Strangers From the Road

I think the power of people, truly, is their ability to impact your life in only a few moments. When I went on a solo road trip last summer, I encountered some people that really helped to make my trip all that it was, which I am forever grateful for. Before I left, I was in a place where I needed to be reminded that there was still good out there and good people especially. Mentally, I was stuck with almost negative blinders of sorts, where I really only focused on the faults and wrongdoings of those around me.  So, I wanted to share these strangers I encountered and how their small acts of friendliness made me feel less alone and helped to remind me of all the good in the world. 

The Bartenders from Quebec City

The second night of my road trip landed me smack dab in the heart of Quebec City. I arrived at the hostel I’d be spending the night at, my first hostel stay ever, in the late afternoon of that summer day. I walked the downtown streets for a while, just exploring and people-watching. I decided the first step out of my comfort zone on this trip would be eating out alone, so I grabbed a table on a patio with my rusty French skills and ordered a beer and fries. As I ate, I felt some eyes, probably wondering why I was alone, but no bother; I was actually extremely comfortable and had the best time with my own company. 

After I finished eating, I carried on with my night, feeling more confident after completing my first social feat of eating dinner out alone. I found myself on the steps of a southern-style bar and figured I “might as well”. Maybe it was my newfound confidence, or maybe I was a little too enticed by the idea of being a mysterious person sitting at the bar alone. The romanticization of main character energy strikes again. So, I walked in and hopped up on a seat at the bar and ordered a beer. 

As the night carried on, I ended up having some very entertaining conversations with the bartender  where I explained why I, a 19-year-old girl from Waterloo, Ontario, was sitting alone, in front of him, at a bar in Quebec City. I explained my road trip to him, which was only just beginning, and he tried his best to follow along and ask questions in English. Another server eventually joined in on our conversation, and the three of us chatted for quite a while. They both continued to translate to English for me whenever they got carried away with a joke or story in French. Eventually, the server’s girlfriend showed up at the bar to grab a drink while he finished his shift, and I was introduced to her as she sat down beside me. The four of us had rounds of flaming sambuca shots and such a fun time together.The energy they brought made me feel like a friend, and they always made sure to translate so I could follow along and stay in conversation with them. It was starting to get late, and the server and his girlfriend actually asked if I had a place to stay for the night, or if I wanted to hang out with them for a bit longer and have a couple drinks back at their place. I had barely noticed, but besides the staff and the girlfriend, I was the only person left in the bar, and it was dark out. I politely declined their offer, as the next leg of my roady (to Fundy National Park) would commence all too soon at essentially the crack of dawn the next day. I went to pay my tab, and the bartender let me know that some of the drinks were on “the house” and that he wished me luck and fun on my adventure, and that I should stop back in on my way back home. I ventured back to my hostel room, which I surprisingly had all to myself, and couldn’t help but feel so happy and satisfied that my trip had gotten off to such a fun start.  

The middle few days of my road trip were less “fun-filled” per se, but more of the soul-searching, immersed in adventure type. This was perfect for having unlimited time with my thoughts, workingon making some upcoming big decisions, and sorting through a year’s worth of pent-up emotions. I found solace in the ocean, in sleepy fishing towns, and in the dense greenery of the east coast. The next few people I encountered that I won’t forget, all came from the Montreal hostel that I stayed in.

The lady who taught me how to play pool in a hostel basement

Fast forward to the opening of the hostel basement bar in Montreal. This was probably around 5 pm on the second last day of my road trip. I had been walking around the city for most of the afternoon and had stopped for another solo dinner of, you guessed it, fries. So now back at the hostel, its basement bar was serving, so I went downstairs to see what the scene was like. It was packed. 

Young guys not much older than me were jamming with their guitars out; everyone had a beer in hand, and there were pool tables with people playing. It was amazing to me to see how so many strangers were all together having such a good time as if they were all old friends. I chatted with several people up at the bar. One girl was from Austria, who started her exchange as part of her language education. One of the ladies that I was rooming with upstairs saw me and beckoned me over to one of the pool tables where she was standing. She asked if I knew how to play, and I didn’t. Over beers, she taught me how to play, and we played for hours afterward. A stranger taught me how to play pool in a hostel basement bar. Yup. That sounds like a good line for two truths and a lie. And I had the best time.  

The man I had breakfast with

The next morning at the hostel, I came downstairs pretty early to grab breakfast, as I had to get on the road for Ottawa. I grabbed a bagel and a coffee and sat down at an empty table to eat. A little time passed, and the eating area started to get rather busy, and the seats began to fill up. I saw an older man looking for a spot to sit, and my table was the only open one with chairs. He noticed this and walked over to me, and then asked if it would be okay if he sat with me. Of course, I said yes (because if you don’t want to share space with strangers, then why are you in a hostel, right?!). We began chatting, and as it turns out, he raised his family in the Waterloo neighborhood where I am from. What a small world. Although younger, his children went to the same high school I went to. He lived a street away from the street my dad grew up on, and my dad is the same age as his oldest kid. He hadn’t been back to Waterloo in a long time, so he asked a ton of questions, and I tried my best to paint a picture of all the changes in the city. After time away from home, it was comforting to get to chat about it with someone who was also familiar with it, and to this day I still get shivers when I think of the chances of an encounter like that happening. 

You might be reading this thinking about all the what-ifs. About the bad things that could have happened, about different outcomes. And I think that is exactly the problem. If I had had that mindset, I would never have had the conversations I got to have and heard the stories that I did. My experience would’ve been limited, and honestly, if I was fearful, I would not have been able to go in the first place. This is not without saying that erring on the side of caution is not important, and I am not naive to know that I was lucky in the outcomes of all the experiences I sought. Staying safe, ultimately, was always the most important thing. With that being said, I still cannot stress enough how taking a chance on strangers and building a small bridge of trust paid off in the coolest of ways for me. It was the perfect reminder that most people are good, and I stand by that.