if you're going to san francisco...beware the mafia

I'm gathering up my things ready to disembark the Coast Starlight when the gentleman at a nearby seat, realising my destination as we approach the stop, starts telling me about San Francisco.
"It's a dirty city,'' he says.
"And you've gotta watch people. Some of them are real snooty. And it's a Mafia town so, you know, be careful. There's a lot of places you don't want to find yourself. There's a lot of bad people and money's tight right now."
Um...thanks?
In the dying minutes of the train trip I have managed to find the one person who doesn't think San Francisco is the bees knees. But whatever. If sleeping in a train carriage and waking up every 45 minutes to switch positions hasn't damped my enthusiasm, this old dude isn't going to either.

A fellow passenger explained the logic in why Amtrak doesn't roll its way into San Fran. "If it did, it would have to miss Oakland and that would be silly." Instead it stops across the bay at Emeryville and a bus takes passengers across the Bay Bridge into the city in about 15 minutes. I got talking to an Australian girl while on the bus and we exchanged Facebook details. As she was getting her bags she asked me if I knew where I'm going. "Nope, not yet," I said, and headed off.

I'm usually a terrible planner, in the sense that I can't not plan nearly everything. Even on my days where I decide I'm not going to make plans, I still have some idea of what I'm going to do. San Francisco has gone a little differently. There was no wifi on the train, which was unexpected. That meant I couldn't get directions to the places I needed to get to once I arrived. So my plan became find a Starbucks for wifi and a restroom I could get changed and brush my teeth in and then find a Wells Fargo to exchange my Canadian money. Both were found within a couple of blocks. A quick Google revealed the hostel and the camera store where I wanted to buy a new lens were only a few blocks away so twenty minutes and several hundred dollars later I arrived at the Green Tortoise Hostel. My friends Taryn and Hope, who are exploring the US, stayed here a few weeks ago and had a good time. I was in luck for a room and scored an early check in, although all I did was lock up my bag and head out again.

My time is San Francisco is a little disjointed so to get my bearings I decided to jump on one of the hop on-hop off buses. I walked down to the Ferry Building and along the piers, heading in the direction of the Fisherman's Wharf, one of the main stops for the tour buses. Despite the people at the hostel warning me it was a bit chilly today, I left my jacket behind and enjoyed the sunshine. San Francisco is a popular docking choice for cruise ships and numerous cruises run out to Alcatraz and under the bridges so the waterfront is a busy little area. It is no more busy than at Pier 39, home to a huge mix of cafes, restaurants, shops (even a store selling items for people who are left-handed) and lastly, a Bubba Gump Shrimp & Co restaurant. I thought about going in because I haven't any other time I've seen one, but decided to skip it again.

The area is packed with people offering tours, bike rentals, cruises on the bay and all sorts of deals for San Francisco's attractions. And nearly every restaurant is offering what seems to be San Fran's city dish - clam chowder. I decided to indulge and was dished up a huge serving of chowder served in a sourdough bread bowl. Talk about reducing waste. After lunch it was time to jump on the bus and let Ron, my driver and guide, show me the city. Unfortunately I timed it well with the wind picking up so sitting on the top deck of an open-top bus wasn't the best place to be. But I enjoyed it anyway. The tour loops the city, stopping at museums, the Golden Gate Bridge (which apparently costs $6 to drive over), the Golden Gate Park, Haight-Ashbury (a big hippy area in the '60s - an influence which was yet to fade), a drive past The Painted Ladies (pictured below), downtown and into Chinatown, where I got off to start heading home.

I've seen a glimpse of the cable cars and San Fran's notorious steep streets but I was pretty exhausted so was back at the hostel early, with little exploring under my belt. The Green Tortoise offers a free dinner three nights a week and one of those nights was tonight. The hostel also invites guests to help cook so I joined dope-smoking Italian chef Giulio, and two Swedish medical students who are taking eight months off, Martin and Johan, to make pasta, salad and garlic bread for about 50 people. When dinner was ready, most guests at the hostel came together to eat. It's a great idea, especially for people like me who are travelling solo. The hostel also uses the captive audience to promote it's adventure travel business. Smart.

I called it a night early. I want to fit in some exploring before I head to Sacramento tomorrow afternoon.

