November 13, My Last Day In The USA

After a good night sleep in my roomette and a nice breakfast I'm sitting in the sightseeing car although by now we are back in corn-country and the water. A little while ago we left Kansas City on the Missouri. Soon the train will travel over the Mississippi river, this time on the last remaining double swing span bridge on the river; the top level for cars, the bottom for the train. This morning the whole family of Amish is there, mom, dad, and several grown-up children getting exited and when the bridge comes they all rush to the window to get a closer look laughing and rejoicing at such a simple thing like riding on the train over the Mississippi river. Now that I think of it, I'm there for the same reason! I love bridges and rivers!

At lunch time I sit with Gerry and Martin that I had met the night before. I have to squeeze in near a huge man who starts to chat with Gerry and in a few words introduction is done. They talk briefly about when they were there and where, but to my relief the conversation quickly changes to family, money, kids, property, and every day stuff. Vietnam Vets. Martin and I are listening, and just so to be polite we pretend to be interested in the conversation. Beside myself he seams to be the other lonely tourist travelling to Detroit just for the fun of it. The others have things to do, mostly family business: some one is getting married, some son just got married and the trip is done to meet the new wife, some are off to a funeral, others to visit friends they have not seen in a long time or, there is a high school reunion. One could ride the train and fill note books upon note books with stories.

My Grand Circle Trip ends at "un-eventful Galesburg". I decide to read up about the city: "Galesburg was the home of writer and historian Carl Sandburg and the side of the fifth Lincoln-Douglas debate at Knox College in 1858. It was also the home of the first anti-slavery society in Illinois and and important stop on the Underground Railroad during the Civil War."

As I grab my suitcase a couple of hours later, I can't help but staring at the beautiful poster featuring a speeding Amtrak train through red cliffs and tall cacti advertising the Texas Eagle: Chicago-San Antonio-Los Angeles!

November 12, On The Amtrak

I'm back on the Amtrak bounded for Chicago. That means a bed, lunch, dinner, breakfast and a last lunch before arriving at Chicago Union Station. This time I'm on the Southwest Chief that runs daily from Los Angeles to Chicago. At Albuquerque where I board it, the train stopped long enough for the passengers to get off and look at the Navajo art set up right beside its opening doors. While the artists where setting up, I went to check it out, had a chat with 2 sisters selling hand made jewellery and bought 2 pairs of ear rings for my daughters in Canada knowing that they would never wear them. One doesn't even have her ears pierced. I ended up wearing them myself, sometimes 2 in one ear lobe, it looks very Indian.

The trip on the night bus from Las Vegas to Albuquerque took 14 hours; the crowd on the bus was not unlike the one I had already experienced: 2 extremely annoying girls talking and swearing all night long, lonely men, mostly black a couple of young people that looked like tourists. I suspect we drove through nothing but desert because when light came and I woke up after having slept a little, we drove through a desert for another 3 hours. Which one was this? I suspect one of the most impressive desert in the US, the Painted Desert with its beautiful, red cliffs. Albuquerque seams to be at the end of the desert, yellow city, buildings made out of sand stone, a very practical Greyhound/Amtrak station with super friendly staff. I was tempted to stay and check out Santa Fe, but when I realized that the train bounded for greener fields was just an hour away, I decided that maybe I had seen enough desert for the time being!

The train has just stopped at Raton, the last stop in the state of New Mexico. About half an hour ago the sun set in a cloudy sky behind the Rocky Mountains to the West. We are way East of the Rockies but they look beautiful in the distance. Here too the pattern is familiar: boarded up homes, humongous junk jards. One town in particular caught my attention. It was surrounded by junk: old cars, scrap iron, mountains of tires, lumber. But the train stopped to let out a very pretty girl, high heels and all!

After Las Vegas, NM the train heads into the Great Plains, yellow grass as far as the eye can see, and as a young man sitting in the Sightseeing car explains: "Yep, all the way to Mexico." I can't help but repeat to myself what I just heard. "All the way to Mexico... and of course all the way to Canada". But where is the water? This land is so dry, does it ever rain? Bison country. Lonely farms, some abandoned, one or two cows here and there looking sometimes just like little specks on the horizon. Among the passengers taking in the sights before it gets dark are an elderly Amish couple. For a while I listen to their old German, I can make out a few words. "Guck mal", says the woman, "an lonely kuh". That's how empty the American Prairies are!

November 11, La Vegas

The bells are ringing in Las Vegas when I check out from the hotel I've stayed at. I just bought a ticket on the evening bus to Albuquerque, NM. The lady that sold my ticket looked like a nun, dressed in blue with a gorgeous cross on her chest. It doesn't take me long to find out why the bells are ringing: it's Nov. 11, 11 minutes after 11! I wonder if those ringing bells are real!

