using my inside voice |
North American Travel | June 8, 2009
The Portland Greyhound Station actually looked quite respectable - not a bad place to begin our 17-hour hellride. That is, if we would have the opportunity to begin it at all...
After a 3-block walk from the local Portland bus to the Greyhound Station I was pleasantly surprised to see only one person in the ticket line ahead of us. And, at 5.50pm we still had 50 minutes to spare before our bus would leave.
Hurrah!
Alas, it would seem I'd whooped with exultation a little too soon. As we approached the lone representative manning the ticket desk I noticed a hand-written sign in blue sharpie (nikko for the Aussies). It said:
"The 6.40pm bus south is sold out. Sorry 4 inconvenience"
Tears almost immediately sprang forth. Being the ultra-organised person that I am I knew the next schedule south was not for at least another 5 hours, and we'd already waited the entire day to catch this bus.
"Next please."
We approached the desk and I tried to keep the quiver out of my voice as I told the ticket lady we wanted to go to San Francisco. "The southbound bus is sold out." And, as I suspected, she also informed us that the next bus wasn't until almost midnight. On top of that, it didn't get in to San Fran until 6pm the next night - almost 24 hours away. I could get home to Australia in that time!
As Luke and I tried to come to terms with the idea of spending 5 extra hours in the Greyhound Station, and the words, "well, I guess we have no choice," started to pass my lips, the Greyhound lady seemed to detect our desperation and took sympathy towards our plight.
To my complete astonishment she said, "I shouldn't be doing this, but let me take a look." And the next thing I knew, she was handing us tickets for the very last two seats on the bus, that they normally reserve for passengers at upcoming stops.
I'll tell you, I've met and spoken on the phone to some incredibly disgruntled Greyhound employees in my time, so this act of kindness truly took me by surprise. I felt like pole vaulting the ticket counter and ensnaring the woman in a bear bug, but I'm pretty sure that would have gotten me thrown out of the station altogether. So, I settled with some profuse thank-yous. She truly changed our fortunes that evening.
And now the pressing question - how was the bus trip itself? Well, it was moderately horrendous. I had the unfortunate circumstance of having to use the on-board facilities, and let me just say that there should be a 'sit down' rule regardless of gender.
There was also a yokel that kept going into the toilet to smoke - totally against any Greyhound policy. This caused the entire cabin to fill with the stench of cigarettes and to top it off, set off the smoke alarm twice. Add to this the ultra-budget air conditioning system installed in all Greyhound buses, that recycles air over, and over, and over again, and you have a pretty deadly combination. The bus driver most definitely knew what was going on, but for some reason chose to do nothing about it, which was quite frustrating. All I can think is that since the bus driver also smoked he just didn't care, so we all had to suffer.
I did, however, manage about 5 hours of uncomfortable sleep, with my scarf wrapped around my head to keep the light out, and my earphones in to block the noise.
We miraculously arrived 10 minutes early into Sacramento, CA, which meant we were able to transfer to the 7am bus to San Francisco rather than the 9.30am. Any time we don't have to wait in a Greyhound Station is a bonus.
So, at 9.45am we pulled into downtown San Francisco, donned our heavy loads, and walked the 15 minutes to the hostel. Our room wasn't ready yet (which we expected as we'd arrived so early) so we spent about 4 hours wandering the streets. I wrote this blog post in my note pad while having a coffee in the Italian District, and am now re-typing it in my hostel room. It sure is small, but it's clean, cosy, and has a bed, which is more than I can say for the Greyhound!
I think it's time for a nap now.
More soon...
North American Travel | June 7, 2009
Today we have our first really long bus trip - 17 hours from Portland to San Francisco - but the bus doesn't leave until 6.40pm tonight. We are spending the day once again wandering around the Hawthorne neighbourhood, and have stopped for a coffee at Stumptown (where I'm writing this). We have about 5.5 more hours to kill before we head to the greyhound station, but I think it will pass relatively easily as we get to hang out at the Bluebird Guesthouse for as long as we need to.
It's strange how, as a traveler, you immediately try and make each place you stay feel a little like home. This also makes it harder to leave. And, as Luke and I both know this will be one of the nicer places we will be staying, it's going to be even harder.
The Bluebird Guesthouse really has felt like a home away from home, and it's in such a lovely, funky, fun neighbourhood. We would spend each morning over coffee and muffin at the little table in the kitchen discussing the day's plans, then each evening eating our traveler's fare with a wee bit of wine. The rooms are so cute and comfortable, they even had robes to wear to and from the showers - not something we are likely to see again!
Wish us luck on our gigantic bus ride!