9.45 to Emeryville

Riding on a train has a certain romance – one that has me taking a lot of pictures in black and white. I feel under-dressed in my comfy leggings and hoodie and like I should be playing cards or reading a book…not using my laptop. Given how cheap it is to fly most places and how long the trains take, it’s surprising passenger trains are still in business. Although apparently Amtrak relies heavily on government support and doesn’t have priority on the line – that honour goes to freight trains.

When I began looking into my options for getting to San Francisco – a city that has long enticed me – the train, as usual, was on the agenda. At first I was turned off at the time it takes. What would be a about a 16-hour drive from Vancouver is a 24-hour train trip from Seattle. But then once I discovered the connecting bus from Vancouver (even if it did leave at 5.30am) and that the cost was significantly less than I was expecting, I gave it a second thought. Add that to all the reasons I already love trains and it was decided.

There is a train from Vancouver, The Amtrak Cascades, however that goes into Portland and doesn’t connect to the Coast Starlight – the train that will take me to San Francisco (well just outside. It's a 15-minute bus from Emeryville into SF). My only option to travel by train the entire way would have been to train to Seattle on Saturday night, stay there, and hop on the Coast Starlight on Sunday morning. That all seemed too much hassle and an unnecessary night’s accommodation, so instead I rose at 4.15am and was at the Amtrak station a little after 5am to catch the connecting bus. It was a quick trip to Seattle thanks to little traffic and a speedy border crossing. Although even the customs officer couldn’t help but ask why I was travelling alone. It seems to be a concern to nearly everyone but me.

I had great dreams of spending the next 24 hours glued to my window, stretched out in my reclining seat and taking lots of photos. However that was a little derailed (couldn’t help myself) when I found myself in an aisle seat next to a woman who didn’t speak English so I couldn’t even beg her to swap. So instead I grabbed my bags and headed for the observation car. Since 10am I have been parked at a little group of three seats, which allow me to stretch out comfortably. Throughout the day I have subtly spread out my belongings to stake my claim and come bed time, they will be all mine to enjoy actual horizontal sleep – a bonus considering I refused to pay extra for a sleeper.

Even just a few hours across the border, things already had an “American” feel. One giveaway was the number of American flags on houses, car dealerships, swimming centres etc. The houses also start to look different- well not to each other, just from what I’m used to. It seems that one community must adopt a particular design and off they go. The only modifications are the colour of the weatherboards, the placement of the American flag and the number of cars in the backyard. I haven’t heard terrible things about the economy but there were a few signs things still aren’t great. One subdivision had the road, street lights and a playground but not a house in sight.

The train followed the water for the first few hours before turning inland. The countryside reminded me of the movie Twister. The land was flat and seemed to go on forever, with perhaps a long, straight road cutting through the picture. There were horses, donkeys, trucks (utes) and barns – yes the American style. I even saw a red one but wasn’t quick enough to get a picture. The weather was as varied as the landscape. One minute I’m basking in the sunshine, the next I’m disturbed by rain pounding on the overhead windows, and then we’re speeding through a snow storm.

  

For lunch I decided to head to the dining car, if anything just to break up the journey. Amtrak practises “community seating” so if you’re party is three or less, you’ll be seated with others to fill up a table of four. I ate lunch with Brad, who was heading to Albany to see his grandmother. Over a salad and chicken tortilla soup Brad gave me some good tips for San Francisco. Then it was back to my seat (saved with my backpack, jacket and water bottle) to continue staring out the window. I spent a good few hours doing this, and chatting to another passenger whose name I didn’t catch. He’s a Californian local who moved up to Lincoln City in Oregon for work. Apparently a lot of people are moving to California, which is making the job market competitive. He’s Native American so was taken in by a local tribe in Lincoln City and has found work easily, but is heading back because his uncle is sick. He’s concerned his uncle might not be alive by the time he gets there and also because he might have to cut his hair. In his culture it is custom to cut ones hair after a death in the family and he only just had to do that. His hair used to come nearly all the way down his back but it’s now shoulder length.

The landscape became a bit repetitive after a while and the clouds took the sun before the night could – robbing me of what I imagine would have been a stunning sunset. As the dark came we travelled up into the mountains and when I looked past my reflection in the window, I could see a blanket of snow on the ground and the shadowy outline of tree tops in the higher window of the carriage.