On my way to a cheaper Internet cafe than the one in the hotel lobby, and as I wonder about "The Working Nun" at the Greyhound station, I walk right into the Remembrance day parade. At first it looks pretty harmless: a handful of very old veterans marching behind a slow moving van with more very old veterans. Then I see the first high school bands: girls swinging their school and their American flags, the marching band, young man and women in uniform marching to the beat of the drums and then comes the shock. Kids, boys and girls with guns! High school bands after high school bands, and the same pattern: first the girls bearing flags, then the band followed by the guns. Wait a minute I need to ask someone why the kids are carrying guns! I look at the people lining the sidewalk with their little flags, children with their parents and grand parents, ladies wearing T-shirts that say: "Proud Military Mom", old, sad looking men wearing their war medals and dusty uniforms, more marching veterans, this time younger looking and carrying a sign that says: "Freedom Is Not Free". I feel totally lost. Finally I see a lady walking her dog. She does not seam too interested in what's going on, and so I summon up the courage to ask her why the kids are carrying guns. "I know", she says, "I don't like it either, I hope those guns are not loaded". Then she tries to explain that in some high schools in America the kids enrol in a pre-military program, maybe at some schools, not at all schools...She i not too sure....I decide to leave but not before I watch hundreds of motorcycles followed by some beautiful, old cars and the closing truck with bails of hey and carrying the little miss Las Vegas princess in her sweet dress, surrounded by children carrying a flag that says: "Children Of America Support Our Troops".

After the parade I decide to try to cheer up by visiting one of the many wedding chapels on the streets. I read that there are more than 200 wedding chapels in Las Vegas. The first one is a bit disappointing, very white! I try another one and another one but they all look the same : white interiors, white benches, white and red or pink artificial roses, little white cherubs. These wedding chapels look more like funeral chapels to me! Las Vegas has a slum that I wanted to check out, but all of a sudden I feel tired of America. The last thing I see in day time Las Vegas before I immerse myself in the world of the Internet is a sign on a very vacant lot that says: "Motel Ambassador, Thanks For The Memories".

The Mojave Desert

November 10, The Grand Canyon

The passengers have just gotten off the mini van that took us to the Grand Canyon and we are standing there looking. As I stand there holding taightly to the railing, I look down, down through the layers of white, grey, pink, purple rocks, I feel slightly dizzy, but that must be because we are at 7000 feet above sea level. It could although well be because I was born in a deep valley surrounded by high mountains: I get a feeling of upside down mountains and for a split of a second I don't know if I like it. Then I start to walk. We are on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon with a great view of the North Rim; with a bit of immagination I can see the river down below snaking through the canyon. It's a breathtaking view and te colours are fantastic, but as I walk I realize that my dream to hike the Grand Canyon one day has just evaporated! I am so dizzy that I feel I have just lost all desire to walk down this upside down mountain! At the visitor centre, I look through the telescope with a sign:" Is there a river down below?" What looked like a path at the very bottom of the canyon turns out to be the raging Colorado river. Neat! Near the telescope a man with a park uniform and a beard down to his chest is telling people how he likes to hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon at night, and only at night. It's especially beautiful when the moon shines. He tells people that he hiked it just once during the day; it was so hot that he almost killed his family! Another reason not to want to hike the Grand Canyon, ever!

The leisurly walk takes about 2 hours and it's back on the van for our long trip back. Travelling with me are a young Japanese couple, an elderly couple from New England visiting Vegas because it's cheap and not because of the casinos and another couple from Buffalo. On the way to the canyon our driver-guide gave us information on the many places we drove through. First there was the Eastern Mojave Desert, a picture stop at the Hoover Dam where a new highway is being built to allow heavy traffic through the region. Works on an impressive high bridge above the canyon were in full swing, and when I said that it was beautiful the driver said: "Yeah Silvia, this will be the next bridge for you to bike on". I was glad to encounter my first Joshua trees, "arms" stretched to the sky like in a prayer; pinyin pines followed by ponderosa pines, Utah junipers and banana yucca. All strange but very beautiful trees and plants. At Kingman we stopped to look at an old steam locomotive that used to run between Kingman and Santa Fe. The young Japanese lady seamed more intrigued by the fact that the pecans fom a near pecan tree were edible, and I showed her how to crack them with a rock. It would have been a great trip if it had not been for the lack of silence. 5 movies were showed during the trip: 2 had to do with our trip, one was about the construction of the famous Hoover Dam, the other about the canyon , but then there were 3 silly movies and not a moment of silence. Pity. One passenger had expressed the desire to see the stars in the desert, but there were no stops once the night set in. I couldn't help but smile: at least from the Greyhound bus the night before I had seen the stars over the desert.

