Celle qui sent des roses
quand je la
serre dans mes bras
Les boucles de ses cheveux
couleur de bronze qui touchent doucement ses
épaules au cours de mes caresses ardentes
Le sourire Stellaire qui
fait des étincelles inoubliables dans
le ciel et mon coeur
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Small Disasters, Part II
The train ride to Seattle was full of bounces and jolts. The view of passing scenery outside my room's window varied from small towns to farmland to forested mountains. Because the ride took over thirty hours, we slept in our quarters not long after dark, which occured somewhere around Oakland.
The thing about the American trains is they are distinctly low-tech. Our sleeper car was constructed by the Canadian Bombardier corporation in the 70s. There's no wifi, and cell phones function sporadically. TV or music in your room? Forget about it... Unless you bring your own. There was something called a Dig-E-Player available for rent, but I didn't bother with it. The true entertainment was constantly rolling by outside my window.
There are some nice touches on the train. The sleeper car connects to a dining car, a view car, a lounge car, and a parlour car. Harold really enjoyed the view car. I was glad I got the "handicapped discount" on my tickets, because I couldn't access any of those cars. To get out of the sleeper car, you have to climb a stairwell and cross a tube into the next car. Harold told me that the floor of that tube goes up, down and sideways like a funhouse. Definitely not wheelchair-friendly.
Nevertheless, I found the Amtrak staff to be friendly and helpful. Olga, our attendant, furnished me with food, made the beds, and brought the morning paper each day. The food varied from omelettes for breakfast, to hamburgers for lunch and salmon for dinner. Overall, I'd rate the cuisine onboard as far superior to airline food, because it's cooked fresh in the train's kitchen. It's about on a par with the offerings at a chain restaurant like Denny's.
In the afternoons, around 3:00pm, the staff holds a wine tasting event that is free for all sleeper car passengers. Olga was very concientious in bringing me the wine, cheese and crackers.
We passed through some big cities, probably the largest being Portland, Oregon. I thought the cityscape was fascinating, with its industrial demeanor. Harold found it ugly. I had a hard time convincing him to take pictures of the downtown area.
We arrived at Seattle around 10:30 Saturday night. The bus to Vancouver was scheduled to depart at 11:00. When Harold and I got to the bus, people were already boarding. We met the bus driver and he took a quizzical look at my chair. "Uh, we don't have a lift, eh?"
"What?" I asked. Some dialog with the driver ensued, in which we discovered Amtrak somehow missed the fact my ticket was marked for disabled access. After some conversations with the Amtrak station manager at Seattle, we agreed to stay overnight and travel by train the next day.
So, there we were at midnight, the only folks in Seattle's King St. Station, except for the manager and some homeless guy picking through trash. The manager agreed to put us up at the local Holiday Inn Express, but there was another problem. No disabled-transit buses were available that late at night. In desperation, the Amtrak manager convinced the on-call supervisor of the local paratransit agency to transport us to the hotel, at 2:00am.
By the time we rolled into the Holiday Inn, it was almost pointless to try to sleep. We scheduled bus pickup at 5:30am and bagged our three hours of z's. It makes me yawn just thinking about it.
The good thing, though, was we got to travel by train to Vancouver at 7:30 in the morning. The train follows the coast, and the conductor--well versed in local lore of the route--filled us in on the scenery's attributes. One of the main facts he noted on the trip through rural Washington was the dilapidated family farms along the tracks. Corporate farming has ruined the family farms, which are falling into elegant ruin as the countryside reclaims its own territort. I somehow knew how the Romans must have felt, traveling along their dilapidated highways in the Fourth Century, gazing at deserted villas and fallen temples.
We finally arrived at Vancouver's Amtrak/Bus station around 10:30 that morning. The weather reminded me of San Diego in late November or December: cool (low 60s), with bright sunlight glinting off the windows and sidewalks. One feature of Vancouver I'll always remember with fondness is that bright, sunny, fresh feel to the air. San Diego is a city a lot like Vancouver in many ways, but where we have dust and smog, they have bright blue skies and clean breezes. Yes--it does rain (about 4.5 feet a year), but so what? I'd love more rain at home.
Vancouver is quite unique in that about 25% of the taxis are accessible. "Handicapable" as Stellar might call them. So, we called a taxi from my cell phone, and it arrived about a half-hour later. Most of the taxi drivers in Vancouver are Indian or Middle Eastern. It's really cool to be picked up by one of the Sikh drivers, who look like they came straight out of the era of the Raj.
Our hotel was conveniently located in central Vancouver. It was close to downtown, if not quite in downtown. Kind of like renting a room in Hillcrest or Mission Valley, if you visit San Diego.
More on the week in Vancouver, next installment.
-- David
The thing about the American trains is they are distinctly low-tech. Our sleeper car was constructed by the Canadian Bombardier corporation in the 70s. There's no wifi, and cell phones function sporadically. TV or music in your room? Forget about it... Unless you bring your own. There was something called a Dig-E-Player available for rent, but I didn't bother with it. The true entertainment was constantly rolling by outside my window.
