The museum was free that evening. After the fireworks, we went inside to warm up, eat some of our snacks and rest our feet. There was an exhibit upstairs about the Canadian Arctic Expedition. We wandered thru and took our time.
At some point, the fair and industrious Trudy looked at me and said, “We probably should take the bus back to Ottawa now.”
There was supposed to be a Snow Bus taking people across the river for free during Winterlude, but the people at the front desk of the museum said that it had stopped running hours before.
“You can catch the 77,” they said, “Right outside. It comes in three minutes.”
We quickly pulled on our coats, mittens and backpacks and dashed out.
At the street, there was no sign of the 77. In fact, there was no sign of any OC Transpo buses, much less the 77. Just two Gatineau buses, and we didn’t know where they were going.
We turned and walked up the hill to where we saw another bus in the distance.
“Excuse me,” I said to a woman who was directing people onto what looked like a tour bus. She had a Winterlude logo on the back of her coat. “Excuse me, do you know where we can catch the 77 bus to Ottawa?”
She said, “I think you catch it down there,” she said, pointing vaguely downhill. “But I’m not sure. Where are you going?”
She stood silently for a moment and then said, “Take this bus,” pointing to the tour bus by the curb.
“Do we need tickets?”
“Just don’t ask,” she said with a smile on her face. “Get on.” And she turned around and walked away.
So we got in line behind a couple of people in black suits and black dresses with black winter coats and fancy black scarfs wrapped around their collars. They must have just come from the Taste of Winterlude wine tasting inside the museum—the gathering with candles and low lighting and a wine bar beside the immense two-story windows that looked out onto the lake. (What a view of the fireworks they must have had.)
We got on with our jeans and our down coats and our puffy mittens and our jeans and waffle-stomping boots. We followed the black-suiters toward the back of the bus. They all knew each other and were talking about business and about school years before in Toronto and about nightlife in Ottawa.
There were plenty of empty seats, so we sat down toward the back. Quietly, not asking questions.
And sure enough, the bus pulled away from the curb and drove along the river up Rue Laurier. It passed a bus stop which was lined with people. The sign said, 77. They were waiting for the bus we were supposed to take. On the other hand, the bus we did take turned onto the Pont Macdonald Cartier and drove across the Ottawa River where in a few minutes it dropped us all off at Chateau Laurier.