At 7.15pm I am called to the dining car for dinner. Well not me personally but my reservation was for 7.15 and now it’s my turn to eat. In community seating tradition I am seated with three strangers. It was a dinner that could a scene straight from an Agatha Christie book. Once again nobody shared names so I’ll just make them up. Margaret (retired, from Fresno, CA) is travelling with her nephew Tommy. They’ve been in Seattle and now heading home. But Margaret hates to fly so Tommy is keeping her company on the trip. It’s his first time on the Coastal Starlight. There is me. The young Australian girl, living in a foreign country and off to a big city by herself. And lastly we have Greg – an LA local who’s been visiting the Tri Cities. He’s so vague about his plans that Margaret asks him all the same questions again. He then says he’s on the train because he doesn’t like airport security. And that he has a lot of luggage with him. It was a great setting for a mystery novel. The old lady, her rather camp nephew, the young female traveller, and the stranger who’s mysterious about his plans. Oh and our server was Donald. Real name. Fits in so well don’t you think?

Nobody got murdered over dinner. There was no time. We were too busy talking about everything from Nicole Kidman to Kindles. Suddenly it’s nearly 9pm and time to leave the dining car and its red carnations. 

kindness makes the world go round

Since I arrived in Vancouver, I've had some pretty awesome things happen. Some of them have been minor, such as a customer giving me a beautiful plant that became my makeshift Christmas tree and brightened my holiday season. Others have been incredibly kind, such as my friend who offered his apartment for me to house sit while he's in Montreal for a few months. Those around me have remarked how "lucky" I am. But I'm not one to believe in luck. However I am beginning to see some value in Karma and that if you do good things, good things will happen to you. I'm not naive enough to think the universe is playing along with my theory, but it's working out for me.

How often do you see someone walking down the street struggling with their bags? Do you offer to help? Do you give change to beggers? Do you hold the door for the person behind you? Your answer may well be yes. But is it always yes? A few months ago, feeling very humbled by the generousity from which I've benefited, I decided I wanted my answer to be yes as often as it can be. 

My little acts of kindness have been tiny. Helping a woman carry her suitcase down the stairs at the train station. Pulling the cord to stop the bus at the next stop so the woman I saw sprinting down the street would be able to get on. Leaving my spare ticket for the Ash Grunwald gig at the door and telling the seller to give it to the next person who walked in. Pushing the button at the traffic lights so the cars waiting at the side streets can get onto the main road. Giving my bus pass to a co-worker to use for the rest of the month while I'm away. I'm not changing the world, but hopefully I'm making someones day a little bit better.

Today I came across a guy who kicks my actions out of the water. Ryan, from Chicago, has a website called 366 Days of Random Acts of Kindness. Each day he posts a new act of kindness that he will do that day. They have included giving out compliments, buying someone breakfast, letting EVERYONE go in front of him for a day, leading a discussion at a halfway house and giving out free hugs. Some help lots of people, some just one (Ryan cleaned the entire house for his wife). Often it's not about helping people - just making them smile counts.

Ryan is doing a random act of kindness every day. It's something I'd love to be able to say I do. But I don't. I don't think many of us do. Imagine what sort of world it would be if we all did.

Challenge to my rather small readership circle: Do something kind for someone today. And tomorrow.

and the winner is....me!

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, GUN.
Nothing happens.
Talk about an anti-climax.
But when you have 2000 people waiting to get over a start line it takes a while for something to happen.
Then the sea of people in front of me started to move. It was like a Mexican wave. Bit by bit the mass started moving and my stomach churned as the movement got closer. "No, no, no, no....Ok"

So I've run a half marathon. Three months ago when I signed up for the First-Half Half Marathon it seemed a lifetime away. Part of me doubted if I'd end up doing it. But I think most people are capable of more than they think and today that was true for me.

Before the race I thought my main challenge would be my energy levels given my workload in the past two weeks. I think my body has forgotten what a good night's sleep was and I can't remember the last time I went to bed without my feet throbbing (I'm actually starting to miss my office job). The morning didn't help with that. I woke up a few minutes before my alarm and used the extra time to reset the alarm for 15 minutes later.

Finally I dragged myself out of bed, scoffed some breakfast and got dressed. My game plan was to do nothing different to what I normally do. It seemed to work. Outside it was drizzling. By the time I lined up at the start, the rain was down to a few drops. No wind, not too cold. Perfect running weather.

