The train is not what it used to be

THE CANADIAN, NORTHERN ONTARIO—When I was three years old in Montreal, my father would take my brother and me to the CP rail station in nearby Montreal West. We would watch, fascinated, as the trains came in and out of the station, many of them steam engines. Two years later, we moved within a block of the tracks, a few minutes' walk to the station. The railway became a part of our lives, as trains passed the old level crossing that divided the town or rumbled past the playing fields and hockey rinks we frequented. Each day, two transcontinental passenger trains, the Dominion and the Canadian, would leave for Vancouver and their equivalents from out West would arrive. My friends and I were filled with romantic notions of those trains going from our little station through the Rockies to the coast. When, at age 19, I stepped onto the train to work in Lake Louise, Alta., and see my brother in Vancouver, it was a genuine rite of passage. Sitting up for three days with a crowd of students and Canadians of every shape and size boarding and departing, was not comfortable, but it was fun. In the 1970s and 1980s, it was a given that travelling west would mean the train. I took it several times to work at Lake Louise and Calgary. My last trip across Canada was with my late son, James, on the way to Expo 86, stopping along the way in Winnipeg, Calgary, and Lake Louise. As he lived in upstate New York, introducing 13-year-old James to the country of his birth was important to me, and it proved an important moment for him, as it helped him define his Canadian identity. And it represented cherished memories. So, when a family wedding in British Columbia dropped into the social calendar this year, it made sense for my wife and I to fly there and return by train, 36 years after the last trip. Not unlike visiting with an old friend who has not aged well, the train, while retaining some of of its mystique, is not the experience it once was. First of all, the Canadian is slow. What was a four-day trip from Vancouver in 1970 is now five. And even then, we are several hours late. Freight now takes priority—so much of the time is spent on sidings, waiting for two-kilometre-long trains to go by. Second, the train, once the domain of the young, is now populated by the elderly. Given that I am pretty damned old myself, I should not complain. But there is a distinct lack of energy among the predominantly American and British tourists aboard. They also align with their clichés: the Americans are loud and brash, the Brits quiet and self-effacing. The rare Canadians, like us, are invisible. The Canadian passing through Jasper, Alta. Despite its flaws, taking the train is still a wonderful experience that Andrew Caddell says brings him closer to the land, and makes him appreciative of Canada's vastness. Photograph courtesy of Andrew Caddell Third, while the food is excellent and the staff diligent, you could make book the servers will not remember who ordered the chicken, the fish, or the beef. And their attempts to conjure "fun" and provide information for the tourists fall flat when the information is wrong. A staff member briefing a captive audience about Alberta in the dome car knew neither who singer Ian Tyson or Premier Jason Kenney were. "I'm from Winnipeg," she explained. Fourth, the route is through long stretches of wilderness. Unlike the old CP route, the Canadian avoids any major northern Ontario towns. And while I am proud my grandfather helped build the old Grand Trunk Railway as a civil engineer from Ireland, the tracks they laid go through nothing but forest in our most populous province. Finally, the trains themselves are relics of another age. The beautiful 1950s silver Streamliner carriages have been refurbished, but there is no WiFi on the train. Intermittent service in the rare towns is the only way to communicate with the outside world. The conductor, an earnest young man, is forced to calculate where passengers will sit or sleep on a large paper map of the train. It seems the computer reservation system is not connected to the train, and vacant seats abounded on a "sold-out" train. For decades, I have had recurring dreams of standing between the train cars, as they weave back and forth. And of sitting in the dome car, looking out on the Prairies. This week, I got to live out those dreams. It is still a wonderful experience, it brings me closer to the land, and makes me appreciative of Canada's vastness. But, like attempting to rekindle first love many decades later, I am not as besotted as I once was. Andrew Caddell is retired from Global Affairs Canada, where he was a senior policy adviser. He previously worked as an adviser to Liberal governments. He is a fellow with the Canadian Global Affairs Institute and a town councillor in Kamouraska, Que. He can be reached at pipson52@hotmail.com. The Hill Times

The train is not what it used to be

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The train is not what it used to be

Not unlike visiting with an old friend who has not aged well, the train, while retaining some of of its mystique, is not the experience it once was.

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