More soon...
Lifestyle & Culture | June 6, 2009
The heat wave has abated, the rain has started, and I'm feeling at home - it's like Vancouver all over again! But, we have a way bigger room than we did in Vancouver... We're staying at a place called the Bluebird Guesthouse in the Hawthorne neighbourhood of Portland and it's absolutely lovely. It almost makes me want to stay at home and drink tea all day instead of exploring the city. So far I have resisted that urge, but also had a few cups of tea while I have been at home to make up for it.
And yes, we're still alive, but we also haven't caught the greyhound again yet. That will come on Sunday evening when we hop a greyhound and spend 17 hours in transit to get to our next destination - San Francisco! I am not at all looking forward to that trip. I'm hoping I can sleep most of the night away, and given my natural inclination for falling asleep in cars, buses and trains, I think I should be okay.
Today we spent the day wandering up and down SE Belmont Street and SE Hawthorne Boulevard, which are two of the main streets in the Hawthorne area, along with the one our guesthouse is on, which is SE Division Street. We stopped once again at Stumptown Coffee for an amazing latte and some wifi action on the old iPod Touch, then wandered in and out of second hand stores, including both clothing and books. The Hawthorne neighbourhood reminds me of the West End in Brisbane, or a more up-market version of Commercial Drive in Vancouver. It's a strange neighbourhood, with shops, cafes and restaurants interspersed between residential areas. But, it's a lovely wander and I managed to get a few cool shots of bright spring blooms just after the rain.
Tomorrow we're off to the famous Portland Saturday Markets (which are now actually held on both Saturdays and Sundays). There are loads of arts, crafts and food vendors there, so hopefully I can resist the urge to buy (I never do well at markets where my wallet is concerned).
More soon...
North American Travel | June 3, 2009
So, as it turns out, the hardest thing about leaving a city after 3 years of calling it home isn't packing up and shipping your belongings home, selling a house full of furniture, or cleaning the apartment for a safe security deposit return. No, it isn't any of these things. In actuality, the hardest thing about leaving is saying goodbye to all the friends you've made. I've left lots of places before, and called quite a few towns home, but most of my leaving has been in Australia, where I know I'll be back again. In contrast, I will likely never live in Vancouver or Canada again, and therefore, I will never be able to hang out with my Vancity friends in the same way. This realisation didn't hit home until about 7pm on my first night in Seattle, and when it did hit, it hit hard.
I have made all my friends sign binding contracts to come and visit me in Australia once this 8-month mammoth is complete, so while the visits may not be as frequent, I'd like to think they will still be there.
So, onto the 8-month mammoth I suppose. Here is a breakdown of some interesting events from the past 3 days.
Tomorrow morning we're off to explore the city. I want to do a walking tour, but Luke doesn't. Given that one of their selling points is "no hills, no steps" maybe we should give it a miss. I guess it's designed for less active visitors, and really, who wants to be seen with a group of beige-pant wearing, bum-bag toting tourists? Not me. I already got asked about the bus timetable today and I was wearing my giant backpack!
More soon...
Travel | May 21, 2009
Should I be counting in days now? If so, then that would be 11 days, sir.
11 days, 11 sleeps, 11 morning coffees, 11 dinners and lunches, 11 bottles of wine (maybe more actually...!)
It's strange, that after so long in one place you would choose an arbitrary date, literally out of thin air, to pack up your life and leave. Of course, there was some logic involved (like attempting to undertake 8 months travel entirely in the summer months of the countries we're visiting) but there is also a fair amount of randomness and general gut feeling that lead to a decision like this.
I don't know if it's just me, or if everyone experiences the feeling I'm referring to. It's almost like ants crawling on your feet as you unsuspecingly enjoy a garden party in June. You suddenly feel a little twinge, a small annoyance, that makes you start thinking strange thoughts about life, and what exactly you are doing with it. Then the feeling grows a little stronger, as more ants realise the bounty that is your foot, and suddenly you're thinking about all the things you've wanted to do for so long that you've put off because of work or other commitments. By now there are about 10 ants per foot, and you are starting to sub-consciously wonder if looking down to see what's going on might be a good idea. You vaguely suggest to yourself, or to your significant other, that it could be interesting to try something different, that you miss home, that you want to fulfill those traveling dreams that have been lingering for so long. Then it really starts to itch and become irritating. You look down and see the playground the ants have made of your feet and realise that unless you do something soon you are going to get bitten. So that's it, you have no choice, you swipe. You make a huge, life-altering decision to pack your bags at a set date in the not-too-distant future and get out of there.
And then it's done.
