meals offered inventive menus and local ingredients cooked on the spot in two-chef kitchens attached to the dining cars. (Amtrak meals were mostly processed, prepackaged and then microwaved.) ViaRail meals were served with real dishes, glasses and silverware; Amtrak meals, with disposable plastic plates, cups and utensils.

            There were some offsetting Canadian-train disadvantages: notably, more numerous and lengthy siding pauses to let higher-priority freight trains pass, and the requirement that large suitcases be checked in remote baggage cars, rather than stowed accessibly near passenger cabins as on Amtrak. But the bottom line is that we greatly enjoyed all the train rides on this trip, the Canadian ones even more than the American.

SWINGING EAST TO FRENCH CANADA

            My Historical Interest

            I’d always been interested in the history and culture of French Canada, ever since reading frontier conflict sagas starting with James Fennimore Cooper in junior high school. For this trip, two advance readings helped put me in context.

            Willa Cather published SHADOWS ON THE ROCK in 1931. Her setting was colonial Quebec in 1697. This steep promontory had been selected as New France’s headquarters by explorer Samuel de Champlain nearly 100 years earlier. In the novel, the Catholic Church was a dominant presence; the archbishop’s jurisdiction extended to Mexico. What moved me most about this tale of outpost isolation was the opening scene. The final seasonal fleet was sailing from Quebec to return to France. It carried furs for sale and letters to loved ones in the mother country. Soon the St. Lawrence would freeze, blocking nautical passage. The colonists would be cut off for six chilling months, until the spring thaw. This was the far side of the world.

            Annie Proulx published BARKSKINS in 2016. Her sprawling chronicle of French Canada began in almost the identical year as Cather’s but carried the regional narrative up to present times. Broadening her geographical scope as well as her time line, Proulx covered overlapping conflicts: between French and British colonial powers; British and new American settlers and governments; European loggers and Native American hunter/gatherers. She gave particular focus to les voyageurs, intrepid fur-traders penetrating deep up the St. Lawrence and Mississippi Rivers, across the Great Lakes. Proulx’s sweep is a bit thin on character development but encyclopedic with geographical, anthropological, economic and political research.

            Visiting Vieux Quebec

            Quebec City was one of the highlights of the entire trip for both of us. Its historical center’s walled compactness, narrow sloping streets and stone architecture were familiar and welcoming to us after having lived near ancient Amelia in Italy for 16 years.

            We began to read French signs and hear the spoken language, summoning long-ago lessons. I was interested to learn that the local dialect traced its origins to the original colonists’ Normandy roots, then preserved by the linguistic isolation imposed after British conquest in 1760. Modern Parisians tend to sneer at Quebecois pronunciation but I was charmed by the antique sounds.

            Another engaging historical relic was the Canadian Army regiment posted in the town-top Plains-of-Abraham fortress. Their uniforms and ranks are derived from Britain; but they’re the only Canadian unit whose operating language remains French.

            Our storied hotel was harmonious with the nostalgic spirit of our visit. Le Manoir d’Auteuil traced its lineage to 1775, with a couple of fires and art deco renovations along the way. Only 42 feet wide, it was anchored into a steep hill. During most of its history, the structure was the principal residence for a succession of well-to-do families. After its conversion to a hotel, Edith Piaf had been a regular guest. Our snug room was the former family chapel.

            We walked a lot, sampled local cuisine and toured the historic St. Lawrence port. We mused that we could live here. A tour guide touted the low local cost of living: $800/month to rent a one-bedroom apartment in the historical center; $250,000 to buy a two-bedroom house. High taxes but solid health and education services. High summer temperatures might be a deterrent, but where isn’t that so in our era?

            A Pause in Montreal

            One hundred seventy miles by train to the southwest of Quebec City, Montreal is Canada’s largest predominantly French-speaking city. With 1.8 million current inhabitants, it was Canada’s commercial and economic powerhouse for 300 years, until overtaken by Toronto in the 1970s. Both of those metropolises are booming today, billing themselves as “world-class cities.” After the human-scale rooflines of Quebec, I found these two dynamos’ concentrations of interchangeable skyscrapers ostentatious and unwelcoming.  

