A Psychological Experiment

Forewarning : I am writing this on my iPod, so chances are everything will be spelt (I'm not even sure if that should be 'spelled'...) properly for about five sentences, then I'll lose patience and descend into gibberish, or throw my iPod out of a window. We'll see.

So my travels began with a nineteen hour train journey from Halifax, Nova Scotia to Quebec (there's an accent in there somewhere...insert at will) City, Quebec. The train was less than a third of the price of flying, I'm not just a sadist, so myself and two of my travelling buddies jumped on board somewhat less than eagerly just after noon on Tuesday 23rd April. I kept a kind of hour-diary as time stretched on, the intention being to either make for an entertaining blog post, or monitor my descent into madness:

"Just got on board; seats bigger than expected, actually have leg room: WINNING.

Two hours in: feeling peaceful, trying to get a photo of Canadian countryside but being continually obstructed by trees.

Three hours twenty minutes in: thinking deep, philosophical thoughts whilst listening to Ben Howard and watching two girls walk home from school down one of those characteristically roomy Canadian streets in a tiny town amidst North American wilderness. This is their everyday normality, and it's completely alien to me. Strange to think how detached we are from everything happening right now in the world around us; we really do live in a bubble. Deep thoughts then somewhat ruined by Ben Howard fading away to 'Relight My Fire'...

Four hours fifteen minutes: wishing it was socially acceptable to sing along with your iPod in public.

Five hours twenty minutes: woman with a $30,000 mirror on the seat in front announces its worth to carriage when asked to move it. Hilarious conversation with ticket man ensues: 'People who can afford $30,000 mirrors don't travel by train...'

Six hours thirty minutes: thought this was going remarkably well so far, then realised have twelve and a half hours to go...

Seven hours forty minutes: starting to laugh an inappropriate amount at things which aren't that funny.

Ten hours twenty minutes: officially regretting this morning's decision to wear jeans. Inevitable.

Eleven hours fifty minutes: the frustration of finding a position which is almost comfortable, then your leg / foot going dead before you're able to fall asleep in a now painful position.

Fourteen hours: debating how many limbs I would sacrifice for an actual bed."

After that I spent the remaining time trying, and for the most part failing, to sleep. We got off the train at 6.10am on Wednesday morning and got slightly lost trying to find our hostel on the pretty but obnoxiously steep streets of Quebec. We couldn't check in until 2pm, so left our bags and wandered in a sleep-deprived daze around the city.

First impressions of Quebec were lovely; I could actually FEEL the sun for the first time in four months, my over enthusiastic reaction to which has resulted in a cherry red face. The city is hilly, full of joggers and feels less like Canada than I expected; the tightly packed streets, sheer number of cafes and coloured buildings (not to mention all the French people) all feel very European.

We wandered around for a few hours before finally gaining access to a shower and a bed; and let me tell you, cleanliness has never felt so good. I'm not saying 'never again' to a nineteen hour train, but godammit I can try.