It's strange how just saying something out loud can make it real. How telling someone a date that you're leaving the country suddenly makes all sorts of plans fall into place of their own volition. But, nothing seems entirely real until you start selling your possessions, packing your bags, and throwing things into the big wheelie bin of life (too corny?)
That's what I've been doing this weekend, and will continue to do through until at least next Tuesday. After that our shipment is being collected and we'll have hopefully sold most of our things. Now it's feeling real, as the pile of boxes mounts on the living room floor, and the shelves and mantle become bare. As we eat our way through the entire pantry, and clean our apartment to within an inch of its life to ensure the safe return of our security deposit.
11 days.
Lifestyle & Culture | May 15, 2009
After a gloriously wine-soaked weekend in the Okanagan, it was back to Vancouver to pimp out my worldly possessions, permanently.
Does anyone need a fab 3-seater, retro couch? If so, apply within. That, and almost every piece of furniture from my apartment has made its way into cyberspace to find a new home. So far I've only sold my desk ($15 big ones coming my way) but I have high hopes that soon all the rest will make its way to bigger and better things.
With this one small piece of furniture missing from the apartment, I am starkly reminded each day that the transition to a new life is but days away. My half-packed backpack and closet full of clean clothes all ready for packing up, are emitting an almost palpable vibe. They are haunting me with an insistent call of freedom.
So, the checklist of things to organise before leaving Vancouver gets shorter as I make my way through each day. But, for now, and for this weekend, apart from selling anything that wishes to be purchased by second-hand seekers, the main thing on the agenda will be visiting with friends. Literally every night this long weekend sees me at one gathering or another.
It begins tonight with some amazing Okanagan and Australian wine, Rebar hummus and salad, and of course wonderful friends to share it all with. What an incredible start to the weekend!
Lifestyle & Culture | May 10, 2009
Hmmmm... what a conundrum. Who would have thought that you'd wake up on your last day of full-time work and feel melancholy? Alas, that was the case this morning when I tumbled out of bed, bleary-eyed and sleepy.
I think the anticipation of finally finishing up work has almost been too much, in that, of late, it's actually been keeping me awake at night and sending my dreams spiraling into strange places. So, there I was at work all day feeling a bit off and somewhat strange and not at all as excited as I thought I should be.
A few things did alleviate the ambivalence, starting with a celebratory last-day latte from my best buddy and office-mate. You can't complain about that right?
The 1.5 hour meeting at 9.30am didn't help much, but soon after plans were made for a sushi lunch to celebrate the final full-time day.
3 sushi rolls and a bloated tummy later I was back at my computer contemplating a vending-machine chocolate. Of course there were upsides and downsides to that plan. The upside being the chocolatey goodness and hedonistic pleasure of the treat as it melted on my tongue. The downside was that while my mood was lifted momentarily, the sugar high was destined to come crashing down around 2.30pm. And it did.
Now, I'm sure you must wonder how with all this thinking, musing and general over-analyzing I got any work done - me too - but I did. Multi-tasking while high on wasabi and caffeine is the ultimate in office culture. Combine moderately healthy take out with sugary caffeinated candy and the work verily rolls of the finger tips and into MS Word. It's quite the phenomenon; that filling a human body with inadequate fuels plus a stimulate of some sort can keep employees chugging through work on a daily basis, the world over.
But, I digress. So, it rolls around to 3pm and I'm waiting and hoping the delirious happiness I expected comes crashing down on me at some time in the next 1.5 hours. Alas, the time passed and I was left at my desk simply watching the minutes tick past.
Maybe once I pack for my weekend in the Okanagan things will perk up? Maybe when I sit down to a glass of wine and Thai Curry for dinner I will feel release? Maybe when the sun comes out tomorrow I'll feel some sense of freedom and ecstasy?
Logically I know I'm happy that things are coming to an end and that I will be moving on. But it's also tinged with sadness, leaving behind all the people and places that have become so dear over the past 3 years. I suppose I never anticipated this, being focused solely on the end goal of being at one with my backpack and traipsing from place to place. As the first in a series of familiar daily occurrences that will not only come to an end, but may likely never happen again, I went in unprepared for the real impact of today. So, I finish up full-time work with unexpected sadness, leaving behind some wonderful colleagues, some not-so-wonderful colleagues, and a special few who made the transition from colleague to friend.
Bay's career has been many and varied due to a penchant for traveling the world. After completing a double degree in Business Management and Journalism at the University of Queensland in 2002 she was lucky enough to land herself a job at Brisbane's Quest Community Newspapers. A year of roving reporting brought the epiphany that journalism and Bay didn't jive.
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