Train of Thought
~ Words by Vickie Sam Paget, Sky Blue Content ~
83 hours and 4,466 kilometres aboard Canada’s most legendary train journey teaches Canadian Traveller’s Vickie Sam Paget a thing or two about life…
I think it was Ralph Waldo Emerson who said: ‘Life is a journey, not a destination’. And you know what? Sitting aboard Via Rail’s train number one from Toronto to Vancouver, I couldn’t agree with him more.
Because not only is my window a never-ending tapestry of unfathomably gorgeous Canadian wilderness, but there are all walks of life on this journey with me—and each and every one of them has their very own tale to tell.
This train is oozing over with characters, and the real beauty of train travel is that you have absolutely no choice but to get to know them. Trains are compact places and ignorance is not an option. Simply put, the train is an altogether more human way to travel.
Yes, this long, beautiful tin can hurtling west along the quintessential ‘Canadian’ transcontinental route is jam-packed with affectionate lovers, colourful eccentrics, gentle grandpas, wandering musicians, retired millionaires and dreamy writers. And we all have one thing in common: We’re all in it for the journey, not the destination.
Looking around at our motley crew of travellers, I’m sure that Ralf Waldo would be proud.
One of the world’s most legendary long-haul rail journeys, the Toronto-Vancouver ‘Canadian’ is a historic route, without a doubt. Canada’s first transcontinental train departed Montreal and Toronto for Port Moody on June 28, 1886. Today, as I sweep west across this colossal continent, I’m grateful to experience a world that’s far removed from the stress and smog of highways and the long line-ups and cramped spaces of air travel. I simply sit back and admire the Canadian landscape unfolding before me as I relax to the soothing rhythm of the railroad.
From the immense boreal forests and glittering lakes of northern Ontario to the awesome open expanses of the Prairies and the mightiness of the untamed Rockies, the ‘Canadian’ is a journey to be savoured.
My adventure begins—after a little Canadian Club and ginger in the magnificently opulent bar of the Royal York Hotel—in the cathedral-like grandeur of Toronto’s Union Street Station. Tonight, Union Street’s hallowed halls are pure craziness. Fleetwood Mac are playing at the Air Canada Centre and there is a palpable fizz in the air. There’s also a Habs game in Montreal tonight, so the station echoes to the sound of chanting fans who are eager to get onto their train.
I escape all the madness for the Panorama Lounge, an oasis of calm that is reserved exclusively for Business and Sleeper Plus passengers awaiting their transcontinental experience. This Agatha-Christie-esque lounge exudes the golden age of rail travel, with its 1930s-style chandeliers and plush velvet sofas. It’s a fitting place to begin the trip of a lifetime.
At 9:50pm I’m called to board my train. By now Fleetwood Mac and the Habs are probably in full swing, so Union Street Station is eerily deserted. I feel as if I shouldn’t really be here, that I’ve been granted some sort of special dispensation. And there is absolutely no denying it: there is something unmistakably romantic about boarding a train at 10pm. I’m immediately transformed to a world of black-and-white movies, to fox-fur stoles and longing gazes. Externally, the ‘Canadian’ has retained its signature stainless steel 1950s’ cars, so the only thing missing is a big poof of steam rising up from the rails.
I board my train and Dan, my Sleeping Car Attendant, smiles and shows me to my Sleeper Plus cabin. As the train slowly starts to creep past the CN Tower in the dead of night, I must admit that this feels like the start of something wonderful… The start of a genuine adventure.
I make my way to the Skyline Car’s Observation Dome at the back of the train to indulge in the Champagne and canapé departure. I pass several sleeping berths on my way and can’t help but smile and think of Marilyn Monroe in the movie Some Like it Hot. And I’m just burning with curiosity about my fellow passengers, I can’t help it.
In the Observation Dome I meet Janine, a lady much older than me in years, but much younger than me in spirit. This is her 19th time on the Canadian. As we sip Champagne she’s quick to reassure me that she does not have an illogical fear of flying. She’s aboard the Canadian because she likes it; it feels like home. Her father was a station master in Quebec, so she grew up in a train station. She also tells me that she has 24 grandchildren. She tried to talk one of her granddaughters into taking a job with Via Rail because the train is “in the family’s blood”. But her endeavour was unsuccessful. “The young ones,” she bemoans as she shakes her head is dismay, “What can you do with them?”
Back in my cabin I unpack a few essentials and check my laptop. My computer informs me that ‘No Internet Connections are Available’, which feels kind of wonderful. I look at my cell phone and I’m informed that there is ‘No Service’! How fantastic. I unplug the lot, sign with relief and pick up a good book.
