Road to Fogo Island
Hello, Internet, it’s Wednesday, January 26th, but let’s pretend it’s Monday the 17th. And on Monday the 17th, I was on my way to Fogo Island. And in order to get to Fogo Island, I had to take the bus to Gander.
So, having been sick ALL WEEKEND (it was brutal. I got tired of lazing around in bed. And I love lazing around in bed), I finally recovered enough to go have a meeting Sunday evening, whereupon I had a cup of tea.
There was nothing special about the tea. It was weak orange pekoe, with about 1/3 of a packet of sugar in it.
But I drank it at 10pm. And I did not sleep at all Sunday night.
What I did, instead, was watch the second half of the most recent season of Dexter. And while Dexter is awesome (ethical serial killer, played by ridiculously talented actor – what’s not to love?), it is not quite as awesome as sleeping, especially when you are recovering from a bad cold and have to be on a bus at 7:30am.
Around 5, I gave up on sleeping, got up, had a shower to make myself feel semi-human, ate a bowl of cereal, packed my backpack and tote bag (containing my computer, paperwork, running shoes and 5 days’ worth of clothes… 3 years of working for World’s End has taught me to be a very efficient packer), and left the house. Normally (ie: if I had slept), I would have gotten up at 6:30, showered fast, skipped breakfast, and gotten into a taxi to get me to the bus for 7:15. But this time, since it was 6:15 when I left my house, I walked.
There is something surreal about walking a familiar route at an unfamiliar time. In St. John’s, the “bus station” is at the university student centre, and I walk to the university all the time, to rehearse there, to use the library facilities, to meet up with friends. The Arts & Culture Centre (my second home) is nearby. I cut through campus to get to the hospital, where ski patrol training takes place. It’s a 20-minute walk.
Or it usually is, in the mid-morning or the early evening, when I have left my house 25 minutes before I have to be there. But at 6:15 in the morning, when the streets are deserted and every driver seems to be a careful one, when it’s been snowing all night and turning to rain, it takes almost 40. On top of my exhaustion and complete lack of will to walk at my regular pace, I was taken with the magic of the quiet city. Most of the windows were dark, and the ones bearing lights held only a faint yellow glow, as though the people awake at this hour of the morning were reluctant to let overhead lights take over before dawn, and had opted for table lamps instead. If there had been stars that night, I would have been able to see them with no trouble.
By the time I got to the university, the bus was there. I climbed aboard and fell asleep immediately. I woke up briefly to pay, then slept again until Gander.