My mom always told me, “You were such a friendly baby you would let anyone hold you! Once you started walking, I was scared you were just going to follow a stranger home one day.” And that’s exactly what happened 21 years later! (More on that later.) My mom’s anecdote reaffirmed that I’m naturally a very friendly and open person. I’m never shy about going up to strangers to ask for directions, to go up to lost tourists and offer them directions, to tell someone I liked her shoes, or to just strike up a conversation. This is how I’ve made many friends through my travels, even in places where I only visited for 48 hours. On August 27th, the eve of Hurricane Irene hitting the northeastern states, I found my way with the help of strangers who I met that very morning.
While US news and weather reports diligently communicated that Hurricane Irene was going to be the worst tropical storm to hit the northeast in decades, I was enjoying a couple of fair-weather days in Montreal with Susan. The plan was to return to DC via a 15-hour Amtrak ride with a layover at New York Penn Station (the one-way ticket only costs $78). I was looking forward to the long train ride, but it looked like Irene was going to get in my way. As CNN showed continuous coverage of New York preparing for the worst, including evacuating hospital buildings in downtown Manhattan and shutting down the MTA, I checked the Amtrak website for updates once we got back to our hotel room. When all the train line cancellations were posted and there was no info about mine (the Adirondack line), I tried calling them several times through Skype. I was put on hold for over 30 minutes and then my call was dropped because the wi-fi signal was weak. I finally decided my only option was to wait it out and head to the train station the next morning as planned.
Susan was supposed to fly out to New York at noon that same day, but she discovered just time that Delta had re-booked her to the earliest flight out which was at 6am. If I was to be stuck in Montreal, I couldn’t afford to spend more nights at the hotel by myself ($150/night). My only options were going to a hostel or contacting my relatives who I haven’t spoken to in almost 20 years.
As I walked over the train station, I prayed that Amtrak didn’t shut down all the lines yet. Even if we got as far as upstate New York, at least I would be that much closer to home. Even though I arrived at the station an hour and a half before the scheduled departure time, there was already a massive line leading up to the Amtrak counter. Everyone else had the same idea. As I got into line, I asked the two people in front of me if they were also on the 8:30 train to New York. They were! So I asked if they had heard any news about the train running on time or getting canceled. They haven’t. As the line slowly moved along, I learned that the couple was from Philadelphia and they needed to get home because they had two cats who were already left on their own for four days. I told them about my two cats. We went over contingency plans in case the train was canceled: last minute flight (too expensive), Greyhound (buses were already canceled the day before), and renting a car. Soon after they reached the counter, the couple turned around to inform me our train was definitely canceled. No trains until Tuesday. I counted in my head, I would be stuck in Montreal for 3 more days. My heart sank and I thought about having to reach out to my long lost cousins. How would I even introduce myself over the phone?
After the couple got their refund at the counter, they told me they’ll look into car rentals. They were going to wait for me in the middle of the station. I never got my refund because just as I was about to take my turn at the counter, an Amtrak employee stepped out and announced to the crowd that trains were canceled until Tuesday. We could either re-book our tickets or call Amtrak to get our refunds. I got out of line and met back up with the couple from Philly. It was decided: we were renting a car and driving to Philly. Once there, I could check if the Chinatown buses are running or crash with relatives or friends. At least Philly was just 3 hours by car from DC as opposed to 11 hours (or 16 hours by train). Introductions were quickly made; the couple was Matt and Leah. Matt scoured his computer and I my iPhone for numbers to car rental places. The wi-fi was too poor for me to get on Skype so Leah called Hertz on the pay phone. She got a deal for $150, but we had to pick up the car at the airport.
We all hopped into a cab with a driver who didn’t speak any English. In French, I told him we needed to get to the airport. In Quebecois, he asked me if I enjoyed my stay in Montreal. In French, I told him, “Yes, as always. This was my third time here.” In Quebecois, he asked me, “Are you from Thailand? Can you speak Thai?” In French, I told him, “No, I’m not Thai. I’m Chinese and I can speak Chinese.” In Quebecois, he told me, “My first wife was from Thailand.” Okay.
At Hertz, the guy behind the counter told Matt and Leah we were the third group of Americans to come in that morning to rent a car at the last minute. We had to wait about a few minutes for the car because they had to find one with a US license plate. He threw in the GPS for free and said that the late fee will be waived in case Leah returns the car late because of the storm. As we waited for the car, Leah said she was going to write a complimentary letter to Hertz about the guy for being so helpful and understanding. This was foreign language to my ears because I had never known anyone who wrote a nice letter to corporate offices, although I know it happens. I knew I met the right people to drive me home. Well, to Philly.
As soon as we hit the road, I called my mom to ask for her to get me my cousin John’s number. When we finally crossed the border and the roaming symbol was gone from my phone, I called two of my friends in Philly to see if I could crash with them. Neither answered or returned my calls before I was able to reach John. So that was settled. I was to stay with John and his wife in Philly.
The weather was great until we hit New Jersey. The 6-hour car ride turned out to be 7 hours because of the torrential downpour towards the end. In those 7 hours, I learned that Matt and Leah are from Utah. Leah just finished law school in Philly and Matt is a journalist who writes for The Salt Lake City Tribune. Unlike many couples I know who fall into the habit of only talking amongst themselves, Matt and Leah constantly made sure I didn’t feel left out of their conversation. If I drifted out, which I often did as I watched the scenery go by, one of them would pull me back in by asking another question about me.
All the while, I was getting text messages from Susan asking if I was okay, if I was still alive. It didn’t help that I had first told her I was getting a ride in an SUV packed with frat boys. She didn’t put it pass me to actually pull a stunt like that. After all, I have crashed at strangers’ homes in foreign cities and hitched rides in rickety cars through developing countries.
I once believed that all people can be nice. Now I know better–the world is full of evil people who wouldn’t think twice about hurting another human being. Armed with that knowledge, I still follow my intuition. If I don’t, I’ll never find my way home.
August 30th update: I received an email from Matt last night to make sure I had made it home safely from Philly. I told him there were no buses running on Sunday so I had to spend a second night there. I finally made it home on Monday via Chinatown bus. There were still no Greyhound buses, I was unable to get ahold of anyone at Megabus, and all the Amtrak trains were sold out. He told me service on the Adirondack line still wasn’t restored on Tuesday like we were originally told, so who knows how long we would have been stuck in Montreal if we had decided to wait on Amtrak.
