Sunday October 11th 2009 - The Case for Urban Renewal

Where to go? Montreal by bus was the choice. Bryce found a route via Albany, NY leaving from Newton, MA in 45 minutes. I phoned Gail, who offered to drive us to the bus stop only 2 miles away, after dropping Madeline at Sunday school.
Pittsfield, MA? I'd never really heard of this place, but we passed through this sizable town about half an hour from Albany, NY. Later Gail said it's an abandoned industrial town famous as a center for General Electric Corp.
The wait at the Albany bus transfer station was not good. One old cranky bus driver refused to take passengers to Montreal, saying he had plenty of seats, but no room for luggage as everyone had packed for a long weekend. This was not possible. I can only imagine he had a private deadline to meet and wanted to go through customs without increasing the delay by adding more passengers. The bus driving profession attracts all sorts, many who make their own rules with little or no repercussions. In 2007, one driver we had from New York city accosted my sister who was in the bathroom with one of her kids, thinking that someone was in there taking drugs. Several months later the same driver appeared on the nightly news because he had refused to let passengers off the bus for a toilet break. He was given a token leave of absence and presumably is driving buses to this day. Hence passengers are at the whim of some very eccentric drivers. At the transfer station, one New Yorker (in my estimation at least) asked us to mind his baggage while he went for a 10 minute smoke. He had a single seat surrounded by his luggage and quite unusually, a man of little means and no luggage sat in the seat. The New Yorker returned. I shrugged my shoulders as if to say there was nothing I could do about it, but he took it in his stride.
The bus trip had two significant incidents. The first occurred when the bus driver was forced to return to pick up a teenager who had gotten off the bus thinking it was a meal stop where passengers are allowed to alight. The young guy had the presence of mind to at least call the bus company who radioed the driver. The driver didn't want to return complaining that he was forced to do so as the passenger could make trouble for the bus company. The other significant event was the loss of time at the border. We waited in a line of about 10 buses for an hour. Yet again, it amazed me how fearsome custom agents can be. Somehow they make even the most innocent traveler quake in their boots and feel uneasy. There's always the slight chance of a miscarriage of justice, so perhaps that fear is real. It wasn't a pleasant experience. One young male passenger who looked like he had a history of questionable medicinal intake commented "man am I glad that's over".
To our surprise, the bus station was surrounded by hotels of varying age and presumably repute. We took the easy out and settled on a Comfort Inn, confident that the quality would be fine. It was. As we left, the check-in counter a New Zealander standing behind us asked which part of Australia we came from. I recognised him as one of our fellow bus passengers. We returned his question to discover he came from a town north of Auckland, but we failed to ask the obvious question of why he was in Quebec City. Bryce said owing to the late hour, he didn't want to be delayed getting to the room. I concurred.