The Turtle and the Greyhound

Backpackers are a curious breed. I've seen them walking by, their
life's possesions strapped to their backs. Human "turtles". I view them
with a mixture of envy and sympathy. They're usually tanned and
athletic, a tattered copy of "Lonely Planet" in their hands. What
places they must have seen. What adventures they must have had. They
seem to know loads of people, and their reputation for partying follows
them around the world. But just how heavy is that pack? Do they really
survive for months with just two sets of clothes? Where do they fit
their makeup case? Hairdryer?

One day I would like to be a backpacker, just to see what it's all
about.

SEVERAL YEARS LATER.......

Backpackers should be Olympic contenders. Backpacking is such an
exhausting sport and as I've discovered, travelling woes are the most
interesting stories to tell.

NEW YORK
It was late Fall in North America and the first snow of the season had
already fallen in some parts. My backpack was bursting with enough
winter woollies to clothe an entire eskimo family. I was packed and I
was prepared. Time to board that plane.

I arrived in New York to a sweltering 30 degrees. I had to actually buy
lighter clothes to wear.....oh the hardship!!! A backpacker's true
downfall - SHOPPING! I met my sister at the airport and after a teary
reunion we decided a New-York-yellow-cab-ride was on the agenda.
Outside the arrivals terminal of JFK airport we were accosted by a
dodgy bloke offering to flag down a "cab". As he took us right past the
cab rank, I wondered why everyone else was lined up. The dodgy bloke
waved down a black van with tinted windows, and we immediately decided
it was safer to join the queue.

Forty-five minutes later we arrived at the front door of our hostel.
Welcome to Spanish Harlem. The concerned cabbie told us to be careful
and not to walk around at night. He drove off and we hurriedly went
inside. Obviously, we hadn't read the brochure properly. It turned out
to be the hostel from hell and we spent five ghastly nights gettting
eaten by bedbugs! I remember my mother saying to me as a child
"nighty-night, don't let the bedbugs bite." Surely they were a thing of
legend? A terrible story to scare children to sleep? But no, the little
critters really exist. I spent the next two weeks scratching
incessantly. I was covered in a blister-like rash from head to toe and
I felt like a leper. A large dose of self-prescribed antihistamines and
hydrocortisone cured me somewhat, but I had scabs for months
afterwards. My sister escaped with just a few bites to her legs.

Things weren't all bad in the big apple. In fact I totally LOVED New
York and never once felt scared or threatened. Bedbugs aside of course.
We rode the subway and walked through Harlem at night and nobody
bothered us. It was a shopper's dream - as long as you forgot about the
exchange rate - because that really HURTS! We did all the touristy
things like visiting the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building,
Wall Street, Brooklyn Bridge, Sax on Fifth, Tiffany's,
Bloomingdales.

We sat in the audience for a Ricki Lake show. It was such a laugh and I
found myself dancing with an English lad who'd never watched an
episode. We boogied and chanted "GO RICKI, GO RICKI". He was addicted
by the time we left the studio. It was fun to see ourselves on
TV.

And what trip to New York is complete without seeing a show on
Broadway? We outdid ourselves with "Les Miserables" and tried not to
faint at the price of wine. The show was phenominal and I wished we had
time to see all the shows. I thought about how great it would be to
live there, knowing full well I'd never have any money if I did.

We visited Ground Zero and paid our respects. I watched with horror as
masses of tourists stood smiling in front of the site, posing for
typical travel photographs. You know the ones - "here's me in front of
what used to be the World Trade Centre - say cheese." It made my
stomach turn and I put my camera away. I read hundreds of notes and
banners at the makeshift shrine and left the site teary-eyed. It was a
sombre moment.

But we were in New York, and the city was buzzing. What a vibrant
place. I wanted our visit to be a happy and memorable one, so we said a
prayer, walked away and continued our journey.

NIAGARA FALLS
Bedbug ridden and tired (from sleeping on the bedbugless couch in the
hostel common room), my sister and I caught the overnight Greyhound to
Niagara Falls. We arrived on the Canadian side of the border and
disembarked for the immigration checks. The driver instructed everyone
to collect their luggage. There was one small problem, however. Our
bags were NO LONGER on the bus! Apparently they had been transferred to
another bus sometime during the night and were on their way to Toronto
without us. My sister and I made our way to the hostel with the
knowledge we couldn't so much as clean our teeth or change our
underwear. It was 7:00am and after checking in, there was nothing for
us to do but begin our sightseeing adventure.

Niagra Falls has to be the tackiest place I've ever been. I've heard
people describe it as a mini Las Vegas, and it's easy to see why. With
Planet Hollywood, Hardrock Cafe and ritzy hotels sprouting around the
waterfalls like polyps, it's difficult to view this miracle of nature
as anything but cheezy. Everything is overpriced and it's virtually
impossible to photograph the falls without a Maid of the Mist boat in
the frame. We decided to hot-tail it out of there ASAP. Our bags had
finally turned up and we booked ourselves on the first bus to
Montreal.

