Tuesday, 18 Sep, 07:00, HI-Montreal
We arrived here last evening on the Adirondack train from Albany NY. It is a beautiful ride, noted in several Ten Best lists. It is neither a fast nor a smooth ride. Otherwise, it would be like watching television. We walked from the station to the hostel with help from notes, a map, a policeman, and a pan handler. Go out the station door. Turn left. Walk a bunch of blocks to rue Mackay and turn left! You can see why a team of consultants was necessary.
A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Or, in the vernacular, every journey begins. Problem is, it is sometimes hard to pin point when it begins. Or how.
Our travels usually begin with a fantasy, a dream, a half-witted idea with multiple structural problems. That turns into an obsession, leading to enough left brain functioning to give some shape and direction to the whole thing. The execution is far from flawless and is, rather than a testimony to our planning and travel sense, a proof that God is good and benevolent and watches out for children and old fools.
We boarded Amtrak Cascades train 500 at 09:20 in Kelso and arrived in Seattle a few minutes after noon. We stashed our bags and walked up First to the Pike Place Market to visit one of my favorite shops, Metsker Maps. Visiting Metsker, like Seattle’s Wide World Travel Bookstore or the travel section of Powell’s in Portland, puts us next to all those stories and maps. Here we find inspiration and information, the raw material for dreams.
Our departure from Seattle was delayed an hour and twenty minutes by the lack of a functional engine. Scores gathered in the temporary waiting room at King Street Station (huge world-class renovation project). Empire Builder riders along with others waiting to board Train 509 milled and shuffled in and out of line until only the Chicago bound crowd remained and then we were all dragging bags and children and each other out to the platform and onto the appointed cars.
Our roomette, Number Fourteen, is on the bottom level of car 831, near the front of the train. The room is small for one person; exceedingly cramped for two. Our luggage is in the rack down the hall past the stairs, waiting with all the others. A few necessities are in the room with us: toilet kits, tomorrow’s clothing, my Mac Air.
Beyond the suitcases, bags, and duffles are toilets and a shower and at the end of the hallway, the room of a frail elderly woman is filled with oxygen bottles and medicines.
At Spokane, the two Empire Builder trains originating at Seattle and Portland are coupled for the remainder of the journey to Chicago. To us who originated at the Seattle end, this adds to us the Observation Car. Those starting at Portland now have a dining car. And together, we are complete.
What I like about train travel are the meals. Not only is the food at least passable and sometimes quite tasty, the seating of four people to fill each table often creates an enjoyable and stimulating mix of conversation. At our first supper of this trip, the two others at our table were strangers to each other and to us. An environmental educator, a carpenter, a kindergarten teacher, and a counselor, we found a common interest in travel and the vagaries of human nature. I have been at table with duds and I have myself exercised my skills as one. Dudness is however the exception.
Our current journey, like all our multi-destination trips, is fairly strictly planned. I have our lodging reserved for all our stops, although our transportation is not. A need exists for some room to adapt to glitches and mishaps.
Rick Steves takes and runs highly organized and planned trips. Carefully researching each, he selects what works best for his style. On the other hand, Paul Theroux travels without computer and relies on local information and word of mouth on the run. I think we gravitate toward something that personally fits us, that matches our style. I’m confused so I do both. At the same time.
I have the thought to do a journey without the internet and planning. Moving where opportunity presents, taking cues from local information--taxi drivers, fishermen, and bar keeps--and providing an opening for inspiration and intuition, one can wander under a different logic and find a different world.
Our lunch table Friday, 14 Sep, consisted of Pat and me, a mystery woman, and a man who works in the North Dakota oil industry. His tales about the huge amounts of money that co-exist with oil were scary. One can make big bucks in this field at the expense of one’s having a life and maintaining one’s convictions.
I come back to the idea that most of us sell our souls much too cheaply.
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