November 9, Las Vegas

4.45 PM, the sun is setting in Las Vegas and I just woke up. I got a hotel room for 2 nights: $49.50 for the first night because I checked in early and, $ 39.50 for the second night. Soon I will find out that people come to Las Vegas because it's cheap due to the latest recession, and not because they want to gamble all night long. That's great: the only time I played at a casino I lost my $ 10.- and I don't intend to play though I want to "do" Vegas somehow. I look at the coupons I received with my room key: there is one for a hair cut or mani cure, pedi cure, one for poker chips at the poker room of the hotel and one for Tinoco's restaurant. I hope Tinoco's is not Mexican food, my stomach still hasn't recovered from the meal the previuos night at the bus station in Los Angels, but on the same time it calls for food. On my night table I also have the information for my trip to the Grand Canyon the next day, departure at 6.00 AM, return, 8.00 PM. That was a bit disappointing to find out that I was 300 miles from the Grand Canyon: some one in Toronto had said to me that Las Vegas is the point of departure for the Grand Canyon. I guess it can be but I wished I had checked my map instead of listening to friends! No matter what, I want to see the Grand Canyon and I have booked a delux tour in a mini van that gives the passengers the time to walk the 2,5 miles rim at the canyon, plus the ride through the desert should be awesome!

At Tinoco's I get some Italian food with a glass of wine and my stomach is happy again. Then I stroll around with the crowd, loud music blanding in with the ping sounds of the millions of slots machine. The doors to the many casinos are wide open and there are huge crowds near the casino-hotel where in the morning I had seen only 2 paramedics carrying out a woman on stretcher and into the ambulance. Soon I realize that my part of the city is not the real Vegas. I look for the bus that takes people to the Strip so that I can see Venice, Paris, New York, Bellagio, Monte Carlo, The Mandalay Palace, the Luxor and so on. As the bus drives through the Strip I get distracted and forget to get off. Suddenly all the lights of Vegas are gone, puzzled I have to ask the driver to let me off so that I can walk back, but he promptly refuses. "Can't do that", he says, "too dangerous". His name is Martin and he is from Mexico; I'm the only one left on the bus. He suggests that I stay on to the last stop and then go back with him to "Paris" at no extra cost. That was nice, although it takes a while. Martin has to have a smoke and a chat with some collegues, plus he has to keep his schedule. Finally I get back to the lights of the city. I step off near the statue of Liberty and start walking and admiring. I'm not too inclined to go into the various palaces, it's such a mild evening and I love to watch the crowd though I wonder where the fun is for little kids and babies in Las Vegas. I hope they'll grow up to refuse to go to Vegas with mom and dad. After New York I walk pass the Sahara desert and then I'm watching the "gondolieri" in Venice. That looks so real: a couple is having a picture taken infront of one of the "palazzo". I'm sure you can fool people at home and tell them you were in Venice or Paris or Milano. Milano looks elegant and then there is the Eiffel tower and Arc de Triumphe, across, is marvellous Bellagio where I watch a "water performance": the water of the fountain spurting and dancing to the sound of classical music. That is actually kind of nice! All other performances don't interest me: they are either starting in half an hour or they are just finished. As I take a last look at the hotels-casinos-convention-centers I wonder about 2 things: where did Celine Dion performe all these years and who are the people booking their conventions in Las Vegas? Around 11.00 PM I hop on the bus that takes me back to my hotel near the Greyhound station. I feel I've done my Vegas!

November 8, On The Night Bus To Las Vegas

Two buses are leaving Los Angeles for Las Vegas and beyond that night. It's mostly black people, some kids, tired looking girls leaning on their boyfriends that will later say good bye to them. People start to line up early, and so do I thinking that maybe it was a mistake to try to get to Las Vegas by Greyhound bus on a Sunday night! As soon as I'm in my seat I feel better although the supper I just ate at the station makes my stomach hurt. I hope I won't have to excuse myself all night to the lad sitting beside me!

Although the people riding the Greyhound look very much unlike the ones I met on the train, they are polite, the driver is wearing his uniform even though he will take his bus on a trip through the desert, at night. There are more young people on the bus than on he train. The ones I met on the train did not have sleepers, had brought their food and spent most of he time in the sightseeing car.

The Greyhound bus in America is the people mover of the poor, and when you take it you can't worry too much about getting lice or having people throwing up on your lap. It would be almost possible to sleep if it weren't for the stomach ache I got from the mushed potatoes, fried fish and corn.

