Confessions of a VIA Voyeur
By Liz Fleming
I’m a VIA voyeur.
I can’t help it.
I find the people who sit around me on VIA Rail Canada trains fascinating and I confess to doing a bit of…uh…research. I was at it again on my way to a TMAC conference in Ottawa.
Casually leaning from side to side, swaying forward and backward, I can’t help it if I pick up on bits and pieces of conversation, can I? I’m not actually listening. Not on purpose anyway. No. That would be eavesdropping. But trains rock and roll. Can I prevent a snippet or two of conversation leaking into my ears?
Take the couple behind me, for example – honeymooners, I’m sure. They were already firmly tucked into their seats when I boarded in St. Catharines, so I was fairly certain they’ve just launched their future life together in Niagara Falls. Who knows? Maybe they tied the knot at one of the quick and quirky bridal chapels in Niagara’s city of love.
Pretty soon, I found myself hoping this pair of lovebirds had a month-to-month lease. Compatibility didn’t seem to be their strong suit.
“You suck,” the bride hissed sweetly as I settled into my seat.
Ah…young love.
Seems the happy couple had disagreed on the honeymoon capital attractions.
“How many freakin’ pictures did you need to take of the Falls?” the blushing bride continued. “I was freezing my butt off.”
“But we got the camera as a wedding present! All you wanted was to get back to the casino,” growled the husband.
“I told you we had tickets for the Avalon Theatre and Stix was starting at 8pm!” she snarled.
As I said, I was hoping for a short-term lease and separate bank accounts.
If it hadn’t involved admitting my…uh…superior hearing abilities, I’d have suggested some attractions they might both find interesting on their next trip to Niagara…if there is one. A winery tour or two might take the edge off their newlywed angst, as would a hand-in-hand stroll down the picturesque streets of Niagara-on-the-Lake, a walk along the Welland Canal trail or a bike ride on the Niagara Parkway. And, in fairness to the bride, there’s far more to Niagara Falls than photo ops. With world-class performers lighting up the stage at the Fallsview Casino, five-star dining opportunities, the Butterfly Conservatory, museums, shopping and more, Niagara Falls is a great destination.
But it wasn’t the time for travel advice. As the train rolled into Toronto, the bride treated me to one more blast of love’s young dream.
“We’re going to the CN Tower, the Eaton Centre, the Royal Ontario Museum, the Art Gallery of Ontario and the Metro Zoo,” she snarled, “and if you take one friggin’ photo, I’m getting a divorce.”
As I watched them toddle out of Union Station, dragging their bags and shooting verbal daggers, my next voyeur victims materialized in the lineup ahead of me. Two ladies of, as our French friends would say, “une certain age” (Canadian friends might call them cougars) were heatedly debating their dating strategy for the weekend.
“So what exactly do we know about these two guys?” Collagen Cathy asked. “I mean, on PlentyofFish, you can say you’re the king of Siam and who’s to say you aren’t? We need to be careful.”
“Don’t be so damned suspicious,” said her friend, touching up her vampire-red lipstick. “After they pick us up at the train station in Belleville, they’re takin’ us to a winery in Picton, aren’t they? That means they aren’t cheap.”
“They just wanna get us loaded fast,” sniffed the other. “What else are we doing?”
“There are a bunch of wineries in Prince Edward County, so maybe they’ll spring for a couple of tasting-thingies. Then there are boutiques and shops…all that kinda stuff. And we’ll be close to the Outlet and Sandbanks provincial parks. Great sandy beaches, clean water, camp grounds…did you bring your bikini?”
“Wait a minute…did you say campgrounds? I’m not sleeping on the ground.”
“No worries. Prince Edward Country has all those country inns and bed and breakfasts. We’ll stay at one of those…but…hang on a minute,” said Vampire Lips, “I’m getting a text message. It’s them! What the hell?! They’re bailing!”
“Told you they were losers,” sighed Collagen Cathy. “Who shares a profile on PlentyofFish just to save a few bucks?! So now what?”
“No worries.” grinned Vampire Lips, tapping furiously on her phone. “I just got us a last minute reservation at Ste. Anne’s Spa in Grafton. “All we have to do is get off the train in Cobourg and they’ll send a car for us. It’s a destination spa…with great food and fab spa treatments. They’ve even got a special on wraps and facials, so we’ll go home looking really hot and catch something better on PlentyofFish.”
“This time,” said Collagen Cathy. “Let’s not put in our ages…”
The cougars found themselves a den several seats from mine, so I’ll never know the rest of their story, but luckily, more Via voyeur fodder sat down right across the aisle.
Some people just make it way too easy for me. In spite of the polite announcement asking passengers not to use cell phones on the train, my newest source of entertainment chatted up a storm.
What this girl lacked in quality of conversational content, she made up for in quantity.
“So then, like I said to him, ‘Dude! Like you go to Queen’s eh? Can I like come down and like couch-surf at your place for the weekend? Siiiick.”