MONTREAL
Chic and energetic, Montreal is a city that has to be approached with
just a little glamour. I traded my jeans for cords, my fleece for a
cardigan and my sneakers for mules. I hit the shops and tried not to
hyperventilate as I browsed the endless rows of boots, heels and
handbags in all the latest styles and colours.

And what about those French-Canadians!! Ooh la la, I LOVE the French
accent. Even ugly men look good when they speak French. I was
practising speaking "en Francais" but everytime I opened my mouth, the
other person would laugh and reply in English. Porquoi?

Our trip to Montreal was fairly uneventful but memorable nonetheless.
We shopped and ate lots. We went to the Botanical Gardens and took
pictures of the Chinese Lanterns. We walked around the old town and
visited the Notre Dame (I think every city has one). We hiked up to
Mount Royal Park and fed some squirrels. It was nice. Stress free. I
could happily live in Montreal but I'd do nothing but shop, drink
cappuccinos, shop, speak French, and shop. Oh, and shop.

QUEBEC CITY
Once again we boarded the Greyhound bus and enjoyed the breathtaking
scenery as we headed to Quebec City. The trees were in full autumn
colours of reds and yellows. The lakes were sparkling blue and life was
wonderful. We spent our time in Quebec City in the Vieux Port, the old
town. We shopped (of course) and walked around the fortified walls and
visited the Citadel. We took numerous pictures of the harbour and the
Chateau Frontenac. LOVELY. An afternoon tour of the Cap Tormente to
watch the migrating snow geese, as well as a journey to Canyon
Sainte-Anne put the icing on the cake, and the French speaking guide
was a cute bonus.

Afterward we had chocolate icecream "Une glace au chocolat s'il vous
plait!" Grinning and with full bellies, we planned the next leg of our
backpacking adventure.

TORONTO
We said goodbye to Quebec City and started our all-day bus trip to
Toronto. It went quickly and we arrived in Toronto before we knew it.
Well and truly over sightseeing by this stage, we bypassed Toronto as
an overnight destination. We arrived at the bus station late in the
evening and began our search for a bus to the airport. We planned to
pull an all nighter in the departure lounge, thus eliminating the need
to pay for accommodation. We had early (and separate) flights to
Vancouver, so this seemed the most economical plan. The man at the bus
terminal information desk was extremely unhelpful and told us to catch
a cab. So off we went into the night, our lives still strapped to our
backs.

A cab driver came running over to us and before we knew it our
backpacks were in the trunk. We were exhausted and more than a little
dubious. The cabbie was trying to barter the fare with us. It was
almost as if we had mysteriously arrived in some dodgy, middle eastern
country. The cabbie told us he'd give us a "discount".....whatever that
meant. We stupidly bundled into the backseat before realising the cab
had no company name on the door and the driver had no identification.
The driver's seat was lying back, completely blocking the back door as
an exit. The locks were broken on the accessible side. He made us pay
up front and never turned on the meter. I thought about refusing but he
was already zooming down the freeway. I fearfully handed over the cash
and he immediately exited the freeway, taking us through all the dark,
narrow backstreets. Neither myself nor my sister saw a single airport
sign and we huddled together in the back seat, visions of doom dancing
around in our heads. I felt around in my bag and clutched a plastic
fork. It was the only weapon I could find.

After what seemed an eon, we reached the airport alive and unscathed.
We both breathed a sigh of relief and I even tipped the guy. The whole
debacle cost about forty bucks. So much for the night's accommodation
we were trying to save.

VANCOUVER
I have to ask myself why hostels are always situated in seedy places.
Probably because they are often cheap and nasty. I read somewhere that
Vancouver was voted the prettiest city in the world, but I think there
are prettier places. We spent a lot of time wandering through Stanley
Park and we walked across the Lion's Gate Bridge to the North Shore. We
went to Lighthouse Park and sat on a rock staring out to sea for a
while. We went to Horseshoe Bay and hiked to Whytecliffe Park. We saw a
couple of seals swimming along in Howe Sound. We ate fish and chips and
took some pictures of (another) totem pole.

Back in the city we went up to the Lookout and saw that Vancouver is
indeed a beautiful place. I liked Gastown (a bit seedy I thought) but I
totally dug the steam clock. We did a day trip to Whistler which was
gorgeous. We hiked for four hours and didn't see a single bear. We
didn't see much wildlife at all which was disappointing. I'm scared of
bears.

