Planes, Trains, and Wagons East

Let’s start with the Wicked. By Wicked I mean the new musical. For my birthday the family all got tickets to the performance on its second night in Seattle. I had wanted to see this show since I heard about it, so needless to say I was thrilled when I found out. We all got dressed up and went to dinner at a nice Vietnamese restaurant. Then we crossed the street to the Paramount Theater. I know there are Paramount Theaters everywhere, but it still felt a little like I was in Charlottesville again. Anyway, the show was spectacular. The story weaved wonderfully with the Wizard of Oz, and the vocalists were great. Elpheba, the “Wicked” Witch of the West, was spectacular, and her voice should be known across the country.

The Wicked Awesome will take slightly longer to explain. First, Notre Dame trounced Nevada in their season opener 35-0. That would be the highlight of any other week for me, but not this one by far. Later that day I went to Bumbershoot, Seattle’s 3 day music and arts festival, with Olivia.


That night we saw several great bands, including two that left a mark: Eric Hutchinson and Elvis Perkins. The following day was even better. Highlights included stand-up comedy by Sara Silverman and Eugene Mirman (the landlord in Flight of the Conchords) and music by Michael Franti and Jason Mraz. The Black Eyed Peas starred on the third day which was cut short to take Olivia to the airport. She had to be back at school the following day. Tearful goodbye.

With my cousin gone and the kids starting school in a few days, I decided to hop a Greyhound bus to Vancouver, BC. On the ride I met a local named Laura who told me where to stay and how to get there. Boy was she right. My hostel was downtown in the artsy/gay community near Davie Street, as opposed to the other hostels on the party streets or 30 minutes away. I arrived at about 3pm and proceeded to walk around the city until about 9. I walked along Robson Street (the glamour district) and many others before reaching Stanley Park. Let me tell you about Stanley Park. It’s far and away my favorite park.


Surrounded by a Seawall, it’s basically a forest that juts out into English Bay as a peninsula off of downtown. Trails run all through the park, connecting lakes, tennis courts, and lookouts. The best lookout is at the northern-most point of the park and gives a spectacular view of both North Vancouver and downtown.


After walking all around the park, I was headed back when I was called to the beach by the sound of drums. It was a drum circle, and anyone could join. Of course I had to lay it down for the nice folks. I say that, but I really have no drum skills. The guy next to me was a master though. After A few rounds I headed for the hostel, stopping for some Singaporean food before collapsing. Today’s pedometer: 12-15 miles.


As expected, I woke up to the rain. It didn’t get me down. What did get me down was the fact that the hostel was full for the following night, and I had only booked the one I just slept through. After an hour of waiting for someone to give up their reservation, the management figured out there was one bed available… mine. I guess they hadn’t realized that that I was staying in the bed that I was sleeping in, and no one else was. So after I had packed all my stuff to find a new hostel, I went back up, unpacked, and set off for Lynn Canyon. Almost immediately upon walking into the park I came upon a 50m high suspension bridge over a waterfall.


Perfect. A fantastic sight, even in the rain. I hiked around the temperate rainforest for about 4 hours, stopping twice in the park’s café for lunch and for hot chocolate. After hiking I headed back downtown the way I came: Seabus. The Seabus is a hovercraft-looking vessel that crosses the inlet between downtown and North Vancouver, and offers some spectacular views of the city.


Public transportation in Vancouver in general is awesome. Though expensive, I could get anywhere in the city quickly and easily, and by the third day I had the system down. The rain had subsided by the time I got back downtown, so I spent the rest of the day walking along English bay. I caught a sliver of sunset through the clouds while munching on Falafel. Today’s pedometer: about 5 miles.


In the morning I was ready to die. Ready to die in the sense that I was about to kill myself. About to kill myself in the sense that in a few hours I was going to be in intense pain and anguish. Intense pain and anguish in the sense that I was going to really enjoy myself. That, my friends, is the Grouse Grind. A 1.5 mile hike up the side of Grouse Mountain that gains 2750 feet in elevation. Did I mention I had walked about 20 miles in the previous two days? My legs were burning before I even woke up that morning. Nevertheless, I was determined, and when I reached the trail I became even more so. All people of all shapes, sizes, colors, and ages were climbing with me. Several over 60, one under 7, Asians, Indians, Germans (who set a great pace for me as I followed), and locals, from the best in fitness to the worst in health. I knew I had to finish, and they all helped push and pull me up the mountain. The view at the top was well worth it.


