Ever since I arrived in America, I've heard so many mixed views about the Greyhound transport. Some say they're fantastic, offering fine views of some parts of America you wouldn't usually visit. These people seem to be the optimistic ones. A large group of experienced 'Greyhounders' report the contrary; the coaches are small, stuffy, and smelly, full of dull, dirty, and dangerous people. Well, it was about time I set out to make my own opinion.
My coach would leave at 1:10pm, but I assumed there would be some security check element to the boarding procedure so I arrived at the station at just after 12:30pm. I was right about the security. The station was typically dirty, with a feeling of helplessness about it. Southbound travellers had to be in line 2; everyone looked miserable, tired, and perhaps a little less excited about using Greyhound than I was. It was very difficult to smile in here. If I did, I imagined everyone would stare as if to ask why I was happy about the prospect of spending four hours packed into a tight crowded spot. And so I joined the monotonous melancholic line.
We boarded late, and I managed to secure a seat next to the window and on the right hand side of the bus, which would provide the best views. (Or so I was told back in England.) There was still the chance that someone would sit next to me. Normally I would welcome this, as a traveller should always be in conversation, but today I just wanted some peace and space; some 'me' time from Seattle to Portland. I figured that if I started rummaging through my bag placed on the seat next to me, in a frenzied state, it would deter passing passengers from asking to sit there. Cunning, but it worked!
We were on our way, exiting Seattle south onto the freeway, and going through some dramatic scenery changes. One minute, the skyscrapers that leave you dizzy, to the small suburban housing, and finally the open countryside. The first stop on our journey to Portland was Tacoma. Once upon a time I had planned to stay in Tacoma; from the bus, it didn't look anything exciting on a major scale.
When we entered Olympia, a little before 2:00pm, we were allowed a ten minute rest and stretch so I made a quick little walk to the front of the Eugene Greyhound station where this sign caught me eye.
Seeing America by bus may not be as glamerous as the train or plane, but it does let you see parts of America that those other options don't allow. It's very hard to see anything up close on a plane, and to read any signs on a fast-speed train. The Greyhound coach so far had let me literally 'see America'. We left Olympia, picking up a few more passengers, and letting a few off, and still I had managed to keep the seat next to me spare.
From Olympia came a long drive to Portland with only a couple of stops in small towns, where we didn't even pick anybody up in. Now the scenery was changing and I was seeing a much more flat landscape, serving most probably as a drainage basin. Not much was growing here though, despite the fact I did see some farmyards dotted here and there. As we continued on, pastoral farming took hold; I was seeing cows- just like the ones back in England- on what now was land with a gradient. That's often the case.
I was managing to keep awake, just! Usually on long trips, I would be dozing in and out, and would experience a very episodic form of the trip. Today, the excitement of exploring North-West America was keeping me alert. Despite my decision to stay awake, the Sun was beginning to go to sleep and I was left with a very mixed sky. Nimbus were on the way, and sure enough, ten minutes later, down poured the rain.
We entered Portland over a bridge, but by the time we arrived just after five, the night sky was out and I couldn't see much of my temporary residence, which was I suppose, a good thing. I could finally get some sleep and explore the city fresh tomorrow morning.
Oh, by the way, the charger still hasn't arrived here in Portland. I'm beginning to wonder whether it's gone to Portland, Dorset! Until then, I'm forced to use just my iPod.
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