There are some nice touches on the train. The sleeper car connects to a dining car, a view car, a lounge car, and a parlour car. Harold really enjoyed the view car. I was glad I got the "handicapped discount" on my tickets, because I couldn't access any of those cars. To get out of the sleeper car, you have to climb a stairwell and cross a tube into the next car. Harold told me that the floor of that tube goes up, down and sideways like a funhouse. Definitely not wheelchair-friendly.
Nevertheless, I found the Amtrak staff to be friendly and helpful. Olga, our attendant, furnished me with food, made the beds, and brought the morning paper each day. The food varied from omelettes for breakfast, to hamburgers for lunch and salmon for dinner. Overall, I'd rate the cuisine onboard as far superior to airline food, because it's cooked fresh in the train's kitchen. It's about on a par with the offerings at a chain restaurant like Denny's.
In the afternoons, around 3:00pm, the staff holds a wine tasting event that is free for all sleeper car passengers. Olga was very concientious in bringing me the wine, cheese and crackers.
We passed through some big cities, probably the largest being Portland, Oregon. I thought the cityscape was fascinating, with its industrial demeanor. Harold found it ugly. I had a hard time convincing him to take pictures of the downtown area.
We arrived at Seattle around 10:30 Saturday night. The bus to Vancouver was scheduled to depart at 11:00. When Harold and I got to the bus, people were already boarding. We met the bus driver and he took a quizzical look at my chair. "Uh, we don't have a lift, eh?"
"What?" I asked. Some dialog with the driver ensued, in which we discovered Amtrak somehow missed the fact my ticket was marked for disabled access. After some conversations with the Amtrak station manager at Seattle, we agreed to stay overnight and travel by train the next day.
So, there we were at midnight, the only folks in Seattle's King St. Station, except for the manager and some homeless guy picking through trash. The manager agreed to put us up at the local Holiday Inn Express, but there was another problem. No disabled-transit buses were available that late at night. In desperation, the Amtrak manager convinced the on-call supervisor of the local paratransit agency to transport us to the hotel, at 2:00am.
By the time we rolled into the Holiday Inn, it was almost pointless to try to sleep. We scheduled bus pickup at 5:30am and bagged our three hours of z's. It makes me yawn just thinking about it.
The good thing, though, was we got to travel by train to Vancouver at 7:30 in the morning. The train follows the coast, and the conductor--well versed in local lore of the route--filled us in on the scenery's attributes. One of the main facts he noted on the trip through rural Washington was the dilapidated family farms along the tracks. Corporate farming has ruined the family farms, which are falling into elegant ruin as the countryside reclaims its own territort. I somehow knew how the Romans must have felt, traveling along their dilapidated highways in the Fourth Century, gazing at deserted villas and fallen temples.
We finally arrived at Vancouver's Amtrak/Bus station around 10:30 that morning. The weather reminded me of San Diego in late November or December: cool (low 60s), with bright sunlight glinting off the windows and sidewalks. One feature of Vancouver I'll always remember with fondness is that bright, sunny, fresh feel to the air. San Diego is a city a lot like Vancouver in many ways, but where we have dust and smog, they have bright blue skies and clean breezes. Yes--it does rain (about 4.5 feet a year), but so what? I'd love more rain at home.
Vancouver is quite unique in that about 25% of the taxis are accessible. "Handicapable" as Stellar might call them. So, we called a taxi from my cell phone, and it arrived about a half-hour later. Most of the taxi drivers in Vancouver are Indian or Middle Eastern. It's really cool to be picked up by one of the Sikh drivers, who look like they came straight out of the era of the Raj.
Our hotel was conveniently located in central Vancouver. It was close to downtown, if not quite in downtown. Kind of like renting a room in Hillcrest or Mission Valley, if you visit San Diego.
More on the week in Vancouver, next installment.
-- David
Life Is a Series of Small Disasters--Some Beneficial
Life is a Series of Small Disasters--Some Beneficial
"Life is a series of small disasters, some beneficial." That's a saying I came up with, but you can quote me if you'd like....
My recent train trip to Vancouver serves as an example. Whenever you travel, there is stress. No matter how much you plan (and there's rarely any such thing as over-planning), stuff goes wrong. If you can't handle the stress of travel, you may not be able to survive the speed bumps in life's road.
For example, when Harold and I went to get on the bus at the Santa Fe depot in San Diego, the lift didn't work. Here I was, bouncing up and down the side of a bus on a rickety platform, gazing through the door at the saucer-wide eyes of a huge black man sitting in the seat across from me. "It's going to be a long fall and a short trip" I told him.
Finally, we got on the bus and rode to LA's Union Station. The bus driver dropped us off at a sidewalk across the street from the station, in downtown Los Angeles, where Harold and I hardly ever go. Then we had to scrabble with our luggage in tow, find an elevator, figure out which floor the train depot resided on, and find our train.
The interesting thing about Union Station is that unlike an airport, there is no clear direction about where to go or what to do to catch your train. At airports, you know if you're on a Southwest flight to take the hallway to the Southwest terminal, or if Delta, to head to Delta's terminal. At the train station, it's ALL Amtrak! There is no "there" there--just people milling around, mostly rushing off to some unknown destination, or dazedly staring into space.
