Transit II

Is there meaning in chaos? I realize that this account of my travels is overly long and somewhat repetitive, but I think there's some sort of buried insight about transience and transit, and the value of keeping connections alive though you may be half the world away...

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Upon arriving in Victoria, I spent most of my time with my family and taking care of various life-admin things, such as renewing my driver's license and going to the dentist. Boring yet necessary. I made one trip to Vancouver, getting a ride with a friend to the ferry and boarding that beloved boat, Swartz Bay to Tsawassen, an hour and a half of gorgeous scenery and terrible food. When BC Ferries handed over management of their cafeterias to White Spot, I wasn't very happy. (Random thought: I've just realized that Swartz Bay probably means “Black Bay,” right? Why? I've never thought about this before...)

I passed a blissful weekend in Vancouver with some of my best friends, then took the skytrain + bus back to the ferry terminal, for another ferry trip and then two more buses back to my house. Side note: the Vancouver subway/skytrain system is being overhauled for the Winter Olympics, and it was a fairly new system already – the contrast with the New York subway system is overwhelming. You almost wouldn't believe it was the same category of transit. Spacious, clean, dry stations? Equally spacious, clean trains? No clattering, no mysterious stains, no drafts of suspicious-smelling underground air? The Vancouver system may be objectively superior, but give me New York's subway anytime.

A couple of days later, my dad me to the airport at 5:00 a.m. and I got on a flight to Toronto. I was picked up in Toronto, drove to Guelph, and spent five days in Guelph. I'd always assumed that Victoria was a college town, but I now know better – though Victoria does have a lot of college students, it is by no means a college town in the way that Guelph is. The entire downtown core (if it can be called that...) of Guelph is dominated by students, in the form of hipster bookstores, cheap dive bars, late-night eateries, and of course the hordes of students themselves, partying every night in their ironic plaid shirts, too-tight pants, and I'm-An-Individual shoes. Aside from that, it is picturesque and peaceful. I had a lovely time with a very special friend, managed to meet up with a couple of other old friends in Toronto, and then on September 28^th found myself back at the airport.

My next destination: Ann Arbour, Michigan. However, being as I went for the cheapest flights available, I ended up flying from Toronto to Chicago, and then from Chicago to Detroit. In Detroit, I cleared customs & immigration with a stolid, swarthy, middle-aged man. He asked me where I was going, and upon hearing my answer, he announced in a gruff voice, “oh yeah, go Wolverines!” My only response to that was an extremely blank stare. “Not a football fan, then?” “No.” “Alright, go on through.” STAMP. STAMP.

My college roommate and VERY CLOSE FRIEND picked me up, and we drove to Ann Arbour. Arriving in Ann Arbour felt like I'd stepped through the “America” mirror and entered a very-slightly-different version of Guelph – the university is the same size, the town is the same size, the architecture and climate are roughly the same, and there are the same multitudes of organic grocery stores and cheerful college students. The first night there, I attended a small concert given by a travelling folk band. Their opening act was a 21-year-old girl who performed (among other things) a piece entitled “three generations,” which involved her mother, her grandmother, and herself all playing one cacophonous note on recorders. This subtle masterpiece of avant-garde performance art was greeted with enthusiastic cheering from the crowd. (The main act, thank goodness, was actually very good, if a bit twee for my taste – Anna Ash and the Family Tree - what can I say, I'm a sucker for a girl with a mandolin...)

Two days in Ann Arbour, and then on September 30^th I flew from Detroit to New York with the discount airline Spirit Air. (Discount airlines: good or bad? For short flights, I think they're fine – but if you have a lot of luggage, they do charge for every checked bag. The service was, in general, very good. I used to really like the Canadian discount airline Zoom Air, until they went out of business.) On this flight, I managed to sit down with some unusually friendly seat-partners: an extended-service plan salesman from Florida (with roots in Spain, Puerto Rico, and Trinidad), and a 40-ish secretary from Detroit who was fulfilling her high school dream of moving to New York City, and had her beloved cat Allie (get it? Allie the cat? ALLEYCAT?) in a carrier under the seat in front of her, ready for adventure in the Big Apple. We drank a couple of beers together and arrived in New York pleasantly tipsy and ready to take cheesy cell-phone photos of ourselves with Allie and the ubiquitous Montty.

In New York, I spent one night at my aunt's apartment, then took the train to Princeton, and spent one day/night there having various reunions and recollections. Not too much reflection here... only that I was sad to leave, perhaps sadder than I've ever been to leave the campus. It was a combination, I think, of (1) the wistful knowledge that the next time I come back, there will be no current students who know or remember me, and (2) a gradual fading of the frantic need I had to get out, which I felt so strongly when I graduated. I suppose I've made my peace with a number of things that happened while I was at school, as well as simply with myself and the experience of going to Princeton, or going to college at all. Anyhow, leaving campus on the noon train, watching the still-lush forest clackity-clack away, I felt a sorrow that I never felt when I graduated.

I slept one night in New York, then a night in Brooklyn with a very close friend from Princeton, then back to New York for some more reunions with various people, including a dear old, old childhood friend who came from Montreal to visit me in New York. Next, a mad dash to Grand Central to get a train to Brewster, Connecticut. At the Brewster station, I was met by old friends from my time in India, and we drove to Bridgewater, where we ate a lavish and delightful multi-cultural dinner, and reminisced about Kodaikanal. They have two young children (whom I taught while I was in India), and it was shocking to see how much they've grown up since I saw them last year. I suppose I must seem much the same to my aunts and uncles – young, growing quickly, etc. I've stopped with the physical growth but hopefully the intellectual/spiritual/emotional growth continues?

From Bridgewater, we made a hectic 5a.m. criss-cross of Connecticut, going at top speed from Bridgewater to the Hartford airport to drop someone off, then to New Haven to drop me off at the train station and another girl off at Yale. I got on the train back to Grand Central, but it was running late and I therefore missed my train from Penn Station to Princeton, where I was going to meet with my thesis advisor. With little sleep and a high stress level, I fed several dollars worth of quarters into the Penn station pay phones and tried to reorganize my already-crazy second visit to Princeton, then hopped on the next train. Luckily, my advisor managed to rearrange another meeting and we talked for about half an hour; next I had lunch with another old roommate, who took a two-year hiatus from her degree but has come back this year to finish it. She laid out a smorgasbord of cheese, substantial salads, crackers, breads, fruits and vegetables, and I did sweet delicious justice to it before speeding back to the train station to go back to New York. Once back in the city, I had just enough time to get back to my aunt's apartment, pack up my bags, and get to JFK for my next flight.

In JFK, I went to the Iceland Air desk – visions of Viking aircraft hustled along by Odin's lightning bolts running through my head – and checked in for my flight to London, via Reykjavik.