Unable to sleep I sit back and look at the stars over the desert. There are a few important stops for more people to get on and then comes what seams the most important stop of the night, a McDonald in the middle of the desert. The driver has to knock a few times for the girl to open the door so we can go in and use the bathrooms and get our food. She was probably waiting for us, but fell asleep in the meantime. After that people come back on the bus with fries and cokes. That stop seamed to have been the highlight of the trip for the many young people on that bus, although one of the two girls sitting in front of me doesn't bother getting her fries and coke. When asked if she is not hungry, she replies that she is not hungry for McDonald food. That makes me smile, maybe she knits when travelling during the day?

When the bus starts again I see that the McDonald stop was at Barstow Station, two and half hours away from Las Vegas. Twice before reaching Las Vegas I thought I spotted it through my sleepy eyes. Twice these crazy buildings appeared out of nowhere lighting up the sky with such violence that made my stomach hurt even more. As it turns out they were just little pre-Las Vegas casinos in the middle of the desert. Then, when I finally see the city, I'm disappointed. From far it looks just like any other city, stretching out into the desert as far as the eye can see. Soon after the bus pulls into a very plain looking bus station and one can tell that we are arriving at Las Vegas because of the hotels and casinos. It's almost morning so all is quiet in Vegas. I was glad I got to see the two pre-Vegas shockingly killing the night and the stars because that is what I was expecting of Las Vegas: a big shock in the middle of nature.

November 8, On The Greyhound Bus

It's seven in the morning and the bus I'm on is driving over the Bay Bridge leaving San Francisco for Los Angeles. I take a last look at the city and then I sit back and relax. I got myself a seat on the right side of the bus in order to see the ocean when we drive through Santa Barbara. But it's a long journey, 12 hours on the bus. Maybe it was a mistake to take the bus on a Sunday (got mixed up with the days, even in California the weeks have one Saturday and one Sunday)! It was Saturday when I went on a bike ride in SF, it's Sunday today and people are getting on and off the bus continuously. Mostly on, and soon it's crowded. I watch the people. It's certainly not the same type of passengers that travel by Amtrak : these are the poorer people. I'm probably the only tourist on board. Later, as we pass cities like Salinas and King City, I can tell that most of the passengers are field workers from South America; either on their way back from visiting friends and family or getting a few days off to go see friends and family. It's mostly man with dark complexion and very dark hair. But none of the people on this bus suspect that I'm a tourist. The way I look, I could be a Mexican grandmother riding the bus on a Sunday on my way to King City to visit some one.

I'm on this bus though because I wanted to see the coast although I'm starting to think that maybe it will be dark when we finally get there! And it will be dark in Los Angeles, but that doesn't matter because I'm not in a mood for Los Angeles. I haven't planned anything for when I get there. So maybe I will just keep going on to Las Vegas.

Right now though, I watch the landscape changing. First come the dark soil of the winter fields, empty fields as far as the eye can see, the soil freshly turned ready for the next season. But I also see fields and fields of Brussels sprouts, artichokes and low plants with red berries on them; strawberries! No wonder we can buy strawberries all year round. Later the flat landscapes turns into hills and vineyards; the vineyards snaking around the hills stopping just shortly before reaching the dry soil of the top. I'm so glad I got to see a small, small portion of the California food belt. After the last vineyards the bus travels through a valley, some dry desert hills on the left, lush looking hills on the ocean side of the valley. In the afternoon the bus finally reaches the most beautiful part of its voyage down he coast: the stretch between Watsonville and Santa Maria and then again between Santa Maria and Santa Barbara and on following the Santa Barbara Channel. Tonight I watch the sun set in the Pacific Ocean right around Ventura Beach. I can see people standing in contemplation on the beach, a few feet away from their parked cars, and there are some surfers riding the waves. The sun sets in a huge fire ball and then the night comes quickly. It's pitch dark when the bus pulls into the station in North Hollywood. I watch in vain for the famous sign that says HOLLYWOOD, but I don't see it. I don't know where to look for it, and the Greyhound station in Hollywood looks as plain and ugly as any other Greyhound station in the States. Somewhat filthy, jammed with people day and night and with some busy-not- too-friendly-looking-staff. What I noticed today on the journey by bus though, is that at every bus stop there is a bored looking sheriff, handcuffs and gun, ready. It's somewhat comforting but also very strange. During the ride today we got a lot of 10 minutes stops that always became 20 minutes so that the driver and passengers could have their smoke and a chat. But the bus pulls in on time at the Greyhound station in Los Angeles. I don't see anything interesting around the station, not even a little Starbucks for a coffee, no little hotel where I could spend the night. The Greyhound station in LA must be in the most run down, scary looking area of the city and so I buy myself a ticket on the night bus to Las Vegas.