A transcendent moment: On the campaign trail during the Paris attacks

The desserts behind the glass were homemade. The gaggle of women behind the counter were too. It was a welcome pit stop.

We were in Bonavista, the small town at the tip of the Bonavista Peninsula, and it was feeding time. 

It was a long day on the campaign trail following around the premier. The day was filled with handshaking and political talk.

"Why don't you have a full slate of candidates yet? ... The polls show a dramatic divide between you and the front runner, is that scaring away potential candidates? ... How can you possibly turn this around?"

There was a search for the story of the day, but it was yet to come. 

There's another awkward reality - everyone on board that big, temporarily painted bus is human. There's no avoiding it.

Being a reporter on the campaign trail is a strange thing. It's a sensitive thing.

It's an election; there needs to be balance and accountability, and politicians need to be challenged. Don't call the premier "Premier" because it might influence the vote. He's the "PC leader." 

No doubt for the premier it's like a road trip with spies. Except he knows we're watching. He often sits in the back of the bus, curtain drawn. The media is in the front. We try to keep our distance. 

There's another awkward reality—everyone on board that big, temporarily painted bus is human. There's no avoiding it. We joke, we laugh, we share pet pictures, we talk about our hunger, how we can't eat another donut, our yearning for a toothbrush, and when a washroom is nearby, we all pile off together and avail.

We are all human, but each person there — competing media, politicians and their staff—also have a job to do. And we have to do it in very close quarters.

So on Friday the 13th, after our live TV hit for the suppertime news was done, it was finally time to eat.

We stopped at a restaurant where you order at the counter. The placemats were paper. The chairs were plastic. The middle-aged ladies with hair nets behind the counter were bursting with the kind of robust friendliness you find in all rural communities in the province.

When they laugh, they laugh hard. They want to feed you and they want you to love it. It's the kind of place that whispers, "maybe you should bring your empty plate back to the counter when you finish eating?"

Like a polite guest. It was a happy place. But my focus was diverted. To my phone. 

'A transcendent moment'

The web was reeling with news of Paris. My feed was a spiral of sadness. It seemed each new update was more dire than the last.

Livestreaming allowed me to watch the streets of Paris in real time, helpless and horrified, half a world away. My attention was unevenly split between my fried chicken sandwich and the reality unfolding across the pond.

I glanced up to see Paul Davis smiling and shaking hands with patrons, and I wondered if he knew that the world was once again changing. He did.

It felt like a moment to set aside politics. To lay down the rope in the tug of war we played all day.

I was sitting, my phone held awkwardly to my ear. "What's the latest?" Obama is speaking. Davis sat down next to me and asked if he could listen too.

I held the phone between our ears to cut through the restaurant noise, and we listened, tete-a-tete. It was intimate. For me, it was a transcendent moment. It felt like a moment to set aside politics. To lay down the rope in the tug of war we played all day. 

I have no doubt in the days ahead there will blame. There will be racism. Accusations of racism. Newly elected politicians at the highest levels will be asked what's next. Their policies will be questioned. There will be talk of war.

All of that I knew as we listened to the president of the United States. 

After one more stop at the local candidate's campaign headquarters, we all sat in the pitch black as we began the four-hour trek back to St. John's.

The scattered lights of peaceful Bonavista cast the odd shadow inside the bus. This time, Davis sat in the front. We all talked about Paris. We talked about September 11th.

He said he was left with an empty feeling.

"This is one of those nights we'll all remember where we were."

I certainly will.