            By far, my favorite attraction in Montreal was the imaginative Pointe-a-Galliere Museum. Constructed on the St. Lawrence riverfront, this diverse educational facility literally covers a half-dozen archeological digs: from an indigenous tribal midden to the original European fort, settlers’ market place, first colonial sewer, old Custom House and a mariner’s house later converted to a 19^th Century bank. Visitors can climb down among the foundations to learn about urban origins now below-ground.

            An inviting interactive video presentation traces the 1701 treaty negotiations conducted on this site between French diplomatic and military representatives and the assembled leaders of the Iroquois Confederation. Thirteen hundred delegates participated in the two-week conclave. The First Nations’ representatives all arrived by water, anxious to reduce sustained contact with disease-carrying Europeans. The unspoken French objective for these peace talks was to win a pause in frontier skirmishes so France’s forces could concentrate on preparing for colonial hostilities with the British. The overarching First Nations’ objective was to gain a breather from French advancing colonialism, especially fur-trading and forest destruction. Long speeches dominated the proceedings but feasting and dancing also featured. A replica of the signature page of the final treaty document paired elaborate European autographs with indigenous leaders’ personal pictographs.

WESTWARD HO!

            ViaRail’s “Canadian” train traverses 2,800 miles from Toronto to Vancouver. Four days and nights across boreal forests, sweeping prairies, spiking Rockies and coastal plains. This route had sentimental significance for me. At the dawn of the 20^th Century, my maternal grandfather helped design and construct the bridges that opened westward passage for the new Canadian Pacific Railway. He brought his growing British family with him and my mother was born on Alberta prairies in 1906.

           On our trip, I’d expected to be most impressed by the train’s ascent into the Rockies. But what most thrilled Nancy and me were the coniferous forests of northern Ontario. For a day and a half out of Toronto, we traversed what I called “Water World,” a rolling carpet of forested lakes, ponds, marshes, rivers and streams. A fantasy for drought-weary Californians. Peppering this aquatic landscape were mounds and waves of smooth, polished rocky. Wikipedia informed me this Canadian Shield is the largest mass of exposed pre-Cambrian rock in the world. A “craton crust” comprising the ancient geological core of the North American continent, the formation is at least one billion years old.   

            Jasper Town and National Park

            We jumped off the westbound train at Jasper, Alberta for a four-day National Park layover. With a resident population of 5,000, Jasper town looks and feels like a concentrated service hub. The train station is right in the center. There are multiple stores selling outdoor clothes, hiking, biking, climbing and skiing equipment. Also guide and transport services to escort visitors to National Park lakes and vistas. There’s a bustling Park Visitor Center in a repurposed historical mansion, dozens of cafes, several pharmacies and grocery stores. The entire downtown is a provisioning depot.

            Since we lacked our own transport and had no plans for back-country exploring, we took advantage of two available resources to learn about the Park’s layered background and history. The first was the informative Jasper Yellowhead Historical Museum. Here’s a sampling of its historical nuggets:

• Jasper Park’s steep and narrow Athabasca Valley has always been more of a corridor than a destination, from the Ice Age to modern times.
• Early European visitors included explorers seeking navigable passes for settlers proceeding further west and later, rail-route plotters.
• The Hudson Bay Company and Northwest Company competed bitterly for furs to ship to European and Chinese markets. HBC actively promoted marriages between European fur traders and indigenous women to exploit the latter as language interpreters, geographic guides and negotiation mediators. Fast forward 200 years and the descendants of these “Metis” unions are pillars of today’s Jasper economy.
• Other pioneers included geologists/surveyors, outfitters/tour guides, National Park advocates and wardens, missionary priests and schoolteachers. Several homesteaders fiercely resisted eminent domain when Canada’s federal government legally carved out the Park in 1907; some defended their spreads at gunpoint.
• Jasper town was still so remote and sleepy in the 1960s that black and grizzly bears sauntered freely along the main street during retail hours.

