“Oh, we won’t even see it.”
“No, a small town of probably 1,500. We just pass by.”
I sat mute, wondering what I had gotten myself into. Trish, a volunteer with Child Haven offered to pick me up and deposit me at the front door.
Giving time overseas is one of my goals, but to be led to a possibly creepy farmhouse in butthole, Ontario?
My mind swimmed with exhaustion. I hauled my pack through buttery heat at 5:30 am to board yet another Greyhound.
These buses are all beginning to look the same. Semi-stiff airplane seating and the familiar sounds of snoring from a passenger lulled by the motions of the bus. Budget travel is never boring, that much I can attest to.
5 hours later I stood outside the Ottawa Greyhound Station, noticing the heat had followed me. I wasn’t given a picture of Trish, so wandered aimlessly lingering on someone’s face a bit too long. They returned a quizzical expression. Shove off, you are weird.
From behind I heard a woman say to a passenger, “Are you Jeannie?”
She, too, was doing the blind date ritual, which was grossly out of place for a volunteer pick-up/drop-off scenario. I turned and began following her like a lost puppy. Finally our eyes met.
“Are you Trish?”
“Yes, you must be Jeannie.” Jackpot.
Trish looked about sixty, but exuded a youthful energy in ivory shorts and flip-flops. She greeted me warmly, admitting she was slightly flustered due to car problems. A sleek, white vehicle had easily replaced any car issues and off we went.
Maxville is about 1 hour from Ottawa. I felt slightly chipped on what Ottawa had to offer as the main landscape zipping by were freeways and other cars.
I had done some paltry