The plane came first – 18 hours of it, from Singapore to Los Angeles. This involved moving 14 hours forward – or was it back, as I repeated the 23rd of March, An auspicious day to repeat, as it was exactly 6 months ago, on 23rd September, that I left home.
I arrived in LA unsure whether I was coming or going, here or there, not helped by the fact that the taxi driver DID NOT KNOW where the main station for LA actually was. He punched something into his GPS then phoned a friend. Luckily he wasn’t on ‘Who Wants to be a Millionaire’ as friend got it wrong and we ended up in the bus station!
However, once we reached the train station, my worries ended. I had booked a couchette to travel in style from LA to Seattle on the ‘Coast Starlight’ express. Lovely name for a lovely journey. I was greeted as I boarded with the delightful question: “Would you prefer champagne or sparkling cider?” and I sat and sipped champagne as the train pulled out of the station.
I was also realising another dream as I have always wanted to travel on the upper deck of one of those lo-o-ong American trains on a lo-o-ong journey. This one was quite short by American standards – only 26 hours – and was total bliss. There I was, jet-lagged and ready to gaze at beautiful scenery. On one side stretched isolated beaches and rugged coastlines; on the other were snow-capped mountains, marshes and fields stretching to the horizon. If I wanted variety I could change sides by going to the observation car, complete with swivel armchairs! At various times we had cheese & wine tastings / talks from knowledgeable volunteers who hopped on and off the train / movies in the special car. And the food – two places to eat, with different menus, and local, fresh foodstuffs.
As I slept through the night on my comfy bed, I became aware that the train was going round bends and tunnels, and climbing quite steeply. I woke up early the next morning, opened the curtain and saw snow! We were powering through snowdrifts and snow-covered trees / hills, etc, across ravines and gulleys, along steeply-sided cut-outs. The onboard volunteer (later) told us harrowing tales of landslides and track closures; a fairly recent one had closed the lines for almost 6 months…
We arrived in Seattle early; I thought of hiding under the seat and taking the return journey but didn’t fancy being found and cast out into the snow. Besides, it was time to move on, to Vancouver.
… which was brilliant. What a beautiful location, harbour surrounded by more snow-capped mountains, with lit-up ski-runs. I had a splendid time there, thanks to Peggy and Melba, two ‘friends of friends’ who took me under their wing and showed me the ‘real’ city.
Then, another plane to Port Hardy, a lonely inlet on the NE of Vancouver island (which, incidentally, is half the size of England). Flying over such beautiful, rugged countryside was riveting; I looked for signs of human settlement – nothing, apart from a few coastal settlements,
Why Port Hardy – to catch the ferryboat to Juneau – a journey of 4 days…
dip.
dip.
I wonder if I could get a job modelling hats? Or tea-pot cosies?
and very cold
