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.

November 7, San Francisco

I put my rented bike against the railing high up on the Golden Gate Bridge and look down at the blue ocean, the waives gently hitting the rocks below the hills at Sausolito. If I turn my head I can see the white buildings of the city perched on its hills gleaming in the sun. It's a warm, sunny day in San Francisco and tons of people are doing what I'm doing: biking to Sausolito from downtown San Francisco. Getting the bike was easy, and it came with a ferry ticket to come back. One can either take the ferry at Sausolito or bike around the bay to Tiburon and take it from there. That's what I did although it turned out to be a little too far and next day on the bus I could feel the sore muscles. I almost got lost in the hills of California, but it was worth it.

In the morning before renting the bike, I went for a walk downtown, just to get a feeling of the city. The streets were pretty much deserted, but there were lots and lots of people at the Saturday market on the pier. I strolled around the huge market wanting to buy this and that and cook a meal. Everything looked so fresh. At the end I bought some mandarins that were incredible sweet. I was surprised though that there were not more: I had imagined a market in California full of oranges, mandarins and tons of grapes. There were lots of different types of grapes but no oranges. I told myself that maybe it was too early in the season for oranges. After a lunch of delicious fish chowder, it's off to the The Blazing Saddle to rent a bike. On the way to the bridge, not far from where a regatta was in full gear, I stopped to watch some bold eagles diving for fish. Now I'm watching some surfers play in the waives of he Pacific ocean, I could stand there for hours, but if I want to reach the last ferry that leaves Tiburon at 10 minutes after four, I'd better go. From the bridge there is a steep descend, luckily my brakes are perfect and the path follows the ocean in and out of little bays, beautiful homes all around. At one point I have to stop to ask if I'm still on the right path, all of a sudden the ferry dock at Tiburon seams so far away! But I make it there and the ferry is over an hour late. People are crowding the cafe at the dock, more people are sitting on the grass, a wedding party is leaving the restaurant. Are we all going to fit on the ferry? I decide not to fret and sit on a stone enjoying more sweet mandarins as I watch strange birds diving, scooping up dinner and flying away to return soon after. It's a cloud of pelicans feeding in the sun set, and as I sit there watching them I wonder where I had seen pelicans before in my life. I must admit that it was at the zoo! The ferry comes; bikes have to be parked below, people can wonder around and watch the sun set behind the Golden Gate Bridge as we return to the city. Lovely, lovely San Francisco!

November 6, California!

The long descent from the Sierra Nevada takes hours and I'm sitting in my cabin feeling sleepy. As we gradually reach the coast, the fog turns into a fine mist; I can't wait to step off the train and go for a walk. I can already smell the ocean.

The train station in San Francisco is about a half an hour outside the city at Emeryville, CA, but there is an Amtrak bus waiting for the passengers that wish to go into San Francisco. From the moment I step on the bus, I know I will love San Francisco: the driver is friendly and the blasting music from his radio seams to put everybody in a good mood right away. We are all asked about our destinations, for me is the Fisherman's Wharf although I don't have a hotel yet. The driver doesn't seam too pleased: "Can't leave a nice lady, just like that, under the rain", he says. I look out and I don't see any rain, just a fine mist in the pink evening light. Just before the last stop, I spot the Travelodge Hotel and so I get off and get myself a room for 2 nights for 181$. I drop my stuff at the hotel and go out for a walk in the balmy air: it could be May in either Toronto or Oslo! Lovely.

It takes me an evening to discover the Fisherman's Wharf: I walk and watch. The streets are crowded, but it's a cheerful crowd: people tasting wine at a winery or buying crabs from the many streets' vendors. Others are taking their kids for rides on the merry-go-round or simply stop to watch the process of bread making through the huge window at Boudin. Then I follow the sound of "barking dogs" not remembering that when in San Francisco one should go and watch the sea lions at the pier. There must be hundreds of them balancing their huge bodies on the crowded rafts and "barking" at the moon. After watching them for a while, I decide to go look for the cable car and go for a ride up and down the hills of San Francisco. The last thing I see that night before I go to sleep is a sign that says: Bike The Bridge. In order to be able to bike over the Golden Gate bridge in San Francisco on a mild Sunday in November, I need a good night sleep!

November 6 on the train.