I was attacked in Vancouver...and not by wildlife, although I guess
that depends on which way you look at it. It was the day we were
leaving for Victoria. My sister was still packing so I decided to grab
us something quick for breakfast. It was early morning and I found a
busy little cafe. I opened the door to go inside when a man came
rushing out. He grabbed me by the throat and dragged me into the
street. There were people around but WHERE WERE THEY? I am a yellow
belt in Kung Fu but never once gave it a thought. The whole incident
was over within seconds and it's difficult to recall what was going
through my head at the time. I can't remember being scared and I never
had time to react. Shock is the only word that comes to mind. The man
was a vagrant and well known to the shopkeepers along that particular
street. He was very paranoid and was either a junkie or schizophrenic
or possibly both. He pushed me away without further incident and
marched off down the street, muttering to himself. Shaken and teary, I
returned to the hostel. My refuge. I ran into Bruce, the hostel guy. He
immediately stormed down to the cafe, returning to say he knew who had
attacked me. It was the same man who'd been causing trouble at the
hostel the day before. Bruce gave me a pat on the back and said he'd
"sort the guy out". I told him not to do anything silly, but there's no
messing with Bruce. I wouldn't like to mess with Bruce, bless
him!

Anyway, I consider myself lucky because the whole incident could have
been far worse. I was unnerved and slightly bruised but not really
hurt. I was okay. I wallowed in self pity for about an hour or so, then
the excitement of catching the ferry to Vancouver Island took over. We
left the dreaded Van behind.

VICTORIA
This was my favourite place followed closely by Montreal and New York.
Victoria is just so gorgeous! Very "gardeny". I was happy just to be
there and took pictures of anything pretty. I bought a new 300mm lens
for my camera and was busy testing it out. I'd lost count of how many
totem pole pictures I'd taken. We went to the IMAX and watched the
story of Sir Ernest Shackleton. It was amazing and I bought the book.
Another heavy item to stuff in my pack.

My sister made a dreamcatcher and gave it to me for good luck. The
dreamcatcher lady was bizarre and we were all a bit scared of her. She
was totally harmless but a reformed alcoholic and taking her "pills" at
the table. She wanted us to go out to the pub with her, even though she
doesn't drink anymore. She was quite the character.

We went whale watching in a zodiac boat and it was to be the highlight
of my trip. We hung around all day waiting. The trip was delayed
because they hadn't yet sited the whales. We met another interesting,
if somewhat mad, lady at the hostel. She was leaving Victoria that day
and was sitting in the common room with her luggage. She was fifty-two
years old and had been backpacking for about six years. She was very
nosey and kept asking invasive questions. I couldn't speak to my sister
without the woman interrupting me to find out what I was talking about.
She asked me about my camera and I mentioned that we were going on a
whale watching tour. She sat there staring at me for a while then
decided on the spur of the moment to come along! My sister and I made
our escape while she was booking her seat. That was about the time we
found out the trip was delayed, so after a brief shopping spree we
headed back to the hostel. The mad lady caught up with us and asked me
to carry her bag to the whale watching place.

Everyone knows the rules of backpacking - if you pack it or buy it, YOU
carry it. It's just unheard of amongst backpackers to encroach others
to help out if the load gets too much. Everyone is in the same boat, so
to speak, so you must be self-sufficient. It's the cardinal rule.

I agreed to carry her bag and secretly hoped she wouldn't sit next to
me on the boat. Then she refused to walk with us as she wanted to check
out something on the waterfront. My sister and I made our way to whale
watching and dropped off the mad lady's bag at the front desk. Much to
our suprise, the woman never showed up and I spent much of the trip
wondering what to do with her bag. Maybe there were drugs inside? A
bomb? I cursed myself for being an idiot. Again!

The three hour whale watching tour was fun if somewhat disappointing.
There were no toilets on board, so of course that's all I could think
about. We saw loads of sea lions and a couple of porpoises. The boat
trip itself was a blast and it was a glorious day out on the harbour.
The jagged peaks of Washington State were visible from Canadian waters.
It was delightful, but I could think of nothing other than peeing. I
also thought seeing a whale would be great. Especially as we were on a
whale watching tour. But there were to be NO WHALES! I was
devastated.

On returning to shore I discovered the mad lady had booked her tour
through another company. Someone had picked up her bag an hour
previously and we never saw her again.

HOME
Finally I turned the key in the front door of my apartment. I
unstrapped my life from my back and sorted my mail. It was nice to be
"normal" again. It was a relief to be able to do my laundry and not sit
around waiting in a queue or worry about finding the correct change for
the washing maching. It was nice to cook in my own kitchen and walk
around in my underwear. It was good to be home.

Backpackers truly deserve medals in endurance. It was one of the most
stressful and exhausting experiences of my life and it astounds me that
people do it for months, or even years on end. I admire them immensely.
The experience of my backpacking trip is one I will treasure forever.
I've learned the ups and downs go hand-in-hand with travelling.
Everyone has a horror story to tell. Lost bags, muggings, stolen
laundry or mastercards, delayed flights, missed flights, hospital
adventures, traffic jams, bizarre characters, blisters, getting lost,
bedbugs, food poisoning. All make for a tall tale.

I wouldn't trade my experience for anything, even though I'm not in a
hurry to repeat it. Next time, I plan to stay at the Hilton and take
one of those suitcases on wheels. I think I'll go somewhere hot, lie on
a beach somewhere for a week, drink margueritas and work on my
tan.

Does anyone know what Barbados is like this time of year?