Getting up at 4:30a to catch a 6:30a flight is not enjoyable.  Especially when one has to climb out of a beautiful warm bed in a plush penthouse suite.  There was a 747 bus about a block away that would’ve whisked us straight to the airport, but it wasn’t leaving for another 40 minutes, so we opted for a cab.  Good thing we did too, because apparently in Montreal, you go through US Customs on the Canada side. 

Luckily, when we got to the gate, we had a few minutes to spare.  It was just enough time to spend my last few loonies on breakfast. Airport food in Montreal is fantastic.  I got an oozy ham and swiss croissant, which almost made up for the foregone pain du chocolat from Lyonnaise.

Despite the four hour layover in JFK, the first leg via air was quite easy.  We arrived in Boston, picked up our packs, and due to perfect travel karma, walked right onto the Silver Line T and headed to the Seaport Renaissance hotel.  A mere half hour elapsed between touchdown and check-in. 

Did I mention that today was a really good food day?  As it turned out, our hotel was a mere two blocks away from Yankee Lobster, one of my favorite joints in Boston.  Nestled among expense account restaurants and bars catering to conventioneers, Yankee Lobster is an unassuming hole in the wall that serves phenomenal seafood.  I easily got my lobster roll and chowdah fix taken care of.

We met up with Tony and Karen at the TD Garden for the game.  TD Garden is fantastic, bright and spacious, and you don’t feel like someone else’s head is resting on your knees.  It also has, by far, the best arena food of anywhere we’ve been so far.  (Did I mention that today was a really good food day?)  I had this incredible, peppery, tender pulled pork sandwich at What’s Your Beef.  For $9, they throw down some potato chips, a “bialyoronion!?” roll, a pickle and about a half pound of pulled piglet.  It definitely distracted me from the game for a bit.

Boston played well, but the Rangers had them beat.  Lundquist blocked about 32 shots, and despite Boston’s infatuation with mustachioed Tim Thomas, the game still resulted in a 3-0 shutout. 

For our leg through Canada, we transferred to Via Rail. The Windsor Via station was stark and functional, and littered with families.  We boarded the train, tossing our backpacks into overhead bins, and settled in for a four hour ride. Wifi was intermittent,the bathrooms could have used some love, and the seats were faded from glory. 

Instead of a cafe car, Via has an attendant that offers food from a trolley.  While he tried to engage Jeff in a conversation about the punk scene in Chicago, I picked at an egg salad sandwich and a tiny cup of couscous.

The train rumbled into Toronto, and we spilled out into the belly of an enormous building, getting caught up in the flow and gradually pushed to street level.  As the capital of Ontario, I expected a city full of stately buildings and monuments.  Not so much.  Toronto seemed very functional.  Corporate buildings, construction and an affront of biting cold.  We trudged through snow and slush and made our way to our base for the next two days, Canadiana Backpackers Inn.

Read the rest of this entry →

Two trains, four buses, four cabs and two countries in a single day.  And if the rest of our transfers are as easy as they were on Day 1, this trip is going to be gorgeous!

We left the house bright and early (well, more like dark and early) and headed by foot to the commuter rail a few blocks away to catch the 5:45a train to downtown. The sharpness of the cold, and the completeness of the night sky contributed to my excitement, much like the first happy shock of cannonballing into a pool on a hot summer day. 

Once downtown, it’s an easy transfer to Union Station.  Our tickets pop out of a kiosk and voila, we are comfortably settled on Amtrak, Detroit-bound.  It’s a quick six- hour ride, made exceptionally easy due to electrical outlets at each seat and a cafe just a few cars down.

The small, stucco Detroit train station is nothing like Chicago’s expansive marble Union Station.  Stenciled letters in the stairwell spell out “Welcome to Detroit.”  Inside the station (which is about the size of our living room), a single ticket agent sits behind thick glass windows, her voice tinny through the metal grill.  She directs us to the Woodward bus that will take us downtown. But when we finally see it coming toward us, the full bus continues on, barreling away, leaving a group of us stranded in the snow.  Without much debate, Jeff and I opt to hail a cab to the border.

Read the rest of this entry →