monkeycrap's Diaryland Diary
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Canada Trip - Day 10
Day 10 - In search of a new seattlement
So it was hasta luego to Vancouver, as I sauntered into the Central Station looking for the Greyhound counter. Saw a sign pointing to McDonald's and thus did a little shuffling to my mental priority list. You know, I realised that this trip, this trip log even, has been pretty food-oriented. Every entry also talk about food. For those getting bored, I apologise for that. I'm sorry for your lamentable inability to appreciate the fundamental importance of good, capital chow being conferred upon you.
'We are indeed much more than what we eat, but what we eat can nevertheless help us to be much more than what we are.' - Adelle Davis
Anyway. My reason for choosing Greyhound is that according to, well, everyone basically, Greyhound provides the most consistent service. I now know what THAT really means. Everyone, from the lady at the counter to the bus driver to the baggage helper, had a consistent look of indifferent pissedoffness about them. Quite like me, actually. You guys go ahead and call them rude. I'd refer to them as extended family. Although I got more indifferently pissedoff when, being my virgin 'hound trip and hence being unsure of the bloody boarding procedure (I thought the procedure meant door open, left foot on first step, right foot on second step and there you go; nobody said nothing about passport checks), I got looks which kinda translated into 'Are you, like, oh my gosh, like, retarded?'
I was thinking on the bus. 18 days, 3 weeks, only 2 places? But to me, travelling ain't about going to a place to, as the now-cookhouse-supervisor from my camp puts it, see some sights. It's more about stopping, exploring and taking in the entire experience, preferably with a cup of 2-shot caramel macchiato in your hand. So what if you've been to NY, Washington, Atlanta, London, Paris, Belfast, Ashgabad, Torshavn, Antananarivo, Hogwarts, Mordor, and back, but only spending 2 days in each place? Ok, excusable for Hogwarts, cos Harry IS that detestable, but still? It's not travelling, man. I do really hope that my future job takes me places, but then again, that's just what it is, if you're going for the sake of your job. It's not travelling, man. Unless I land a job as a host for Lonely Planet shows. But I don't like dancing with beer swigging old men leh.
The greyhound rolled steadily along Interstate-5 after clearing customs, lingering at quaint little neighbourhood style stations at places like Everett and Tacoma. Impression I got while zipping through these towns - big curly-burlys, fast food, slow digestion.
In Singapore, generally of course, the angmohs are the rich ones. Opposite in the case of Vancouver. So I guess it's kinda pointless to stereotype or even judge based on nationality, for it is quite validated that idiots of all kinds do indeed exist, regardless of race or language.
Arrived in Seattle, home of grunge rock, Pearl Jam and Nirvana, after, say, 4.5 hours? Seattle had a very 'oh-this-is-it?' feel to it, with a striking resemblance to downtown Vancouver. Met dad and friend at the Greyhound terminal, only to be told that all hotels were fully occupied and that we had to put up in a backpackers' hostel, the kind with common bathrooms, common cutlery and hence common diseases. Yeah, you know, the kind where the double deck beds reach an altitude like that of Grouse Mountain. Not that I minded anyway, it was kinda cool to be staying in a place where you make your own scrambled egg waffle pancakes for breakfast, or in my case, maple syrup eggs, and devour them while sitting with a guitar playing, wandering country singer-songwriter at one end, and a hangovered toughie at the other.
Strolled from the hostel through the Pike Place Market with its world-renowned fish-flinging (the stallholders throw entire carrions of salmon or mackerel to one another instead of just passing them over nicely for some reason unbeknownst to mankind), to the downtown area, the heart of Seattle. Did a little shopping (with an exchange rate like that, most shopping had to be of the window variety), before walking around to admire Seattle's architecture. It's not the ostentatious, magnificient, show-offy kind of architecture, but more of modest, unexcessive pieces of dispersed art which seem to peek out from little pockets, when you least expect it.
It's like a mix between 'Attack of the 50 foot woman' and 'The Gods must be crazy'. Maybe they should call it 'Attack of the 50 foot bushwoman'.
3.14159, which is approximately the constant ratio of the circumference to the diameter of a circle. Frankly, I prefer the apple variety.
Really loved this sit-down-and-chill-area in the middle of nowhere.
The girl at the hostel reception, made very attractive by the free-spirited attitude that enveloped her, recommended taking one of Seattle's 'underground' tours. Went to check it out and realised that it was an R21 tour, where you had to pay around US$30, after which they'd bring you to some claustrophobic tunnel where'd they introduce you to the sleazy, red-lighty past of Seattle. I wasn't going to pay through my nose for some sleazy underground tour. Not when there's a strip joint opposite the hostel. And NO, I didn't even venture close to it. Although, I must admit, very very curious.
The day was done with at the pier, where dinner was partaked with a flock of seagulls, who looked really menacing as they circled and eyed the food from above, but were actually pretty tame and harmless, and with much better table manners than some people I know. Really. Anyway, after savouring Ivar's fish n' chips (and clam chowder), I'd think twice about going back to Long John's Saliva. The fish was tender, flaking upon will. The fries were Singapore-in-mid-April hot; slices of compact, crispy gold bars with hefty cores, spruced up by the many sources of sauces to dunk them into. Of course, only if you want to.
Walked back to the hostel bleary and exhausted, blaming myself for not efficiently allocating enough energy to get through what was going to be the toughest part of the day: The ascent up the double decker bed.
10:21 a.m. - 2006-06-13
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