As was the amusement park-like atmosphere that I found at the top. Chairlifts, ziplines, an endangered black and grizzly bear preserve, and a lumberjack show were the main attractions, with a view of Vancouver to the right and Mt. Baker to the left.


The bears were huge and the lumberjacks were world-class, literally. Most tourists took the Skylift (essentially a jumbo chairlift) up instead of doing the Grind. I only took it down.


For some reason no one I asked knew where the Indian market was. I had a general idea so I decided to go searching for it. Found. And on my first try too. Unfortunately it was a disappointment. It consisted almost entirely of clothing stores, and was very run down. So I headed back to my stomping ground on Davie Street. Coming from the Indian market I had a hankerin’ for some Indian food, so I found a place and had a good meal. It’s a good thing I left the market quickly because I was able to catch a full sunset over English Bay, unspoiled by clouds. Today's pedometer: about 5 miles.


The morning of my last day I took a short ferry to Granville Island, which isn’t really an Island, but the ferry was still the best way to get there. The “island” was home to the Granville Public Market which teemed with fish, people, and the smell of fish and people.


I walked around the small island and sat down at Tony’s Fish and Oysters for the best meal of the trip: a Halibut burger, chips, and a Granville Island Lager with the brewery just on the other side of the street. Memories in hand and head, I made my way to the bus station to come home.

Vancouver in summary: I want to live there. I loved the parks, I loved the neighborhoods, I loved the transportation, I loved the helpful, friendly, outdoorsy people, I loved the fact that old couples were strolling and single women were running or walking their dogs downtown after the sky had turned black. I felt safe everywhere. In two words, it was wicked awesome.

My nine year old cousin Lizzy made me a cake for my birthday. Well, Jory made the cake, but Lizzy put on the frosting; a real family effort to celebrate my arrival in Seattle and the world on the same day. And what a great day it was. Catching up with cousins Thomas, Lizzy, and Olivia in the afternoon, family dinner with Jory and Uncle Chris in the evening, followed by cake and board games at night. All in all, a great welcome.

I find downtown to be the best place to spend your first day in a new city. Seattle’s downtown is home to one of the most famous markets in the world: Pike Place Market. That was our first destination. Throngs of people choked the halls. Tourists watched the famous fish throwers (though we didn’t see any tosses), townies bough fresh local produce (delicious peaches and plums), hungry folks slipped into crowded seafood restaurants for a bite, artsy folks browsed the homemade craft stands, and all enjoyed the overwhelming smells and sounds of a market come to life.


Ducking into some shops lining the street that absorbed the market overflow, Olivia and I stumbled upon a restaurant I recognized from Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations, a show on the travel channel following one man’s nose for great food. Of course I had to eat there, and it did not disappoint. It was a 26 year old Russian bakery called after its famous dish: Piroshky Piroshky. Beef and cheese (or other fillings) were baked inside pastry dough, the sum of which delighted every one of my senses. We even got to watch the master chef at work.


After lunch I found out that sirens are not always beautiful women calmly caressing notes to lure you to your death. In this case they took the form of a homeless looking jug band playing for coins outside what turned out to be the original Starbucks. We listened to them for quite a long time and were only able to loosen ourselves from their grasp by buying a CD and knowing we could hear them later.


Then it was back inside the market for more food. This time at the Athenian, a restaurant that had been in its same location in a world famous market for 100 years. We had to try it, and the crab cakes were spectacular. After we left the market we walked around the city and found ourselves in a lovely coffee shop a few blocks from where we started. A delicious homemade meal and an introduction to Flight of the Conchords for Olivia brought a fitting end to a wonderful first day.

Day 2: Beach day. But first, lunch at the Fiddlers Inn, a local joint. The nachos there (an appetizer) fed both me and Olivia. Lip-smackin good too. I decided to leave the toasted cheese sandwich on the menu for another day. Afterword we all swam in Lake Washington, a five minute drive from the house. Cold water but warm family fun.


And on the third day God said “Let there be hiking,” and there was much rejoicing. Olivia and I drove to Mt. Rainier National Park (see the big mountain), set up camp along White River, and headed for the trails.


As we arrived, the fog cleared and Rainier towered above us, ever watchful, giving us the strength to climb higher and higher. We made it to the top of Burroughs Mountain (7000ft) from which we got an amazing view before turning back.


No, we didn’t climb the whole mountain, we started at 6400ft. We did, however, experience the thin air on the roof of the Cascades while navigating narrow trails carved into the side of the incredibly steep rocky mountainside.


