six days, two trains, four beds, a bus and a boat, four lys, and a long island ice tea
Just came back from Portland. I'm working right now, but don't let me forget to recount my adventure.
Two weeks later, she fulfills her promise. It's March 10th now.
Day One
Took a bus from Vancouver BC to Seattle train station. It was a greyhound bus, driven by a very wellshaped man, through the worst parts of town I have ever seen. I, of course, got to the trainstation far too early and sat about feeling very unsure of the plan at hand. departed at 8 30 am. The bus was very empty, and I slept most of the way to the border.
When we stopped at the border however, we had to wait a very long time for the ill-prepared bus ahead of us to clear through. I then was interrogated by an American Immigrations officer as to whether or not I had any friends and my ability to travel on my own at my tender and naive age. He stink-eyed me some more and grudgingly allowed me into his great and hospitable country. I pouted for ten miles, then slept the remainder of the trip to Seattle. I arrived at 1pm (an hour late), just in time to skip lunch and hoof it onto my Portland bound train.
Train protocol was bewildering and arbitrary. When I started my journey, I checked in with registration documents and they gave me tickets for every leg of my trip. I gave my first ticket to my wellformed busdriver and he gives me the stub and i get on the bus. Easypeasy, just like the movie theatre. When I got to the train station, I got in this big lineup and gave my ticket to a rail officer who gave me the stub and....another ticket... It has a car and seat number on it. That's fine. Can't have people fighting over seats I suppose. So I board the train (car 8), find my seat (seat 14), stow my crap and sit down. Everyone else around me is putting their seat assignation tickets into these holders above their seats. Hm. So this is what? Proof that I get to sit here? So if i decide to steal that seat up there and the train security goes "you gotta move, ma'am" what's stopping me from pointing up and saying "no i don't; there's my ticket"? Barkers, this dual ticket system.
I feel the need here to jump tenses. Deal with it.
So the train makes its way down the line (again passing the worst parts of Seattle). The seats are quite nice; I have a little desk and a footrest and a nice quiet seatmate. Then Amtraks sees fit to play "Pride and Prejudice: Attack of Kiera Knightly's cheekbones" But that's another story. I do homework for most of the way down, then watch the movie(silent argh). Then I sleep for two hours because there's an apparent shortage of railroads and every train from here to West Idaho is *on* *my* *track*. I arrive in Portland at 8 30, about 3 hours later than I planned.
Hungry and eccentric I "de-train" (their term not mine) in the pitch dark. I find a taxi, with a woman driver, interestingly enough, and I get my ride to the guesthouse. Ciao, 12 dollars.
The guesthouse appears to be an attachment to the back of an old Victorian house. It is very clean, not very warm, and slightly creaky. I get my keys from a lock box and let myself into my room. Spartan is a good way to describe my room, or attic-dorm chic if you want to be silly about it. It is an L shaped room with a slanted ceiling. There are two beds, one single one double, a recliner, a coffee table a closet and a chest of drawers. I have two windows, one that looks out onto the street and one that...Oh. looks into another hotelroom.
Well now it's 9pm and I want my...lunch. So I unpack my clothes, hitch up my backpack, put on my toque and go exploring. The street I'm stying on is very trendy/cute, with a peck of teeny coffeshops and jewellery stores. I find a pizza place, unostentatious, tidy. Inaccurate assesment. Odd, Californian, food-gone-wrong fare! I must have ordered the lamb-sausage, spinach and feta pizza, but i don't really remember. It was pretty good, and I was starving. Farewell another 10 dollars.
I tool about a little more, notice some cute shoestore I resolve to visit the next day and head back to the guesthouse. Washing up is not a new experience; I lived in a dorm, no shared bathroom can intimidate me. It's 10 30, and i am a weary traveller. I try (i really really do) to accomplish some homework, but to little avail. By 11 i'm curled up in a nice bed with squishy pillows, sleep the first night of my life alone in a new city, with no one to come to my rescue.
Two weeks later, she fulfills her promise. It's March 10th now.
Day One
Took a bus from Vancouver BC to Seattle train station. It was a greyhound bus, driven by a very wellshaped man, through the worst parts of town I have ever seen. I, of course, got to the trainstation far too early and sat about feeling very unsure of the plan at hand. departed at 8 30 am. The bus was very empty, and I slept most of the way to the border.
When we stopped at the border however, we had to wait a very long time for the ill-prepared bus ahead of us to clear through. I then was interrogated by an American Immigrations officer as to whether or not I had any friends and my ability to travel on my own at my tender and naive age. He stink-eyed me some more and grudgingly allowed me into his great and hospitable country. I pouted for ten miles, then slept the remainder of the trip to Seattle. I arrived at 1pm (an hour late), just in time to skip lunch and hoof it onto my Portland bound train.
Train protocol was bewildering and arbitrary. When I started my journey, I checked in with registration documents and they gave me tickets for every leg of my trip. I gave my first ticket to my wellformed busdriver and he gives me the stub and i get on the bus. Easypeasy, just like the movie theatre. When I got to the train station, I got in this big lineup and gave my ticket to a rail officer who gave me the stub and....another ticket... It has a car and seat number on it. That's fine. Can't have people fighting over seats I suppose. So I board the train (car 8), find my seat (seat 14), stow my crap and sit down. Everyone else around me is putting their seat assignation tickets into these holders above their seats. Hm. So this is what? Proof that I get to sit here? So if i decide to steal that seat up there and the train security goes "you gotta move, ma'am" what's stopping me from pointing up and saying "no i don't; there's my ticket"? Barkers, this dual ticket system.
I feel the need here to jump tenses. Deal with it.
So the train makes its way down the line (again passing the worst parts of Seattle). The seats are quite nice; I have a little desk and a footrest and a nice quiet seatmate. Then Amtraks sees fit to play "Pride and Prejudice: Attack of Kiera Knightly's cheekbones" But that's another story. I do homework for most of the way down, then watch the movie(silent argh). Then I sleep for two hours because there's an apparent shortage of railroads and every train from here to West Idaho is *on* *my* *track*. I arrive in Portland at 8 30, about 3 hours later than I planned.
Hungry and eccentric I "de-train" (their term not mine) in the pitch dark. I find a taxi, with a woman driver, interestingly enough, and I get my ride to the guesthouse. Ciao, 12 dollars.
The guesthouse appears to be an attachment to the back of an old Victorian house. It is very clean, not very warm, and slightly creaky. I get my keys from a lock box and let myself into my room. Spartan is a good way to describe my room, or attic-dorm chic if you want to be silly about it. It is an L shaped room with a slanted ceiling. There are two beds, one single one double, a recliner, a coffee table a closet and a chest of drawers. I have two windows, one that looks out onto the street and one that...Oh. looks into another hotelroom.
Well now it's 9pm and I want my...lunch. So I unpack my clothes, hitch up my backpack, put on my toque and go exploring. The street I'm stying on is very trendy/cute, with a peck of teeny coffeshops and jewellery stores. I find a pizza place, unostentatious, tidy. Inaccurate assesment. Odd, Californian, food-gone-wrong fare! I must have ordered the lamb-sausage, spinach and feta pizza, but i don't really remember. It was pretty good, and I was starving. Farewell another 10 dollars.
I tool about a little more, notice some cute shoestore I resolve to visit the next day and head back to the guesthouse. Washing up is not a new experience; I lived in a dorm, no shared bathroom can intimidate me. It's 10 30, and i am a weary traveller. I try (i really really do) to accomplish some homework, but to little avail. By 11 i'm curled up in a nice bed with squishy pillows, sleep the first night of my life alone in a new city, with no one to come to my rescue.