Some people say reading week should be dedicated to reading. An interesting opinion perhaps, but there is also value in clearing one’s head by getting as far away from Toronto as possible. But whether you’re going home to see family, visiting your significant other, or merely planning to fall asleep on a beach, the problem is getting there. With only a week off, time is of the essence, but sometimes budget dictates a slower form of transport. Travelling to New York City by bus, I learned to cope with grey landscapes while surreptitiously watching a movie for free.
7:00 am: Torn out of sleep by my alarm. Was having some sort of a bizarre dream about being at a wedding party in India at a crummy hotel in a hill station. In my dream I had just gone to bed, so it takes me a few seconds to realize I had in fact slept for more than five minutes. I’ve got to stop listening to Bollywood Horror soundtracks late at night.
8:00 am: Make it to the bus station, clamber onto the bus, and find a seat. Notice I’m behind a couple watching Sherlock Holmes on their laptop, easily visible through its reflection in the window. I keep it in mind for future reference, but plug in some calming music on my iPod and try to pass out.
9:00 am: Can’t sleep. Hamilton inches past my window. I’ve always found it bizarre how the QEW blocks off the entire city from Lake Ontario. As we enter the Niagara region, I try to note amusing signs to recount to friends with nearby hometowns. A roadside “Horseback Emporium” and a sign featuring the towns Sodom and Crystal Island fit the bill.
9:30 am: We arrive at the border in good time. Unfortunately, so do two tourist buses, on which it seems everyone has foreign passports. We wait on the bus for an hour while they are processed by immigration. The couple sitting in front of me is getting increasingly annoying:
He: “Your dad can barely speak English, it’s funny.”
She: “Yeah, it’s hilarious!”
11:00 am: As we drift through downtown Buffalo I try to note Art Deco architecture, but my heart is not really in it. Why is it always overcast when I make this trip?
3:00 pm: We reach our stop in Syracuse. The fact that it’s a medium size city in New York State usually deceives me into thinking the journey is almost over. Far from it. I run to the bathroom and then briefly stand outside, enjoying the fresh air, but basically wanting to leave as soon as possible. Someone getting on the bus seems to be a dancer and is talking to his mom on the phone about how his friend is touring with Rihanna. It’s nice to know that dreams exist in Syracuse, but you still need to go elsewhere to realize them.
5:00 pm: Hurtling down the highway as the sun sets. The couple has restarted Sherlock Holmes. Not the greatest movie, so my alternative soundtrack of Faust is probably improving it. A (sort of) nice moment.
6:00 pm: We finally enter the New Jersey suburban corridor, an endless chain of motels, car dealerships, and tropical fish stores. We pass a strip club called Satin Dolls and then a party supply store called Party Box.
7:00 pm: Fed up, listening to angry music. In the distance I begin to glimpse the lights of Manhattan, its promise glittering in the distance. I remember that I actually have a destination.
7:45 pm: We slink into scuzzy midtown Manhattan. I remember how to use my legs, grab my bag, and scuttle as fast as possible to the subway, anxious to finish my journey at my brother’s apartment. It’s been a long day.