This morning I watch the sun rise over the Nevada Desert, low mountain chains on either sides. The train rides through the desert, and all I can see beside us is the highway and little towns, mostly trailer parks or prey-fabricated little houses, old dogs on broken porches, windows with no curtains, sometimes with no glass in them, rusty cars in the yards, some that look like flower pots, trees growing out of them, and no people. I'm fascinated. For the first time I see the America of the movies about the Wild West! When I was a kid I had a hero in a story I read in a kid's magazine we used to get. His name was Tommy River, he was always riding his horse named Kiko (we later had a cat with that name), he got bitten by the rattle snakes, and sometimes he stood on his horse on top of the mesa looking in the distance...

It was night when we travelled through Salt Lake City, and because SLC is actually a city I very much wanted to see, I woke up several times during the night just to peak out. The moon was shining nice and bright and I could see that the ground was white like covered in snow. I will have to ask that friendly lady that sometimes sits at my table. It depends where I looked out, she says. If it was around Salt Lake City, it was salt; if it was in the mountains after we left SLC so it was snow. Hmm.. Now I can see the Sierra Nevada in the distance ahead of us. Same lady: "You wait, this time we'll be going over the mountains and not through them like yesterday", I can't wait. This time I will be going to the Sightseer Lounge, windows all around. We are almost in Reno and now I can see the salt. It does look like snow. At Reno Mike who had travelled East to visit a daughter gets off and some volunteer-guides get on. Old men proudly wearing their guide-Amtrak-uniform and I imagine with their heads full of historical facts and dates. We'll see. And so they start: "We have just left the Silver State of Nevada for the Gold State of California". First stop is Truckee. For me this is the first Western looking town with a railway station, saloons and taverns on the main road, for the volunteer-guides, is so many things.. This is what the Amtrak brochure says: Truckee was named after the Paiute chief, Trukizo, father of chief Winnemucca. The first settlers encountered his tribe with the friendly chief yelling "Tro-kay" at them, the Paiute word for "hello". And, note the renovated former Bank of America, now the popular restaurant " The Bar of America".

And then suddenly there is a change in the weather. On the climb up to the Sierra Nevada the sun was still shining. Then the train goes through a tunnel and when it comes out on the other side the fog is covering the mountains, it hangs low over the treetops of the pines an spruces. Pity. That what happens in the mountains. I look out for another little while: the train will climb at over 7000 ft and then the descend will take hours. I go back in my cabin and plan the rest of my trip. I'm looking forward to San Francisco.

November 5, on the train

It's 6:15 AM when a friendly voice announces that the train is about to arrive at Denver, Colorado. I had a good sleep on my first night riding the Amtrak, but when I look out through my sleepy eyes I see skyscrapers. This is Denver? But then I look a bit better and I notice the snow on the ground and the mountains in the distance. The train is early and we are allowed to step out for a morning walk. It will leave at 8. Quickly I get dressed and step out in the fresh morning air. I walk on 16Th Ave. It's pretty. The street seams to be reserved for pedestrians and hybrid powered buses. Denver reminds me of Calgary though it might be older; the gorgeous train station dates from 1880. The air is dry and warm, the sun is already shining at 7 AM. I don't want to miss my breakfast and so it's back on the train soon moving through the pre-Rockies, fresh snow here and there from the last storm a few weeks ago. The sun is shining. The lady sitting beside me at the breakfast table told me that Colorado has 300 days of sunshine!
Soon the train will ride through some beautiful scenery: mountains, canyons, tunnels across the Continental Divide. That would be a good day to spend hours in the Sightseer Lounge with windows all around, but I don't. I figure that I will see everything from the window of my cabin. Later I will regret it very much. I probably missed seeing the Grand Mesa before darkness came again, but I got to see the La Sal mountains at dusk. That was almost already in Utah. Right now the train is climbing; we pass the 1o km long Moffat tunnel that opened in 1928 cutting the distance between Denver and the Pacific coast by 176 miles. Prior to that the Denver, Northwestern and Pacific railroad crossed Rollins Pass with a series of switchback loops and steep grades. I read this in the brochure on the California Zephyr. It's interesting. I do see why among the passengers that I meet in the dining lounge, there are the ones that take the train because of the love for it, its engine, the way it worked back then when it first started to cross America, and the way it works now. I'm on the train to see America my way and because I am too chicken to drive!
The next stop is Winter Park (Fraser) a Ski Resort 9000 ft. above sea level. The ponds are already frozen and I see some nice ski hills, villas on the cliffs, but also a few shacks lining the train track. It doesn't look like a Swiss ski resort at all! From now on the train will be in and out of canyons for hours to come. A remote Fraser canyon with human faces carved in the rocks: I see an old Indian chief, a Grandmother, an unborn baby.....The cliffs are reddish-brown, so are the stones and the earth. The "train-voice" announces that we will soon be travelling through the famous Gore; a very short, steep canyon on the Upper Colorado river, and lucky you, says the voice: "there is no road through the Gore. It's accessible only by train or kayaks!" The steep walls ascend some 1000 ft. on each side over the river, which descend from 7300 ft. to 7ooo. And so the brochure: "Its Class V whitewater is the wildest commercially available rafting in the state--some say the entire country."
It's almost 2 PM and the train has just left the Glenwood Canyon following the Colorado river. It stops at Glenwood Springs. According to the brochure this is a unique location that sees high recreational use by locals , visitors and commercial outfitters alike . Here are 6 world-class ski resorts, mountain bike trails, whitewater rafting, hiking trails and the famous Glenwood Caverns, a geological marvel. From the train I see the elegant hotels that offer relaxing spa- holidays. Glenwood Springs is famous for its thermal waters, and this time it does look like a resort town in the Swiss-Alps . The old train station is for sale. The sign says: "Historical Train Station, 4578 ft above sea level, built at the turn of the century."
Soon it will be dark again. The problem with travelling in November is that most of the day is night! And so it's dusk when the train leaves Grand Junction heading towards the State Line Colorado/Utah. I can make out the shape of the mesas, the flat mountains overlooking the region and then we are travelling through the desert of Utah when night comes. In the darkness we will travel through some more mountains, Salt Lake City to Reno arriving at Reno at 8 in the morning.