We asked for help at the Information Booth, but other than telling us to "head down the hallway," the data-giver wasn't very helpful. As Harold wandered aimlessly trying to locate the ramp to our train, I found two Amtrak ticket agents seated at card tables near the hallway. One of them was very friendly and responded to my questions with clear answers. Yay! We were almost on our way. If I had panicked, or shrunken confusedly into my shell, we might never have caught Train 14 to Seattle.
Finally, when boarding is announced, the crowd sprints in unison toward the ramp for the train, which is down an immense hallway. We took Ramp 10, which had an A and a B side. Which were we? A or B? Well, I figured the best way to find out was to just choose an arbitrary side and start climbing.
At the top, there were two trains next to tracks. No sign points to "Train 14." So I just went up to people in line and polled them. "Excuse me ma'am, is this Train 14?" A gray-haired lady with pearl glasses looked quizzically down at her own tickets, then glanced at me, then back to the train and smiled shyly. "Why, yes I hope so," she said.
A few more people down the line, and I figured out we were indeed on the right track (literally), and found a conductor who pointed us "way down there" to a sleeper car. The first sleeper car I rolled up to had no ramp. I asked the attendant, who cheerfully told me "it's the next one."
Now, the thing about Amtrak trains is, they are HUGE. You literally cannot see one end of the train from the other. So I just went in the direction the attendant pointed to, till I saw a heavy-set Hispanic woman standing beside a ramp and an open hatch. "Is this the handicapped-accessible sleeper car?" I pleaded?
"Yes it is," smiled the attendant. "My name is Olga, and I'm your attendant. Just go on in and head to the right." With a shove from Harold, I got the chair propelled up the rather steep metal ramp and up into the train.
"Whew!" We made it at last, I thought to myself, as Harold and I settled into our room, which incidentally was smaller than most walk-in closets in a modern suburban McMansion.
-- More on the trip later
David
"Life is a series of small disasters, some beneficial." That's a saying I came up with, but you can quote me if you'd like....
My recent train trip to Vancouver serves as an example. Whenever you travel, there is stress. No matter how much you plan (and there's rarely any such thing as over-planning), stuff goes wrong. If you can't handle the stress of travel, you may not be able to survive the speed bumps in life's road.
For example, when Harold and I went to get on the bus at the Santa Fe depot in San Diego, the lift didn't work. Here I was, bouncing up and down the side of a bus on a rickety platform, gazing through the door at the saucer-wide eyes of a huge black man sitting in the seat across from me. "It's going to be a long fall and a short trip" I told him.
Finally, we got on the bus and rode to LA's Union Station. The bus driver dropped us off at a sidewalk across the street from the station, in downtown Los Angeles, where Harold and I hardly ever go. Then we had to scrabble with our luggage in tow, find an elevator, figure out which floor the train depot resided on, and find our train.
The interesting thing about Union Station is that unlike an airport, there is no clear direction about where to go or what to do to catch your train. At airports, you know if you're on a Southwest flight to take the hallway to the Southwest terminal, or if Delta, to head to Delta's terminal. At the train station, it's ALL Amtrak! There is no "there" there--just people milling around, mostly rushing off to some unknown destination, or dazedly staring into space.
We asked for help at the Information Booth, but other than telling us to "head down the hallway," the data-giver wasn't very helpful. As Harold wandered aimlessly trying to locate the ramp to our train, I found two Amtrak ticket agents seated at card tables near the hallway. One of them was very friendly and responded to my questions with clear answers. Yay! We were almost on our way. If I had panicked, or shrunken confusedly into my shell, we might never have caught Train 14 to Seattle.
Finally, when boarding is announced, the crowd sprints in unison toward the ramp for the train, which is down an immense hallway. We took Ramp 10, which had an A and a B side. Which were we? A or B? Well, I figured the best way to find out was to just choose an arbitrary side and start climbing.
At the top, there were two trains next to tracks. No sign points to "Train 14." So I just went up to people in line and polled them. "Excuse me ma'am, is this Train 14?" A gray-haired lady with pearl glasses looked quizzically down at her own tickets, then glanced at me, then back to the train and smiled shyly. "Why, yes I hope so," she said.
A few more people down the line, and I figured out we were indeed on the right track (literally), and found a conductor who pointed us "way down there" to a sleeper car. The first sleeper car I rolled up to had no ramp. I asked the attendant, who cheerfully told me "it's the next one."
Now, the thing about Amtrak trains is, they are HUGE. You literally cannot see one end of the train from the other. So I just went in the direction the attendant pointed to, till I saw a heavy-set Hispanic woman standing beside a ramp and an open hatch. "Is this the handicapped-accessible sleeper car?" I pleaded?
"Yes it is," smiled the attendant. "My name is Olga, and I'm your attendant. Just go on in and head to the right." With a shove from Harold, I got the chair propelled up the rather steep metal ramp and up into the train.
"Whew!" We made it at last, I thought to myself, as Harold and I settled into our room, which incidentally was smaller than most walk-in closets in a modern suburban McMansion.
-- More on the trip later
David
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