It was a rainy day, which didn't surprise me at all. Every time I told anyone that I was going to be travelling in the Northwest, they'd warn me that it was going to rain. My own memories of the Northwest involve lots of rain. Rain was what I expected. What I hadn't expected was my accidentally leaving my raincoat at Gee's house in San Francisco. So much for being prepared. But I borrowed a scarf from Angie, wore my one pair of close-toed shoes, and made the best of it.
For lunch, we walked to the Grilled Cheese Grill. There we ordered gourmet grilled cheese made in a trailer, and then ate it on the top level of an old British double-decker bus.
The ceiling on the upper level was very low, and you reached that upper level by climbing a steep, narrow staircase that made the ones on the Amtrak trains look modern and spacious.
The tables were handmade and covered with old yearbook photos from different years. The sandwiches themselves were delicious. The Grilled Cheese Grill has another location in Portland, and I guess that one is a school bus.
It was at the Grilled Cheese Grill that I saw the best vegan April Fool's Day joke ever. I'll just let you read it and guffaw on your own.
Portland has a Japanese garden. Portland has a beautiful Japanese garden. Portland has a fantastic, gorgeous, very authentic, breathtaking Japanese garden.
Angie, Allie, and I spent hours in the garden, looking at and photographing everything. Growing up in the desert as I did, that much green in one place tends to send my heart into overload. The amount of green in Japan used to make me cry, seriously, my traveling companions could confirm this. And as we wandered through this beautiful, green, rainy garden overshadowed by Oregon's towering pines, I choked up again. Beyond the level of green, the other thing that always impresses me about well-tended Japanese gardens, is the thorough attention to detail. There isn't one patch of earth that hasn't been carefully tended to, thought about, and planned. However, all that planning looks different than it would in a traditional western garden. there are very few right angles and boxes and hedges in an oriental garden. Instead, things are put together to flow, to be beautiful from every angle, and not just to put up an impressive front view. You can look in every corner and see how it has been carefully touched just enough to enhance, but not erase or overpower, the potential that corner began with. I always leave a garden like that feeling both deep peace and powerful motivation. That is the kind of life I want to lead, one where every corner of my life has been touched and deliberately shaped, instead of being filled with the junk that get's tossed from the main of my life. I want to to have meaning from every angle, and not just be impressive from someone standing in the right place. I want to have created my character as carefully as the skilled Japanese gardener plans and tends his garden, working with what was already there, but transforming it thoroughly into a place of quiet, peaceful, living, energetic, thorough beauty.
Then Angie and Shane took us to our last stop in Portland, a huuuuge hospital up on a hill that had the best view of Portland available. And it was impressive. I had to take two different panorama shots to get the whole thing.
Then Angie and Shane drove us to the impressive Portland train station where our Portland adventure had begun merely 48 hours ago, and, with some last hugs and farewells, it was time to move on.
The train ride to Olympia, WA, where Allie's parents live, is only about an hour and a half long. After all the train riding we'd done, Allie and I were a bit puzzled: What do you do with a train ride that's only an hour and a half? That's hardly worth pulling out your book for! As we sat there, smug veterans of Amtrak's system, we took note of the differences between this train, designed for short distances, and the ones we'd been traveling on. It was only one level, had no sleeper cars, fewer bathrooms, and a cafe car that even included a bar facing the window. There was also less foot room, smaller overhead compartments, and no option of checking luggage. However, this train ride had internet access.
Our train ride went smoothly until we came to Kelso, Washington. There's nothing much in Kelso, and the train's stop there was going to be very brief. The train was slowing down as we approached the station, when we stopped with a small jerk, just a few blocks away from our destination. There seemed to be something wrong, and we saw several conductors get off the train looking worried. After sitting there for five or ten minutes, a conductor came on and made the announcement. He apologized for the delay, and informed us that there had been an "individual" who appeared to be "inebriated" walking "alongside the tracks." "We may have nicked him as we passed," he told us. "The individual appears to be all right, but we are waiting for the paramedics." Then he asked for any medical professionals on board to come help out. Our initial irritation at the delay gave way to horror, then to relief, and then to incredulity. Someone in our car said what we were all thinking, "Wait, how do you get NICKED by a TRAIN?" So we sat on the tracks, watching police cars and paramedics drive by and wondering what was going on. Then came another announcement: The individual was being loaded on a stretcher (*gasp* from the passengers), but he was being .. a bit..."combative" and they are having some difficulty. At this point the whole train is laughing in disbelief. We heard a conductor passing through the isle at one point mutter to the man with him, "I'm not even sure he knows he was hit by a train." We started speculating about whether we really did hit him, or whether he was just startled when a train passed right next to him and fell over. We sat on the tracks for half an hour waiting for the police to give us the go ahead to proceed to the station.
When we finally moved the last few blocks to the Kelso station, we sat there for another half an hour. Apparently when anything like this happens, someone from Amtrak has to come download the information and video (who knew?) from the train's equivalent to an airplane's black box. Then we waited some more to get the go ahead phone call from an Amtrak official in some other city.
During all this sitting in Kelso, Allie and I decided that it was time to patronize the cafe car. I brought my book and she brought her computer, and we sat at the bar eating our ice cream and sharing a cookie, facing the windows through which nothing but black could be seen now. Eventually we struck up a conversation with the guy next to us at the bar. The opening line was, of course, "Do you think he even knew he got hit?" and "Our train got nicked by a bum!" And that is how I ended up deep in conversation for an hour with a part time poet/part time bartender from Portland. As an English teacher, I couldn't resist the opportunity to talk to someone who was in the current poetry scene, hear their perspective, and judge for myself their level of sanity. Not only that, but to be honest, striking up a meaningful conversation about poetry and philosophy with a mysterious stranger at the bar of a train made me feel like something straight out of a movie, and I milked it for all it was worth. I drank my water, he drank his beer, and I got some free poetry of his out of it. Not to mention I can tell my students about the poet I met on the train.
 |
| Olympia at last! Allie condescended to declare this a decent train station. |
 |
| One last shot from the Japanese Garden. Happy Cherry Blossom Festival everyone. |
1 comment:
Loved the thoughts on character/Japanese gardens. I'd like to hear the stories about Uncle Doug.
Post a Comment