November 4, Chicago







It's 6:30 AM and I'm sitting in the Great Hall of Chicago's Union Station, a truly beautiful hall. Are the walls and pillars made out of marble? I wonder. The station reminds me of the train station in Milan, Italy. A stately building from around 1900 when trains all over the world became such an important way to travel and to move goods. My train leaves at 4PM, I have a day to explore Chicago. I'm waiting for the Amtrak Lounge to open so I can leave my luggage there and go for a walk although the lady that gave me my train ticket when asked, said: " There is not much around here". Wrong! In the few hours that I spent in Chicago, this is what I saw:
1. Lake Michigan
2. Millennium Park with the ultra modern Music Pavilion by Frank Gehry, the Cloud Gate Sculpture
3. Chicago's skyscrapers, new and old, that rise like peaceful giants facing the lake. They are graceful with neat, clean lines, more like sculptures than buildings; elegant and sleek.
4. Sycamore trees
5. The beautiful, rusty iron bridges over the Chicago River, and I ate a breakfast of eggs and bacon plus hush browns at the Marquette on Adam Street.
It's 4:30 and after struggling a bit with my seat-turn-into-bed-cabin also called roomette on the Amtrak, I'm watching another sun set. This time the sun is setting behind some trees in uneventful looking Galesburg, Illinois. This is flat, boring country for sure. It's a dusty pink sunset.
I had a shower and at 6:30 there will be dinner in the lounge. I'm traveling in style: roomette for myself and three meals a day! For another little while , I watch this flat, flat country side, a few cows and mega abandoned industrial areas. The sun is now a red fireball close to the dusty horizon..
I'm travelling on the California Zephyr, all the way to the coast, to Emeryville, California.
There is an announcement and the voice says that we will travel on a bridge over the Mississippi River built in 1898, from the state of Illinois to the state of Iowa. There is still enough light in the sky for me to watch the mighty river. I'm exited and I want to call people to tell them that I have just seen the Mississippi river! Then darkness sets in.

The bus arrives, bus # 7727, it's a good number. I line up to get a good seat but there are not very many people travelling to Chicago on the bus that night. A black lady in front of me is complaining already about the long journey: "All the way to Chicago, where are you going"? To Chicago I say to her, but I don't tel her that I'm going there for fun. She looks tired already and the trip hasn't started yet. on my seat I find a poppy pinned to the fabric and I decide to wear it since I had not bought one. It's the time of the year. I wonder i Americans wear poppies on their lapel this time of the year. We'll see, I tell myself.

They don't. Once I had a button that I used to wear on Nov.11. It said:"To remember is to end all wars".

I did this trip by train and bus in November, 2009

NOV. 3/2009 Bay Street Terminal, Toronto

Usually I travel on the third of the month or on a date that can be divided by 3: 21,9,18,27......
My US trip is starting today. The sun has just set behind the Victorian houses West of Spadina; low in the sky this time of the year. I went through the smells of China Town, I'm early. I want to get a good seat on the Greyhound bus. I also wanted to travel during the day to see as much as I could , but it will be night on the first stretch of my journey. Never mind. I'll try to take the bus back during the day. First stop, Chicago!