            Even more engaging for me was a collection of non-fiction local nature tales by Sid Marty. SWITCHBACKS, a first-person field journal published in 1999, traced the author’s Park-warden career in the 1960s and 70s. Marty later resigned and took up writing as a second, eventually award-winning, career. He’s articulate and authoritative, writing with experience and expertise about back-country hiking, rock- and ice-climbing, rescues, wildlife encounters and protection. I found his book an alluring portal into Jasper geology, flora and fauna, as well as the evolution and bureaucratic challenges of National Park and tourism management. First rate and highly recommended.

            One other Jasper-town encounter raised our personal awareness of Canadian institutions. Nancy and I each needed to consult local medical help for our separate illnesses. We’d heard that Canada’s National Health Service is well-respected comparing favorably with America’s profit-driven medical care. A visit to Jasper’s local hospital was revealing. The Urgent Care receptionist was forthright in explaining their two-tier system. Their ER facility could promptly see us both, but at a cost of $1,100 per person, plus an additional fee for the attending physician. But if we were willing to walk next door to the affiliated Outpatient Clinic, the per-capita charge would drop to $250, with no add-on fee. Moreover, the two neighboring facilities shared the same physicians. We took the hint, walked 100 yards and were promptly seen and treated, for 30 minutes each, by a serious, professionally impressive physician. This personal contact with an operating “socialized-medicine” system was reaffirming, especially since we were foreign visitors.  

          The high point of our Jasper visit was reconnecting with lifelong friend, Fern Gruszka. Fern now lives in Calgary, Alberta and drove up for four hours with son Stefan to make sure we didn’t miss a get-together. Turning back the clock, when Nancy and I had arrived to live and work in Arusha, Tanzania in 1973, one of the first expat couples we’d met were Fern and her late husband, John. John was a bee scientist and Fern, a computer specialist. She was working for the United Nations Development Programme designing and conducting management training for the East African Community. The four of us became fast friends, a bond that grew closer over the ensuing decades. The Gruszkas were Canadian nationals, but Fern had strong ancestral Italian ties. They visited us in Umbria and again in Pacific Grove, after we retired in the States. Seeing her in Jasper, with her son a patient good sport, was a double treat. A powerful affirmation of a lasting friendship and a sentimental opportunity to dust off shared archives. Remote, yet still retrievable. Life bookends.    

[Postscript. I am writing these Jasper notes back home in late July. Two devastating wildfires have just converged on Jasper town and Park. Twenty-five thousand tourists and residents had to be evacuated in the middle of the night. So far, the news reports no deaths or injuries. But apparently half the structures in town have been damaged or destroyed. It’s difficult to contemplate utter devastation in the streets where Nancy and I strolled six short weeks ago. We’re following the bulletins closely and hope that most property can be repaired or replaced.  Already, federal and provincial emergency support is being mobilized.]

            A Vancouver Highlight

            I’ve been a keen admirer of Northwest Coast indigenous art since first visiting Olympic National Park in 1964. On this trip, I asked our Vancouver hotel concierge if there were an easy way to get to my favorite collection at the Museum of Anthropology. He replied that it was closed for renovations, then recommended a small, top-quality gallery hidden right in our hotel neighborhood. “Hidden” was right. Even the doorman at the five-star hotel dominating the same block hadn’t heard of it. A pale sign nailed to a curbside tree trunk pointed with an arrow. Severe outdoor stair flights turned corners up into a beckoning landscaped quadrangle. The Bill Reid Memorial Gallery was a secluded jewel.