Just outside Toronto, the train starts to get up speed… And then I hear it for the first time: the whistle. It’s an unmistakable sound; timeless and bubbling over with possibilities. With this first cheeky little toot of its whistle the train starts to take on a personality all of its own. And I smile as I’m lulled into sleep by the rhythmic sway of the railroad.
In the morning, it’s time to experience that most unique of bathing experiences: showering on a moving train. Two things spring to mind here. Number 1: I feel a little like Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain because I’m more-or-less dancing under the shower head; and Number 2: I feel a little Like Lee Marvin in Paint Your Wagon, because I’m so unsteady on my feet that I feel like I’ve drank a bottle of whiskey. Taking a shower on a moving train is not the easiest of tasks, but it’s definitely good fun.
For the rest of the morning I sit glued to my window. The wilds of Ontario are a constantly evolving painting of yellow and green trees and glistening lakes that reflect heaven on earth. As the train cuts its way through the wilderness, it gives you a window on the world that perhaps only the most adventurous hiker gets to see. Today I can see that autumn, in all of her golden glory has kissed this land, and that desolate homesteads that look like something out of a 1930s’ painting still thrive in the wilds of Ontario.
As I weave my way to the Dining Car for lunch, I realize something quite surprizing: my muscles and joints have been forced to relax and go with the flow of the train. Like a clever masseuse, the train has forced me into its rhythm without me even noticing it. After all, there is no point sitting rigid on a train—you can save that inconvenience for air travel. On the train just have to submit to the gentle sway.
At lunch, I sit with Denis from Edmonton. Over an angus burger I learn how he grew up in Alberta, spending his time fishing with his brothers. I also learn that he’s a bit of a softie, because he tells me—his crinkly eyes shining brightly—that he bought his seven-year-old niece a Disney pass for her birthday. The railroad is in Denis’ blood too. He started working for CN when he was just 18, which was 46 years ago, and unlike Janine, Denis successfully managed to steer the younger generation in the direction of working on the trains, and he tells me—barely able to hide his beaming pride—that his daughter in a train engineer.
As I sit in the Dome Observation Car and soak up more endless views of some of Ontario’s 71 million hectares of forest (that’s enough to cover the Netherlands, Italy and Germany combined), I realize that I learned more about Denis over a 30-minute lunch than I have about anyone in a long, long time. This train offers such a refreshing escape from faceless social media, impersonal emails and hastily thumped out text messages. Instead you get smiling eyes and heartwarming stories in an intimate space with impossibly beautiful views.
The other thing I really love about my train is that everything is scheduled. Time is king on the railroad. There is no ‘grabbing’ a bite to eat, ‘squeezing’ in a phone call or ‘stealing’ a break. I get called to breakfast, lunch and dinner at a specific time. I am told where to sit in the dining car and my menu only has three main options—all of them exquisite, I may add. I don’t have to schedule a single thing and I don’t have any big decisions to make. It’s rejuvenating to have that power taken out of your hands completely for a while.
Over a delicious dinner of chicken and mash and crème brûlée, I meet Denise, who’s going to Saskatoon to visit friends and an Aussie couple, who, by the sound of it, have been across this globe a million times. There are a lot of travellers like that on the train; people who reach a stage in their lives where their kids have grown up and they can afford to travel and explore to their heart’s content. It could almost make a girl envious.
The next morning there is a definite bustle of excitement on the train, because today we get to disembark for three whole hours in Winnipeg. That’s a big, big deal when you’ve been on a train for a day and a half. We cross the Red River et voila: we’re in the heart of Winnipeg.
Firstly, I have to mention the station. With its impressive rotunda, this truly is a magnificent Beaux Arts building, and it comes as no surprize to learn that it was designed by the same architects that were responsible for New York’s Grand Central Station.
At the junction of the Red, Assiniboine and Seine rivers, Winnipeg was a key trading centre for the Cree population long before the French fur traders arrived in the first half of the 18th century. It’s well worth taking the short stroll to explore The Forks. Originally a historic meeting place, today The Forks is bustling with cool restaurants, live entertainment and colourful shopping options. For those looking for something a little more serious, Winnipeg is also home to the highly-acclaimed Canadian Museum of Human Rights.
Legs suitably stretched, I’m back on board to enjoy a stretch of the journey that retraces the historic trails that the early settlers took. Almost immediately I find myself in the Prairies, a flat, flat expanse of golden plains where long grasses dance in the wind and the occasional gentle-eyed cow raises his head to acknowledge the passing of the train.
The skies go on forever and the littlest things become hugely important: a truck, a farm, a mill, a shack, a grain elevator poking into the sky. It’s like seeing the world through the eyes of a child who’s playing with Lego bricks.
After a lunch of shrimp and scallops served with Saskatoon berries, the Prairies start to transform into wheat fields and I find myself in Saskatchewan. Here, golden sun-kissed fields of wheat contrast with an enormous, bright blue sky.
