(United Airlines, San Francisco, Portland, Seattle, “Amtrak Cascades”)
Sunday (the second time around) - SFO: 2pm
Fourteen hours from Sydney (where the searching kiosk check in screen questions take so long that you greet the United Airlines bag lady as an old and trusted rescuing friend), there was a ‘convenient’ six hours between flights in the massive United Airlines retro-1960’s terminal in San Francisco. Getting transferred out and into security, several walks and fitful sleeps filled in the time nicely, with a not-bad pho for what my brain was imagining as “lunch”. My gut seemed to not be in total agreement.
The school-assembly-style of standing in a four queue system may feel a bit sheepish under “GROUP A” B, C, D signs, but it’s time-efficient in loading the single aisle plane. After repeatedly announced dire warnings about potentially full overhead bins (as most passengers seek to avoid United’s unlovely $25 checked bagged fee), the flight quickly became very folksy.
The captain emerged from the cockpit to do the “welcome on board” speech: this time more of a friendly “fireside chat”. Leaning nonchalantly against the entry bulkhead, he provided a bit of laconic information about “pretty coastal scenery” - which from my side of the plane would be be stunning snow-capped mountains around Crater Lake. He encouraged questions to the crew about Portland because “we have been there a few times”. The weather will be rain, “because it’s always rain in Portland”... and “we appreciate your business”. He then ambled back into the cockpit where his offsider would be “doing the flying, while I look after the navigation and stuff”. All very laid back and so unlike the “United-Speak” scripted announcements relayed rat-a-tat on the flight from Sydney.
And after take-off, as Oakland and Martinez slide beneath us, the cabin crew apologises that “due to a catering issue in San Francisco”, there will “unfortunately be no food for purchase on this flight” with the complimentary non-alcoholic drinks.
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Monday 8am: Portland Union Station:
In a grand, white-marbled public waiting hall of this well-preserved early 20th Century station, there is some mild organisational excitement happening for a new train schedule on a shorter “Cascades” route to Seattle. In the straggling queue to front the conductor (in black foreign legion-style cap with retro silver embellishments behind a wooden “podium”) to get a seat allocation tag, we are greeted by a cheeryish offical-looking woman handing out celebratory lanyards.
Behind her, a red shirted old bloke is leading an offically badged/coated and somewhat middle-aged Amtrak golden retriever along to be patted by kids as he (the man, not the dog) sincerely lectures the entrapped-queued adults on the statistics of new locomotives, Talgo carriages and how sad it is that trains are limited to only 79mph (they are capable of 130) on even upgraded track.
Obediently we wear lanyard, pat doggie, appear to listen and form another queue to board. (Did I mention that there is much queueing on US passenger transportation? American passengers can give the British cousins a lesson or two in politely sullen queue-standing). A local TV crew is working along the final queue, asking about why people are taking the train, and what they think of the additional and faster “Cascade” trains on offer. It seems to be a Very Big Deal for the shoestring operation that is Amtrak, and the two state governments which have funded more direct new tracks/trains to Seattle.
Less than an hour into the journey, after rumbling through a series of massive steel bridges over estuaries between Portland and Washington state, passenger phones start ringing and there are muted discussions about some derailment further up the line. Soon after from the conductor: “You may be hearing news of a derailed train further up the line. Our train may be diverted, but we’ll give you more information as it comes to hand”. Across the aisle: dark humour about how a professional looking bloke in his 30’s would like to use the train to commute to Seattle, but every time he tries, “something happens”.
Soon after: “If there is a doctor or nurse on board, please make yourself known to the Bistro bar attendant. The Bistro will be closed until we leave Centralia...”. There is a sigh from the professional looking bloke in his 30’s, as he levers out of his seat to head back to the Bistro.
More announcements: it seems like we’ll be diverted along the old route (supposed to be replaced today) from Olympia to Tacoma. “Please tell your friends to go to the old Tacoma station, not the new one, to pick you up today...”
Centralia: We roll in to a rather grand brick station where fluoro-vested medics and a gurney are propelled back to the Bistro car. Professional looking bloke in his 30’s reappears, telling his companion that “she’ll be fine”. Bistro reopens.
From the Bistro coffee queue, we see massive traffic jams and police road blocks on the Interstate. “It’s not good” mutters the Chinese guy in the queue.
No further announcements: but we do travel along the old, scenic tracks skirting Puget Sound, looking through coastal marinas, bars, restaurants, quirky cliff housing, cafes car parks... across miles of glistening grey water.
A not-too-late arrival into Seattle gives enough time for (planned jet-lag-busting) long wanders through the drizzle around the International and university areas of First Hill before the 6pm train back to Portland.
There were fewer than 40 passengers for the subdued return trip. My “allocated seat ticket” was “anywhere between cars 4 - 9”. There were no newspapers on sale or any news on the station information screens.
The Bistro attendant this time pleaded loneliness in his several sad broadcast sales pitches to join him for cocktails or pre-dinner snacks”. “Hey, I need the sales and you need the sustenance, so why don’t we both do each other a favour?”
10pm: a walk of six dark and drizzly blocks through Portland’s homeless, clustered around the Greyhound station (one of the very few buildings with awnings in this rainswept town) to my pub, where I switched on CNN and received several emails. Was I in the Washington State derailment: several killed, 100 injured? The scale of the “incident” hit me.
In October I’d changed my original online booking from the initial southbound “Cascades” service… to the second and northbound train of the day.
Small decision: huge potential consequences.
On the ornamental tower of Portland Union Station is a 1950’s neon sign: “GO BY TRAIN”, still flashing over the city that provided the crew and many of the passengers on today’s tragic “Cascades” run. I’m rather hoping they might switch it off now, at least for a few days...
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