            Reid’s life story parallels the 20^th Century rediscovery and recognition of Northwest Coast art. Born in Victoria, British Columbia in 1920 to an American father and Haida mother, he did not begin exploring his First Nations heritage until his twenties. Earning a living as a radio announcer, Reid made regular visits to his mother’s ancestral village, apprenticing under elder artisans and salvaging totem poles and other artefacts from abandoned Haida settlements. Starting with jewelry, he slowly built skills as a woodcarver, stone carver, draftsman, painter and sculptor. His emerging mission was to retrieve and champion First Nations’ cultural and artistic heritage, building respect for these traditions through artistry, mentoring and advocacy. Gallery exhibits explained that Reid’s activism led him to tussle with both conservative tribal elders and European-art patrons. The elders wanted to retain control of the Northwest Coast “brand.” The patrons wanted to avoid competition for their dominant museums’ focus. He scaled up and adapted indigenous designs. His massive sculptures are displayed outside the Canadian Embassy in Washington, D.C., Vancouver International Airport and numerous British Columbia museums. His work is memorialized on Canadian national banknotes and postage stamps. Reid’s force of will was so unrelenting that he continued creating through 30 years of advancing Parkinson’s disease. The Gallery was intimate but sufficed to illustrate his sketches, jewelry, political activism and signature sculptures. What always impresses me most about his figures is their present power. Not homages to a romanticized past, his spirit animals assert their current relevance and energy.

            Closing the Loop

            Although I think of Vancouver as the end of our trip’s Canadian phase, faithful blog readers may wonder how Nancy and I got home. Amtrak collected us in Vancouver and transported us south to Seattle on its border-crossing “Cascades” train. Then we completed the loop aboard its overnight Seattle-to-Emeryville “Coast Starlight”. This waterfront leg was exceptionally scenic, with resident bald eagles fishing just outside our windows.

ROUND-TRIP TAKEAWAYS

            Overall Assessment: Main Pros and Cons

            Tying our American and Canadian trip phases together, Nancy and I agree that this truly was a grand adventure. We’re delighted we made the effort.

            For me, there were three most satisfying pluses:

• Traveling by train: seeing passing landscapes without the stress of driving; enjoying courteous service and roomette privacy; combining transport, food and lodging in a single vacation package; and putting together a customized itinerary with en route layovers, at no extra cost.
• Meeting people: visiting scattered family and friends, in some cases perhaps for the last time; encountering fellow travelers; receiving the kindness of strangers.
• Exploring distinctive sites: the Broadmoor Resort; Orwell, Ohio; the nurturing Yale campus; historic Quebec City. Also just getting away from our home base, stretching our wings, rediscovering self-reliance, experiencing new environments, customs and cultures.

            The minuses were outweighed by the pluses, though it’s important to acknowledge them for future travel planning:

• Coping with his-and-her illnesses on the road that inflicted activity interruptions and fatigue.
• Too-brief, exhausting layovers, exacerbated by early-hour train arrivals and departures. When we’d planned this trip, we’d treated non-visit layovers as mere logistical connection points between destinations. We’d underestimated the effort involved in local transportation, running errands, finding our way about.
• Too much luggage, even with Redcap assistance (though this burden wasn’t easily avoidable on this extended expedition, since we’d had to pack for long train rides, big-city layovers, a farm visit and Reunion dinner receptions.).

            Main Lessons for Our Future Travel

            I’m calling this our last grand rail adventure for a reason. In the future we’re determined to scale back, slow down and simplify. This six-week, transcontinental marathon was too tiring, even without illness. We plan to keep on traveling by train, but to single destinations. We can imagine, for example, heading for Vancouver, Seattle or Chicago, then settling in there for a week or more, exploring the attractions and surroundings. Get to one comfortable place, unpack, rest and venture out on local excursions.

            We also want to consider small-ship river cruising. Not leviathan ocean voyages. But similar comforts to trains, just on different routes and surfaces. Get ready to shadow Lewis & Clark!

            The main recognition is to accept and celebrate that we’ve crossed a biological threshold. That’s no reason to stop traveling. Au contraire. It just means we’ve got to act our age.

With thanks to Stefan Gruszka and Shutterstock.com for the use of their photos.

Let me hear from you. rbs@agileaging.net.