Fortunately, that was only the half-hour commuter train to Freiburg. I was especially worried about our ten-minute connection to our next train to Berlin. I guess I'm used to airports, where anything less than forty minutes between flights is just asking to be left behind. We were standing on the platform six minutes before the train even got there. This next, high-speed train had a much more normal cadre of passengers, split between businesspeople and Germans who seem to be perpetually on vacation.
We had a twelve-minute switch in Berlin to our next train to the Frankfurt Airport. We were four minutes late, but the Conductor explained to me that it was using the same platform, so there was no way it could arrive before the present train left. Brilliant! What had I been worried about?
Next came the kerfuffle at the airport. You know this can't be good.
I had booked us tickets to New York JFK, the cheapest I could find, on Condor Airlines, which from the marketing, seemed to bill itself as the German Ryanair. Nobody likes Ryanair. Nobody. I showed up all prepared to grit my teeth through a string of fees added at the ticket counter, but they accepted both our check-in and hand luggage without comment.
We were prepared to fast, sleep and read through the nine-hour flight, so it came as a bit of a shock to find ourselves sitting behind personal screens with more free content than just a bunch of annoying ads. Then they served us not one, but two hot meals! Oh, it's amazing what can pass nowadays as above-average service, but since our expectations were so low, we were well pleased. I've always said that it's better to under-promise and over-deliver than the other way around. I'm talking about you, United.
From JFK, we went to New York Penn Station, where we had just enough time for a slice of New York pizza each, before boarding the three-hour train ride up the Hudson River to our hotel in Albany.
I did it this way for two reasons. The first was that the direct train to Toronto leaves New York City before our flight got in. The second is that we could stay in a really nice, historic hotel in Albany for half of what it would cost us for a Bowery flophouse in NY. Why didn't we just fly to Toronto in the first place? That's a great question.
Pizza filled our stomachs, and the time, while waiting in New York's Penn Station (on day one), and the following day we got to cross the Niagara River by train and back into Canada
Regardless, the next morning, after a three-minute check-in, we were soon trundling in the train, along the edge of the Erie Canal, and towards the border at Niagara Falls. As I was gazing out the window, it occurred to me that we have transited this particular part of upstate New York via various regional flights to Buffalo, Rochester, Syracuse and Albany, by car on Interstate 90, by boat on the Erie Canal and even by foot along the canal towpaths during morning runs and evening walks. Now, of course, we were on rails on Amtrak's Maple Leaf service.
One thing that struck me now, since it was the boating off-season, was how low the water was. I can't decide whether I wish I had seen it this way before taking Begonia through or not. On the one hand, it was good for helping to identify shallow spots. On the other, I couldn't help but notice that the bottom was almost entirely gravel beds and hard granite, with no nice, soft mud upon which to ground. Yikes! No wonder the few big power yachts that we saw during our transit that had strayed from the channel had some horrific damage.
Six hours after leaving Albany, we crossed a high trellis bridge across the Niagara River into Canada, where we were told to collect our bags and proceed to Customs for clearance. Afterward we boarded the same train, now with a Canadian crew, to Toronto.
As we rode along the southern shore of Lake Ontario, I must say that I was shocked at the difference in scenery between the American and Canadian portions of the route. While the American side was mostly winding through woods or along the banks of the Erie Canal system, the Canadian portion was almost entirely marred by what seems to be a tremendous commitment to copious littering. Nearly every house we passed had years of accumulated rubbish that had been tossed over the back fence. The few open spaces we went through had sickly plants trying to struggle skyward through a tangled maze of old tires, mattresses, torn plastic trash bags and rusting appliances. It was shameful. Canada, you should be ashamed of yourself. I really had thought you were better than that.
Things improved somewhat when we turned northeastwards at Hamilton and started making our way up the increasingly built-up shore to Toronto. from the station, it was only a short dash through the rain to our hotel across the street, the Royal York.
The Royal York is enormous. When built in 1929 it was declared "the largest and finest hotel in the British Empire". After a long walk, the grand lobby gave way to our tiny, but functional room that was like every other hotel room you have ever seen, but smaller. Also irritating was that, although the hotel has many elevators, none can get you to street level without transiting a dozen wide steps. This is invariably where the bell staff try their hardest to kidnap your luggage for the next half-hour, and then not return it until you have paid a hefty ransom at your room after they have tediously gone through the operation of every light switch and power outlet. No thanks, buddy. That's what Maryanne is for.
Since I have been to Toronto many, many times, and since I'm still alive, I ventured out the next morning for a run along the Lake Ontario shoreline to have another go at freezing to death in the icy wind howling in off the lake. I'm pretty sure I did, but then I'm writing this, so I must have got better.
In Toronto we had some time in the morinng (before our train departed) to walk around the city a little as the morning fog cleared
From Toronto, there were only three train hours left before we finally alighted on the platform at Chatham, Ontario. We rented a car, and just forty minutes after that {Plus a quick stop for some basic groceries!}, a mere sixty-four hours from leaving Breisach, we were finally parked next to, and slightly under Begonia, hidden under shrink wrap . We had originally planned to wait until the next day to start with all that, but our curiosity got the best of us as we arrived in Erieau and we diverted to do a general inspection.
She seems to have faired the winter well. In our worst nightmares, we expected to find her slumped over on one keel, with splits in the structure where hidden, entrained water had cracked her open during each freeze/thaw cycle. Instead, she pretty much looked just like when we had left her in October. That was a bit of a relief.
Begonia on our return - a quick inspection revealed no obvious frights to deal with - whew!
The fun stopped there. The place we rented to stay in while we prepared to put Begonia in the water was not nearly as nice or spacious as the one we had left last year. That place was so big, it had a whole level we didn't even bother using. This new place was barely bigger than Begonia herself, except that it had no storage space whatever, apart from the floor, which was everywhere at an annoying slant.
The place was a true New Zealand-style bach, except without the character. Everything from the plywood walls to the vibrating pipe work was clearly slapped together as cheaply as possible - like a treehouse without the tree. I guess that gives us more incentive to clean up the boat so we can live in the manner to which we have become accustomed. To add to the injury, during my morning runs, I couldn't help but notice that our "old" place was completely unoccupied during our stay. Sigh... {Maryanne:To be fair, while still expensive, this place was much cheaper, and much nearer to the boat:a 5 minute walk; we didn't need a larger place (but it would have been nice)}
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