Friday, March 02, 2007
What I did on my Holidays: Part 4
Seattle, San Juan, Victoria, Cathedral Grove, Tofino, Cathedral Grove, Victoria, San Juan, Seattle, Jimi Hendrix, Union Station.... The Empire Builder train from Seattle to Chicago, Union Station, the Glacial Mover train to Toronto, Union Station, Spadina, Home, Work, Sleep
Like I said, I've never been much of a story teller. That doesn't apply to my travelling companions aboard the Empire Builder, a train I boarded at 4:45pm Pacific Time in Seattle and de-trained at 3:55pm Central Time, two days later. If you've got the money to reserve a sleeper, you can if you wish avoid speaking to anyone except in the dining car, where you're forcibly sat next to whoever they forcibly sit you next to. But if you're in coach, as I was, you soon get talking to your fellow passengers and you almost as soon decide who's worth talking to again and who's worth leaping into a ravine belly-first from the speeding many-wheeled beast not to be talking to again. I haven't decided which is which and it kills me that I didn't write down their stuff because I can't do it justice to paraphrase it now(but I will give at least one choice phrase from each). I met a 19yr old International Welder from Alabama ("Ah still lurve the Spiiiice Guuurls"), a 15yr old Messianic Jewish extroverted Goth girl who'd run away from home to spite her loving family ("You have beautiful eyes"), an older gentleman -and i have to be careful here- who has had the worst run of luck in modern history and was taking himself away from the very real temptation to hurt someone very seriously ("You don't carry guns in England?! How do you survive?"), an 80yr old man who'd ridden every piece of rail track in North America and most of Australia and New Zealand and yet wasn't a boring old git ("I expect you'll be writing about all the crazies you met on this train"), a lady who could walk easily enough but preferred to use a motorised wheelchair so she could justify her absolute black hatred of the world at anyone passing by ("My son taught himself Japanese so he could play online games 24/7 and become a famous webmaster. Google him"), the 50's-ish Italian chainsaw salesman from Jersey who doesn't believe in paying taxes, economic intervention or dissing George Bush (-so you're a Libertarian? "I ain't no Liberal!" - no, I mean someone who believes in letting the market decide everything and doesn't believe in public services or government intervention. "I'm a conservative who don't feel comfortable with these fancy-schmancy liberals showing off their education. That's why I left Jersey"), the small-town Dakota lady who's writing her memoirs of being the wife of an abusive alcoholic ("I think the world needs to know the pain I went through. Nobody knows what it's like to live with an alcoholic. You know, he used to....")
The list goes on but the accuracy of my memory does not.
And then back in Seattle at a late night bar there was the drunken Belgian-American who just turned 30 and had a past that was more chequered than Chubby Checker on a chessboard: worked in a hotel in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, a gas station in Idaho, lived in a cave in Spain, was bike thief in Amsterdam and now sold Polyester scarves as Cashmere in Seattle ("I used to be so punk, so punk"). We got absolutely gedronken together and I heard his life story three times. At least he was consistent.
Here's the encore to Keith Jarrett's most reknowned record, the classic Koln concert. Try buying it.
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Seattle, San Juan, Victoria, Cathedral Grove, Tofino, Cathedral Grove, Victoria, San Juan, Seattle, Jimi Hendrix, Union Station.... The Empire Builder train from Seattle to Chicago, Union Station, the Glacial Mover train to Toronto, Union Station, Spadina, Home, Work, Sleep
Like I said, I've never been much of a story teller. That doesn't apply to my travelling companions aboard the Empire Builder, a train I boarded at 4:45pm Pacific Time in Seattle and de-trained at 3:55pm Central Time, two days later. If you've got the money to reserve a sleeper, you can if you wish avoid speaking to anyone except in the dining car, where you're forcibly sat next to whoever they forcibly sit you next to. But if you're in coach, as I was, you soon get talking to your fellow passengers and you almost as soon decide who's worth talking to again and who's worth leaping into a ravine belly-first from the speeding many-wheeled beast not to be talking to again. I haven't decided which is which and it kills me that I didn't write down their stuff because I can't do it justice to paraphrase it now(but I will give at least one choice phrase from each). I met a 19yr old International Welder from Alabama ("Ah still lurve the Spiiiice Guuurls"), a 15yr old Messianic Jewish extroverted Goth girl who'd run away from home to spite her loving family ("You have beautiful eyes"), an older gentleman -and i have to be careful here- who has had the worst run of luck in modern history and was taking himself away from the very real temptation to hurt someone very seriously ("You don't carry guns in England?! How do you survive?"), an 80yr old man who'd ridden every piece of rail track in North America and most of Australia and New Zealand and yet wasn't a boring old git ("I expect you'll be writing about all the crazies you met on this train"), a lady who could walk easily enough but preferred to use a motorised wheelchair so she could justify her absolute black hatred of the world at anyone passing by ("My son taught himself Japanese so he could play online games 24/7 and become a famous webmaster. Google him"), the 50's-ish Italian chainsaw salesman from Jersey who doesn't believe in paying taxes, economic intervention or dissing George Bush (-so you're a Libertarian? "I ain't no Liberal!" - no, I mean someone who believes in letting the market decide everything and doesn't believe in public services or government intervention. "I'm a conservative who don't feel comfortable with these fancy-schmancy liberals showing off their education. That's why I left Jersey"), the small-town Dakota lady who's writing her memoirs of being the wife of an abusive alcoholic ("I think the world needs to know the pain I went through. Nobody knows what it's like to live with an alcoholic. You know, he used to....")
The list goes on but the accuracy of my memory does not.
And then back in Seattle at a late night bar there was the drunken Belgian-American who just turned 30 and had a past that was more chequered than Chubby Checker on a chessboard: worked in a hotel in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, a gas station in Idaho, lived in a cave in Spain, was bike thief in Amsterdam and now sold Polyester scarves as Cashmere in Seattle ("I used to be so punk, so punk"). We got absolutely gedronken together and I heard his life story three times. At least he was consistent.
Here's the encore to Keith Jarrett's most reknowned record, the classic Koln concert. Try buying it.
|
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