Greyhound

I spent the holidays in Birmingham, Alabama and had quite a bit of an interesting trip back to Montréal.

On the nightly greyhound bus from Birmingham to Atlanta I was sitting next to a black man, forties, completely stoned on beer. A habit. "The drug of the poors" as he put it himself. He had the face of a man who had supported the whole misery of the world. Still, his eyes were curious and full of calmness. Almost friendly. He told me 20 years of his life were missing. Having a hard time making sentences. He said humbly, without any attack: "You can't understand, you're white, I'm black. You know, all these years I've been told to shut up." In your face. What can you answer to that ? This guy had been hoping from one salute army to the other around the whole country. Yet, his eyes were full of hope concerning this trip to Atlanta. He told me joyfuly it would be his first time there. I asked him what he wanted to do there. He thought for a second before answering and simply said: "I'll try".

He was happy to hear I was french. This looked like quite an experience to him, like an attraction. He told me he learned english by himself and that he enjoys reading writing from all the religions possible. "My insurance" as he said with a smile. I was astonished. He wanted to learn a bit of greek to read the bible more closely. He told me his new year discovery was that he learned that Germany is part of Europe. I was completely voiceless. A great lesson of humility. I don't think a lot of people realize there are different worlds on this planet with barely no connection to one another. After that he wanted to sleep, I put my earphones on, I offered him one. Just to see. Bruckner's Seventh was on. He told me he enjoyed it. I was happy to hear that. He was convinced he was no interest to me due to his lack of culture and knowledge.
At the Atlanta Greyhound station it was a MESS! Awful lot of people. There was this (very) young officer of the US army. He was the only one I saw this day with some kind of medal on his chest. He went to the cornder of the room where arcade games were and asked some people to move so he could better shoot at the game "antiterrorists 2"...OMG.

Once arrived at the Atlanta airport I went for a sleep in the atrium which is a large circle cut into the 3 storey building. The roof of the atrium is a large glass from where light can spill during the day. Once you entered there anyone could feel a strange mood. After a look around one could realize that the first storey was a complete regiment of marines, sleeping, turning backs to the center of the atrium. A complete circle of army shirts, asleep, reading, thinking and on the floor, people walking around with there luggage and stuffs. Another 2 worlds piece? The instructor was walking round his men, kicking those whose attitude was not suitable (that is: one can be sit or laied down on the ground, but not in between, the back half against a wall. Cute.)
After queing to the checkin board for the rest of the night (more than 3hours queue!) I realized my plane was the next day. Typical of me. Stuppidest thing ever. One day to spend in an airport... After 10hours I couldn't understand how Tom Hanks couldn't have turned completely mad after days in it. You really feel like being nowhere in an airport.
Anyway, my greatest game in this airport was to try to discover people's nationality by their way to walk, not even hearing them and I had quite a bit of fun. A game I'm pretty good at actually.

Waiting for the plane there was an asian couple sitting not too far from me. The woman (in the 40s i' say) had been yelling at his husband for one hour and half! The astonishing stuff is that during all that time, he didn't show any emotion, didn't breathe a word, was almost like not hearing her, watching people around, etc. Reminded me of the japanese sword movies. I was thinking that when he would be just fed up he would pull out his katana and cut her in pieces in half a second. It almost happened: he said a sentence! after 1hour and half! He said it like one would say "I put the meat in the freezer" or any emotion free sentence.
Of course the only french words I heard said from real frenchies (as opposed to Québécois people) were: "Fait chié on va être à la bourre. Encore à cause de ces enculés de ricains." (which would mean: Fuck, we're gonna be late. These fucking americans' fault once more!) I almost laughed loudly. No doubt they were french.

Nothing to do with the quebecois people I saw. Front of me was a women who gaved to someone 7$ so he could buy a something to eat before the flight. They had never seen each others, barely talked 1minutes for she gave us the money. The other one wanted to pay her back in canadian dollars, she refused: "c'est correct" (my pleasure (in this case)) as they usually say in Québec. On the plane I was next to a québécois women reading reading a book "edition de poche" (popular edition in France) whose price was still in francs. Made me smile once more.
Arrived. Snow. Cold. Taxi. Sleep.

I was at the beginning not so happy to quit the holidays (and the +18°C of southern USA). I slept for 12hours so tired I was and ran into my first course like if the daily routine was falling down on me again. Wake up, books, pens, métro. Entering the subway front of me a gorgious girl, shaking her long hair to remove the snow in a thousands of shiny sparkles floating behind her as she walks. I definitely love Québec.