Today and tomorrow I'll wrap up the trip and get back to writing about things that really matter. I never realized how important news and information is. I almost missed the Walmart auto insurance announcement. The insurance is total coverage unlike the way many of its customers dress when shopping at the stores. Also in the news are alcoholic drinks for dieters, an excellent topic. There's nothing like a good buzz when you're weak from hunger.
After four fun filled days on board Grand Princess we sailed under the Lions Gate Bridge and into Vancouver. Three other cruise ships were in port that day so approximately ten thousand people were going to be taking cabs. My disembarkation group was the second, leaving the ship at 8:15 a.m. I had less than an hour to get off the ship, catch a cab and get to the train station. If I missed my early connection I had a five hour wait. I was a tad anxious. My third cup of coffee that morning may have been a mistake.
My concern was needless. I was off the ship early, there were lots of waiting taxi's and the train station was just ten minutes away. I arrived with plenty of time to spare.
The only train that runs from Vancouver, B.C. to Portland departs very early. I couldn't make that so I was taking an Amtrak bus to Seattle. From there I would connect with the Cascades train to Portland. The bus ride itself is three hours and fifteen minutes; the time it takes to cross the boarder is any one's guess. My train left Seattle at 2 p.m. If I made all my connections I would be in Portland at 5:25 p.m. If not it would be 9. Either way it was going to be a very long day.
The reserved bus leaves at 9:00 a.m. Each seat and person in it is accounted for. I don't understand why people start lining up forty minutes early. Riding a bus is analogous to entering the Twilight Zone. The brain goes fuzzy and time slows to a crawl. I waited until the last possible moment to board. We pulled away right on time and within fifteen minutes I was wishing I was anywhere else, doing god knows what. Perhaps having toothpicks shoved under my fingernails or hot coals applied to my testicles.
The average American ass is six to eight inches wider than a bus seat. I got lucky; a slender young woman was sharing my torture device. We were able to sit comfortably without duplicating page 29 of the Kama Sutra. I had to fight to stay awake the entire trip. Although we exchanged pleasantries I doubt if my seatmate would have appreciated my head resting on her shoulder while I snored and soaked her with my drool. The ride was interminable. It was without question my last bus ride.
I thought the bus ride was bad. We still had to cross the Canadian/U.S. boarder. I'll be much faster than the actual experience. As a "scheduled" bus Amtrak has a designated lane. One bus at a time off loads all passengers and luggage. We went into a building where we had our passports and luggage scanned. After everyone clears we are allowed back on the bus. Did I mention this was my last bus ride? The driver said his worst day was a four and a half hour ordeal. The customs computers were down.
There is a bathroom in the rear of the bus. It smelled good and was clean, at the start of the trip. I hate using a toilet on a public conveyance. Walking down that narrow isle when everyone I pass knows where I'm going is embarrassing, especially the fourth time. And trying to pee and hit a target while bouncing from wall to wall in a nine square foot upright coffin is damn near impossible.
So I arrived in Seattle, tired, thirsty, hungry and more than a little irritable. I made my 2 p.m. connection with twenty minutes to spare. The Cascades train itself was comfortable and after the bus, downright heavenly. Big comfy leather seats, large clean bathrooms, electric plugs for things like my dead phone and television screens showing a GPS map of the journey. I settled in for the four hour train ride and when my ticket was scanned I walked to the well stocked Cafe car for much needed sustenance.
I had a Starbucks Bottled Vanilla Frappuccino and a Schwartz Brothers Cookie. Two very good choices when one hasn't eaten all day.
The train traversed some beautiful country in southern Washington and northern Oregon. I was content to relax and watch the scenery as I ate my cookie and drank my fifth and sixth coffee's of the day. I arrived in Portland on time. It was 5:50 p.m.
I was staying at a Hilton in the downtown area. My Google map said it was less than a mile. I thought I learned my lesson about walking with a backpack while dragging a suitcase in San Francisco, but apparently not. I set out for the hotel without a pedi-cab in sight.
The walk went quickly as I was entertained along the way by lots of folks asking for spare change, a few walking advertisements for why one shouldn't get full body tats and several men (and women) whose heads had an uncanny resemblance to my Grandma Sophie's pin cushions.
I arrived at the Hilton after a short interesting walk, checked in and called Younger Daughter Rebecca. She and Husband Tim live just outside the city. I was tired, hungry and grubby so we made plans for the next day. I cleaned up and set out for dinner.
In an earlier blog entry I mentioned how certain travel was getting more difficult. After sailing for four days with unlimited choices for food and entertainment I now had to find a decent place to eat. I walked around the hotel looking in windows and reading menus for over an hour. From The Veggie Grill to The Fondue Pot to The Old Steak House and back, nothing caught my attention. I walked back to the Hilton and asked the concierge for a suggestion.
I went to the Picnic House. This is a nice friendly reasonably priced restaurant with great selections and excellent food. I sat at the bar and ate while watching Matthew the bartender concoct drinks I can't begin to pronounce. He was friendly, informative and a first rate ambassador to the restaurant and Portland. He was even kind enough to suggest a dessert that put me into immediate glucose shock. When Wanda and I return to the area we will definitely have dinner here.
Sunday late morning the kids picked me up. Rebecca is due on June 6th and is very, very pregnant. She is working until May 30th. On the way to lunch I asked her if she thought Claire was going to wait another three weeks. For months I've known the future granddaughters name is Grace. I was slightly mortified but passed my faux pas off as jet lag. I spent a nice day with Rebecca and Tim and returned to the hotel early evening.
Monday morning I checked out of the hotel, was picked up and went out for coffee with someone I hadn't seen in fifty years.
Tomorrow, the wrap up.
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