So, turns out Canada is big. As in really big, some could say massive. I thought the train to London was long, but when I spend a few days in a bus, and not leave the fucking province, North America just seems selfish. Let the Europeans have another crack at an empire - you Canadians have thousands of miles being useless, just sat there, looking breathtaking and embodying the might of glacial forces. I found myself looking at an undisturbed swathe of natural beauty and thinking, "know what this needs? Fields of tea and a Union Flag". But, by the time I dug my red jacket and rifle out of the carry-on, the feeling had passed.
So, bussing across an entire fucking continent. Great idea in theory, saved a lot of cash compared to flying, but fuck me sideways - I forgot how much I missed beds and showers. And being able to fully extend my legs. The scenery was beautiful, with craggy mountains and lakes masquerading as errant seas, with the occasional deer or bird mocking me with their elbow space.
However, it was a shock, when buying a bus ticket from Peterborough to Saskatoon, one imagines they are on the bus from said place of origin to said destination. Canada is different though, with transfers every few hours, and refuelling stops at 2am. Nothing better than being turfed out of your seat at the wee hours of the morning, grab your book and have to find a different bus. It's fun seeing all the varied types of passengers a Greyhound attracts. There was the student who dropped out of university on the very last term, apparently in defiance of the upper classes. Or the person who was a bit too happy to find a beer store open at midnight. There was the people who valiantly try to strike up conversations, and the ones who stubbornly cling to misanthropy. Or the oxymoronic career travellers, who really should let an apartment for more than a month. They might find regular showers benefit them.
The culinary range one finds on a bus trip is unlike anything a sane person would ever enjoy. When only one food purveyor is open, a chipotle fried chicken burger is the perfect foodstuff for an early morning snack. Other times, a muffin is a perfectly viable dinner. My mind has been broadened.
Still, I got to Saskatoon in decent time, finding a Tim Horten's knockoff and enjoyed a bagel and hot chocolate. Seems primary colours are in short supply in Saskatoon. Ah well, I was determined to enjoy this cultural exchange.
Saskatoon has a pretty standard colonial past. People are lied to, arrive at a damp marshland, scare off the natives and promptly set about making huts out of mud. I learned all this whilst a lovely and earnest young woman showed me around Saskatoon's history centre, situated in a basement. I learned a lot - the people of Saskatoon really fucking love bridges. Even when they fall down four times, they still build them. All credit to them. Personally, I'd have invested in something with a little less concrete.
After this, a walking tour of the riverfront. Actually a beautiful walk, with pelicans - apparently a normal thing over here - bridges and marshland as far as the eye could see. After finishing though, this left me with six hours to spare before my train, and Saskatoon had played its last hand in the tourist deck. So I sat in a Subway and read before getting on the bus to the station.
So, one city down. And about four days since the last shower. Tally-ho.
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