darkemeralds: A round magical sigil of mysterious meaning, in bright colors with black outlines. A pen nib is suggested by the intersection of the cryptic forms. (Default)
Behold, the souvenir shoes of conversation initiation. )

I'm home. The rain started as soon as the train hit the Willamette Valley near Eugene. I was out of sorts by the time we got in, because, when all's said and done, 29 hours is a long time to ride a train.

I'd go again, though. As a mode of transportation, I think this train idea has a real future.
darkemeralds: A round magical sigil of mysterious meaning, in bright colors with black outlines. A pen nib is suggested by the intersection of the cryptic forms. (Default)
One of my vivid mental images of Santa Barbara from when I lived here is of the tiles. The place is covered in Moorish-style tiles. And bougainvillea.

Pictures. )

Santa Barbara has the Queen of the Missions. Bigger than other Spanish missions along the Camino Real, it's also in better condition. The fact that it's situated on some of the best real estate in the world probably doesn't hurt either.

I never visited the mission when I lived here. My brother, who's lived here for thirty years, confessed (ha-ha-ha) to having never been inside it either. Tourist attractions, huh? You gotta be a tourist to see them.

There's an odd feeling to the place, peaceful with an underlayer of violence.

Contrasting sensations. )
darkemeralds: A round magical sigil of mysterious meaning, in bright colors with black outlines. A pen nib is suggested by the intersection of the cryptic forms. (Default)
Think of the Hallelujah Chorus, but instead of singing "Hallelujah!" sing "Santa Barbara!" Or you could sing, "The rain may never fall till after sundown..." and that would cover it too.

We arrived to a perfect 75-degree afternoon. Gentle breeze, palms swaying therein, smell of ocean, little dolphin fountain at our hotel. Beds! Real ones, many inches across. We're so tired we're crosseyed.

My brother, who lives here, came and took us for Thai food (Food! Real food, made in a kitchen from scratch) and drove us around the old neighborhood, which I haven't seen since I escaped from here in 1974. So, kind of a long time.

I was expecting to feel something upon seeing the house we lived in, but to my surprise, what tweaked the memory-flood was the parking lot attendant at the train station. I remembered, all at once, that I worked in one of those municipal parking lots here when I was 18 or 19. All of a sudden, I was back there. I could see my coworkers, see the sparkles that a crystal bracelet I used to wear cast on the inside of the booth on a sunny day. I could hear the music that played ("This Masquerade" by George Benson was the song that summer).

Not really a lot of memories here, and it's been long enough that I can appreciate the town's attractions without any of my high-school resentments.
darkemeralds: A round magical sigil of mysterious meaning, in bright colors with black outlines. A pen nib is suggested by the intersection of the cryptic forms. (Default)
High in the Siskiyous as night falls, evergreen forest rising high up steep hills that block the fading sky on either side, thick, wild, untouched. My ears pop when I yawn.

[livejournal.com profile] roseambr, in a red sweater, is reading by a bright little lamp set into the seat back behind her. My computer is plugged in behind me. Our little compartment--just room enough for us to put our feet up on the edge of each other's seat--is like two facing armchairs in a glass-sided box, rolling and swaying quietly up into the mountains.

We shared a dinner table with a brother and sister heading home to San Bernardino County. They had steaks, I had salmon, [livejournal.com profile] roseambr had lasagna. Nobody had the game hen.

Dinner was pretty much cooked freight. Good company, though. Striking up dinner conversation with strangers on a train is pretty easy--you can spend an hour just agreeing that train travel is better than air travel, and we did.

We just came through a tunnel into a high vista at the top of the pass. Pitch-black trees against a dark-gray sky, and not a light out there anywhere. Not a highway, not a power line, not a billboard, not a road sign, not a headlight.

It was incredibly peaceful, and then Andrew our Sleeper Car Attendant came over the PA system:

"I have some not very good news. Low vacuum due to our high altitude has made it so that the toilets in car 1130 won't flush. Passengers in car 1130 will have to use the toilets in one of the other cars until we get down out of the mountains, around 1:00 in the morning."

Did I mention that [livejournal.com profile] roseambr and I are in car 1130?

*caps water bottle*
darkemeralds: A round magical sigil of mysterious meaning, in bright colors with black outlines. A pen nib is suggested by the intersection of the cryptic forms. (Default)
On the Coast Starlight, about 25 miles south of Portland, rolling along, sample train dialog:

Sleeping Car Attendant [note: he is actually awake...]: Would you like to make dinner reservations?

Me: Sure! What's for dinner?

SCA: Well, tonight we have steak, salmon, or vegetable lasagna. Oh, and gay men.

Me: ...

[livejournal.com profile] roseambr: Could we have six o'clock?

SCA: I have two slots left at that time. *makes a note and leaves.*

[livejournal.com profile] roseambr: Game hen. That sounds good.

Me: Ha ha ha ha! Game hen.
darkemeralds: A round magical sigil of mysterious meaning, in bright colors with black outlines. A pen nib is suggested by the intersection of the cryptic forms. (Default)
Union Station, Portland:

I keep catching myself humming "Ridin' that train, high on cocaine" as I wander around Union Station. I should probably find another train song.

Sample train station dialog:

Me: Where do I wait for the southbound train?"

Railroad person: Where ya goin'?

Me: Santa Barbara.

RP: Oh, nice!

Me: I know, huh?

RP: Coach or sleeper?

Me: Sleeper!

RP: Well then, you get to wait in the Metropolitan Lounge.

Me: Really? Cool. Do I need to show my ticket? Because my friend who's getting on in Vancouver has my ticket.

RP: No, Robert can look you up on the computer. Just tell him your name.

We walk into the Metropolitan Lounge: carpet, old-fashioned windows looking out at the platform, chairs with padding, flower arrangements, our own restrooms, a mini-bar, smell of coffee, a TV playing a football game.

RP: Here we have some nice complimentary juice and bottled water, and there's some fresh coffee for you.

Me: Wow.
darkemeralds: A round magical sigil of mysterious meaning, in bright colors with black outlines. A pen nib is suggested by the intersection of the cryptic forms. (Default)
I need a Jump for Joy icon, 'cause I'm going on vacation. Tomorrow, [livejournal.com profile] roseambr and I are taking the Coast Starlight to Santa Barbara.

Now, I may be the only person in the world who dislikes Santa Barbara, but that's because my family moved there in the middle of my senior year of high school, and no town, however gorgeous, can honestly be expected to recover from that. But my brother still lives there, and he's having an art show, and I desperately need to get away from the World's Tallest Basement for a few days, and foreign travel is completely out of the question.

So tomorrow around lunchtime, I'm hauling my overworked self, my computer, my camera, a couple of bottles of wine, and a toothbrush down to Union Station, and--in a complete absence of TSA agents, X-rays, metal detectors, body-searches, zip-lock bags, shoe-removal, or the surrendering of liquids--walking onto Superliner Car 1130.

And then? Twenty-nine hours of Pacific coast scenery, leisurely conversation with my best friend, club car visiting, wine-sipping, reading, writing, and snoozing in the private roomette, followed by two days of art and architecture in Santa Barbara, which I am determined to make up with.

I'm sure there'll be at least a couple of photos.

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