Five miles later we were back at camp and ready to start the fire. Hot dogs, sausages, and smores were on the menu, roasted Chestnut style. The night was long, cold, hard, and brought both of us little sleep, but we talked for hours and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

In the early morning we set off again, this time downhill, headed for some alpine lakes. We found a gorgeous lake nestled between pines, mountains, and dragonflies where we stopped for lunch and for rest. By mid afternoon we were headed home, tired, and sore as hell. Jory greeted us with hot chocolate, a fire (this one in a fireplace), and steaks for later, and we spent the rest of the day telling of our treks and recuperating.


Today I woke up early, unexpectedly so after a tiring two days, and posted some pictures on Snapfish (links in the column to the left). Olivia and I walked to the Wedgewood Ale House for lunch where I had a real Buffalo burger (not the endangered kind, nor the Buffalo wings kind) and a local brew. Again, fantastically delicious. We spent the rest of the day on the shore of Lake Washington and watching more Flight of the Conchords. Yeah, she’s definitely hooked. Oh, and I wrote this. And now you’re up to speed. Ta-da!

So, I made it. And, already, I’ve done so much since I arrived. But first, the ride itself. Three days of trains… turns out I’m not as crazy as you might expect. The ride was, in a word, incredible. The first leg of the journey between Washington, DC and Chicago was just as I remembered it. The green mountains of West Virginia and Pennsylvania disappeared as I slept and gave way to the vast cornfields of Ohio and Indiana after I awoke. I say slept, but really there wasn’t much sleep. I was fortunate enough to have a window seat next to a really nice rising freshman at Knox College named Alec. We chatted about history, books, and more, but as any person does, he took up a whole seat next to me for the entire trip. The nerve of this guy. Anyway, I spent most of the night in the observation car observing blackness while I stretched out among the empty seats there. Fortunately, because I didn’t sleep, I saw the sun rise. Two hours later and we were in Chicago.


Four dollars an hour for a storage locker at the train station makes angry Seth. I reluctantly coughed up the dough for an hours reprieve from the six hour layover in the station and took a stroll along the Chicago River. What a gorgeous city, and what nice people, at least that’s what I experienced. I’ve heard otherwise about the people. The six hours went by in a flash (sarcasm included) and then I was on my way to Seattle.


Mad props to Mary, our car attendant, for giving me a seat buddy for only eight of the 46 hours, none happening at night. So I had two seats to myself both nights, and strangely enough, those seats really helped my back.


I quickly made friends with Mike, a veteran of the US military’s presence in South Korea (’65) and an avid Notre Dame Football fan. I know, it was a match made in heaven. We gabbed about our commonalities and hopped on and off the train together to stretch our legs. Oh, and the sunset over the Mississippi was, dare I say, incredible. (Forgive the reflection, though I think it looks awesome).


Now, if the fields of Indiana are as flat as a pancake, the plains of North Dakota and Montana are like paper. An endless roll of paper. Fields of grain went off to the horizon for miles, and I got lost in them from my seat. Then came the Rockies, as if from nowhere. At first they loom in the distance as mere shadows, growing higher every minute. Then, as quickly as they appeared, I was in their midst, straining my neck to see their peaks. Darkening slopes of Pine lulled me to sleep, and we travelled through most of the mountains as I slept.


Asleep in the Rockies and waking in the foothills of the Cascades could not be more disorienting.  The Cascades, though lower than the Rockies, were much more jagged.


They soon fell away and sprung the Puget Sound from their depths. I had arrived. Well, not quite. I only arrived when I jumped into the loving arms of my Cousin Olivia and Aunt Jory.

You might be asking yourself how I entertained myself for those 66 hours. First, I talked with my friendly neighbors. For all the airplane folks out there, you will never travel with as friendly people as you will find on Amtrak. Second, I read. Not only did I read, I learned, I explored, I realized, and I understood the real humanity through the writings of Daniel Quinn in his book Ishmael. I’m not going to go into that except to say: read this book if you want to live. Third, I watched television, namely the second season of Flight of the Conchords, on my lovely new laptop (THANKS MOM!!!). My luck being my luck, the 17 hour train had electrical outlets while the 46 hour ride did not. Oh well, I survived. Fourth, I listened to music. Thanks to Sam and Brendan for all the new music that kept me listening for hours. And last, but most important, I watched the land of this country unfold before me. An unending parchment unrolled outside my window telling the story of this country cover to cover, or coast to coast as it may be. Before this trip, Houston, TX was the only city I had visited west of Chicago, and flying over land, the scroll was illegible. Though I only rode through a tiny strip of land, I feel I understand this country more than I ever have.

More understanding to come as I explore the Pacific Northwest.

A little send-off from my new stomping ground...