The enthusiasm with which she was twisting her nose ring as she spoke led me to believe the dude had lined up some great – or rather, some really siiiick – things to do in Kingston.
Apparently, they were going to the K Rock Centre with 5,700 of their best buddies to hear Kingston’s own hometown band, The Tragically Hip – then they’d head to the Merchant Tap House for a brew or two or three and check out the live band. It was all going to be siiiick.
If the sun cooperated – and the hangovers weren’t too bad – the next day, they’d ride their bikes along the 1000 Islands Parkway to Gananoque and hop on a river cruise boat.
“So like you mean there are REAL castles and #$%& on those islands? No freakin’ way! That’s (I was waiting for it by now and you are too…) siiiick!”
Designed to navigate sedately along the gorgeous St. Lawrence River, the 1000 Island cruise boats are a great way to see the sights and catch a few rays on the upper deck at the same time. Best of all, the waters are nearly always calm and the boats are heavy so you’ll never be, like seasiiiiick.
After the third polite reminder from the conductor to put away her cell, my chatty friend hauled out her laptop and reconnected to her world via the free online wifi. She’d been silent for nearly a minute and I wondered how her friends were surviving.
Voracious voyeur though I am, hanging across the aisle to scan her screen proved to be a little much, so I gave up on Cell Phone Girl and leaned back in hopes that new entertainment might come from behind.
It did!
In the next row back, a frazzled mother was locked in verbal warfare with her terminally bored ten-year-old.
“When are we gonna get to Belleville?!” he groaned.
“Soon…stop asking…please!! Have you finished that homework yet?”
“ Yeah…no…whatever…I’ll do it when we get to Grandma’s. “ A whine as grating as chalk on a blackboard crept into his voice. “Can we go for a milkshake at Reid’s Dairy later? Puhleease?” he wheedled.
I understood. I grew up in Belleville and know that a Reid’s Dairy milkshake is worth a bit of wheedling.
More than a bit, actually. They’re worth quite a lot of wheedling.
Thicker and richer than anything else in this galaxy, Reid’s Dairy milkshakes have the added kid-appeal of being made in a castle. Or at least your kids will think it’s a castle when they see it from the outside. Heck, it has turrets and towers and even a damsel in distress dangling precariously out an upper window. That’s a castle in my books and well worth a good wheedle.
Mercifully, the Belleville station arrived quickly, and mother and son were disgorged into the arms of a grandmotherly sort waiting on the platform. I hoped for her sake that her hearing was failing.
Belleville was followed in no time by Kingston and another voyeur-ish opportunity. Subtly mashing my face against the window, I peered up and down the platform, looking for someone really siiiiick to appear for Cell Phone Girl.
And there he was…wearing a baby-duck-yellow leather Queen’s University Engineering jacket and five days worth of scrubby beard. As they met, he raised a fist and bumped hers in greeting, then turned and let her drag her own bag towards the parking lot.
Must be serious, I thought.
Luckily new passengers boarded at Kingston. Ottawa was still a couple of hours away – lots of listening time left for the voracious voyeur.
The newest subjects of my surreptitious scrutiny proved to be my favorites of the trip. Sweet-faced and grey-haired, this couple looked as if they should live in a little gingerbread cottage and feed good children candy all day. Holding hands and looking excitedly out the window, they were obviously thrilled with their plans, their expedition and most importantly, with each other.
Making the short trip from Kingston to Brockville was an anniversary celebration – their 50th. They chatted softly to one another (a real strain for my ears, I might add) and I soon realized they weren’t planning an evening out at a swanky restaurant.
No. They were heading to Don’s Fish and Chips – the source of what is arguably the best greasy fries and haddock in Eastern Ontario. The fish and chips come steaming hot, wrapped in newspapers and brown paper bags, just as it should. With their picnic in hand, the anniversary couple was going to the old wooden tables at Blockhouse Island, to catch the breezes off the St. Lawrence River. My guess was they’d gone to Blockhouse at night the odd time too in the old days, to watch the submarine races, just like every other teenage couple in Brockville. (I know this. because my family had a cottage just down the river at Butternut Bay. And I also know – now – there weren’t really any submarines.)
As I watched the happy couple help one another down the steps of the train, I thought how wonderful it is that love lasts – and that Don’s Fish and Chips shop still serves its special brand of greasy delight.
The train filled at Brockville with a noisy group of school kids on their way to Ottawa for a class trip and the seat next to me was taken by a woman eager to escape them. We chatted aimlessly about our work and our families until the train rolled into the station.
As I stepped out into the aisle, one of the school kids tapped me on the shoulder and asked, “How do you get to be a travel writer? That’s what I want to do when I grow up.”
She’d been listening to us.
I stared in silent recognition of another – albeit much younger – Via voyeur. Beware…the trains are full of us.
Keen to do your own VIA Rail Canada ‘research? All you need is a ticket. Visit www.viarail.ca for the whole story!