Today I got off the bus in Montreal and left a cloth bag on the bus. The bag that I love to carry -- a soft one -- the one that Mary's dog chewed the pocked off of to get at the chocolate I was carrying there.
I finished cutting that front pocket off of the bag. It wasn't much trouble since the dog had already eaten half of the material along with the chocolate. All I had to do was unpick a now useless zipper.
I still use the bag over my shoulder. I am a big shopper for bags and so far I haven't bought anything better than this one. My ideal bag has to carry a lot, but not too much weight, have a strap that distributes weight evenly on my shoulder and can be slung around to the back of my body when I don't want my arm touching it as I walk. I would also like it to look fashionable.
I was half way to the metro from the Greyhound bus station and then remembered my favourite cloth bag was still back on the bus. I hurried back to the station with my 50 pounds of luggage that rolls on wheels trailing behind me.
The security guard had helped me find my way out of the statioin and to the metro, so I went back to him, telling him I had left my bag. He said yes, and he pointed ahead of me. "There is the driver just taking it to lost and found." He signalled to the driver to come back.
The driver tried to speak to me in French, but there is no use doing that. I can only read French, no speaking it. I turn pale if anyone tries to say any more than bonjour.
The security guard said to the driver, "Une Anglaise".
OK I can understand that much French.
So the driver wanted to say something and said it in French to the Security Guard who had to translate.
The driver said, through the security guard, since he seemed to want to talk to me, "This is a good bag like the ones that we use in Iran. It is shaped like a goat's stomach and we still have bags like this, some very expensive." And he held it up for me to see, holding the strap high and tracing his hand down the pouch/stomach shape of the bag. Then he pointed to the motifs on my cloth bag and explained about the beasts on the bag and about the motif of the sun.
I loved it that we had this conversation through an interpreter. I felt proud to be a Canadian, proud that this man wanted to talk to me in French, but I seemed proud to see that he also loved his homeland.
I have been thinking about the bag for the rest of the day, since I will still stop and look at racks of bags in Winners, in small boutiques, in large department stores. I look at them all.
I agree with the driver. Nothing like the shape of the stomach of a goat for a bag.
Arta
I finished cutting that front pocket off of the bag. It wasn't much trouble since the dog had already eaten half of the material along with the chocolate. All I had to do was unpick a now useless zipper.
I still use the bag over my shoulder. I am a big shopper for bags and so far I haven't bought anything better than this one. My ideal bag has to carry a lot, but not too much weight, have a strap that distributes weight evenly on my shoulder and can be slung around to the back of my body when I don't want my arm touching it as I walk. I would also like it to look fashionable.
I was half way to the metro from the Greyhound bus station and then remembered my favourite cloth bag was still back on the bus. I hurried back to the station with my 50 pounds of luggage that rolls on wheels trailing behind me.
The security guard had helped me find my way out of the statioin and to the metro, so I went back to him, telling him I had left my bag. He said yes, and he pointed ahead of me. "There is the driver just taking it to lost and found." He signalled to the driver to come back.
The driver tried to speak to me in French, but there is no use doing that. I can only read French, no speaking it. I turn pale if anyone tries to say any more than bonjour.
The security guard said to the driver, "Une Anglaise".
OK I can understand that much French.
So the driver wanted to say something and said it in French to the Security Guard who had to translate.
The driver said, through the security guard, since he seemed to want to talk to me, "This is a good bag like the ones that we use in Iran. It is shaped like a goat's stomach and we still have bags like this, some very expensive." And he held it up for me to see, holding the strap high and tracing his hand down the pouch/stomach shape of the bag. Then he pointed to the motifs on my cloth bag and explained about the beasts on the bag and about the motif of the sun.
I loved it that we had this conversation through an interpreter. I felt proud to be a Canadian, proud that this man wanted to talk to me in French, but I seemed proud to see that he also loved his homeland.
I have been thinking about the bag for the rest of the day, since I will still stop and look at racks of bags in Winners, in small boutiques, in large department stores. I look at them all.
I agree with the driver. Nothing like the shape of the stomach of a goat for a bag.
Arta
i love this story!
ReplyDeleteI do hope we get to see a picture of you with that bag slung over your shoulder.
ReplyDeleteThat bag is becoming more and more a part of me. I noticed that i grabbed it on the way to church, even though it didn't match the scarf I was wearing. It just dawned on me why I keep buying scarves with tans and browns in them. It is so that I will have something that will go with this bag. Then I forget to pair them up with the bag in the rush of getting out the door.
ReplyDeleteWill there be a chance to stop and take a picture? I hope so.