As I sit the Dome Observation Car and witness a Saskatchewan sunset that seems to last forever, I’m half way through my journey. And I’m just about to be introduced to the biggest character on this whole train.
At dinner I sit beside John and his daughter Ellen. A truly fascinating woman, Ellen tells me of her life as an aid worker in Afghanistan. Her dad is 92 years old, a dapper vision by all accounts in his perfectly pressed suit. Hailing from Boston, John has a voice like Cary Grant and is as sharp as this train’s whistle.
Over dinner he tells me about his deployment in Gibraltar during the war and how he once attended Royal Ascot, where he was stunned by the crazy things that British women are willing to place on their heads. He tells me about the time in Antigua in the 1970s when he drank rum with Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones… Of being hailed as ‘Rodeo King’ in Wyoming… Of flying to London on Concord and being disappointed by the seat size… And about that time in Morocco when he’d been up all night drinking and his friends in the French Foreign Legion and they made him ride a horse when he was drunk.
Seriously, you couldn’t make this stuff up.
John’s has lived a thousand lives and his banter is pure gold. It makes me realize where the modern-day travel experience has gone wrong. Whereas air travel is all about the art of avoidance—god forbid you actually have a conversation with your neighbour; they’re trying desperately to catch up on old episodes of Modern Family, after all—train travel is all about the art of conversation, which seems to be all too sadly lacking these days.
But there’s one thing I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt, when it comes to the art of conversion, John from Boston is Leonardo da Vinci.
That evening, I grab my pillows and snuggle up by my cabin’s window. I switch off all the lights and as my mind echoes with tales of the French Foreign Legion and disappointing Concorde flights, I star-gaze, Saskatchewan style. The stars here are so bright, so endless. It must have been hard for all of those pioneers heading west to give up star-gazing of this calibre and continue on their journey.
In the morning I find myself sharing my breakfast table with Lyndsay May, an Americana musician who lives in the Shuswaps just outside Kamloops. This pre-Raphaelite-haired beauty is on the train as part of the ‘Artists on Board’ program, which allows performers to ride for free if they agree to do a number of gigs in the train’s Skyline and Park Cars, as well as in major stations.
The sky is blue and splattered with Michelangelo clouds, and the landscapes outside my window on the world are starting to take on that unmistakable western flavour. From the Dome Observation Car I lay my eyes upon the incredible Athabasca River for the very first time, a breathtakingly turquoise body of water that holds enormous significance in Canadian history. It has been travelled by some of the most important names in Canadian exploration, from Alexander MacKenzie in 1793, to David Thompson in 1811… And now, by little old me.
As we enter Jasper National Park, the Dome Observation Car goes quiet… Deadly quiet. People are speechless and the art of conversation is eluding them. And rightly so, because stretched out before us is some of the wildest, most incredible landscapes that Canada has to offer.
To the south I can see Roche a Perdrix, reaching some 2,132 metres into the bright blue sky and Roche Miette, a 2,316-metre monolith stretching for heaven. I’m breathless. And then, just to make the experience even more perfect, a bear wanders up to the side of tracks as we slow down to pull into Jasper. It’s almost as if Via Rail has had it all arranged specially.
In Jasper we have just an hour to stretch our legs. Happily I potter around this most picturesque of tiny towns, soaking up the vistas of the surrounding mountains and appreciating the chilled-out vibe of the locals. I pop into the Jasper Brewing Company, where I order a ‘Jasper the Bear Ale’ in hour of my furry friend who welcomed us from the side of the tracks.
Back on board it’s time to cross Yellowhead Pass, which stands at a modest elevation of 1,131 metres above sea level. This is the Continental Divide: all rivers to the west flow to the Pacific; all rivers to the east flow to the Atlantic or the Arctic.
In short, I’m on top of the world.
To the north, Mount Robson raises its mighty head. At 3,954 metres high, this is the highest peak in the Canadian Rockies. Mount Robson is mammoth. And apparently, if it continues to erode at its current rate, it’ll reach the same elevation as Edmonton in about 54 million years. So no need to worry quite yet.
For the rest of the day I’m stuck to my seat in the Dome Observation Car. Rapids, waterfalls, mountains, rivers: the beauty is endless. I sit there until dark, silent and mesmerised until every last ounce of beauty is stolen by the night.
In the morning, we creep into Vancouver after some 83 hours and 4,466 kilometres on the legendary ‘Canadian’. Newfound friends are saying teary goodbyes. I seek out John, give him a hug and tell him to stay away from the French Foreign Legion. And when I disembark in my final destination, I know in my heart that Ralph Waldo was right: Life is not about the destination; it’s all about the journey.
Image: flickr.com/photos/kamilrextin/
This feature first appeared in Canadian Traveller magazine.