Soon enough the race was on. We did a little loop downtown before heading out to the Seawall. We crossed back over the start line only a few minutes after leaving. It crossed my mind to maybe just stop there. That wasn't the first time I thought about stopping. When the course neared my house I thought about how nice it would be to be home instead of facing 9 more miles of running. I had my keys on me too. But I kept running. A lot of people tell me they "can't run" or "can't run that far". I had one CouchSurfer ask me for some tips and my answer was just "put one foot in front of the other". Today I took my own advice. I tried not to think about how much I had to go. With a run this long, coming across the next marker didn't make me feel any closer to the finish, until I hit the half-way mark. So much of this run was a mind-game. The course covered a lot of the ground I either run on my Tuesday night runs with VanRun or the Seawall around Stanley Park, which I've been training on lately. I just tried to tell myself that I'd run this track before so I could run it again.

As with any run there were highs and lows. The first two kilometres were OK, but then it sunk in how much more I had to go. At about 10km I started to pick up. I'd initially been aiming to finish in under two hours but I gave that aim away when I was on the bench for nearly three weeks with a cold. But when I reached half-way I realised I was actually on track to either make that goal, or at least be not too far off. That spurred me on a little, but I was careful not to push too hard given there was still a long way to go.

At 15km we were running along the Seawall towards English Bay, a path I've covered a few times. I could see the Burrard Street Bridge in the distance (which is not far from the finish line). My mood picked up, my energy levels felt good and I picked up the pace a little. Then the course veered off the Seawall and back into Stanley Park. When I realised we had to run around Lost Lagoon my spirits fell a little. I don't know why. To see the bridge ahead helped me picture the finish line and now I had to detour for a little bit.

At 3km to go I was exhausted and about to break into new territory. My longest road run to this point had been 18.5km. There were no more markers for a little while but those last few kilometres were the toughest I have ever covered. Finally I came across the 20km marker (which I had spotted on the run out), only to turn a corner and see a small hill ahead. Most people were walking up it but I was determined to run the whole way so I trudged up. Then it was slightly downhill to the finish, and once that was in sight I started sprinting. Well, to be honest it felt like sprinting but I reckon a senior citizen could have made ground on me.

The best feeling wasn't running across the finishing line, or getting my medal. It was lying down in the gym at the community centre stretching. It was an awesome few moments. Knowing it was over. Knowing that I did it. Knowing that I never have to run again if I don't want to.

I now have a medal saying I finished a half marathon. I have a First-Half Half-Marathon top that makes me look like the Yellow Wiggle. I have a very sore big toe. No blisters. Sore legs. And a growing desire to do another run. Weird.

almost ready to get my forrest gump on

Several months ago I looked at the amount of time I had to train for my first half marathon with a degree of confidence.
Although my track record with planning for things and seeing them through isn't great, I was determined to give it my best shot.
That confidence is long gone. Along with the time I have left to train.
It's Wednesday night. The run is on Sunday morning.
It can't be a good thing that I can count my training runs on my fingers. They are few and far between. I was racking up some miles in early January but then winter caught up with me and suddenly the only thing I was running for was a box of tissues. So there went three weeks with no training.

When I could finally breathe again I headed for Stanley Park. My first thought was to ease back into running again but then I figured running 5km would give me no indication if I could tackle 21km 10 days later. So instead I wound up on my longest run so far: 18.5km. I was slow (nearly two hours) and it was hard. Very hard. I was sore just hours later. More concerning was how exhausted I felt. I felt physically drained for the next few days. It was Monday before I ran again. Vancouver has been treated to some stellar weather in the past week so I took advantage and headed for the water's edge.
The advice of my friend Craig was there was nothing I could do before Sunday that would make any difference. I just needed to keep healthy, not get injured and keep my legs moving. So Monday's run was pretty cruisy. And I just have another few more miles to do tomorrow and Friday. But they'll be pretty uneventful too.

This close to the run, my biggest challenge isn't my fitness. It's my attitude. My fitness isn't great, thanks mostly in part to my untimely illness. But I think even if I was better prepared, I wouldn't feel much better. There has been more than one occasion where I've considered not running on Sunday. Entries are capped at 2000 so there are plenty of people who would love to take my race bib if they could. The most work I have to do over the next few days is convincing myself that finishing the race is enough. That my time doesn't matter. And I know it doesn't. But three months ago I had some expectations in mind and it's hard to let go of those. Instead I've tried to change the way I look at this race. This is no longer my first half-marathon. It's going to be my first half marathon this year. My cousin Vicky and I have decided to do the Vancouver Half Marathon on May 6. So I figure this race is just to prove that I can do it. Then I can set all sorts of silly expectations and goals for May 6.

I'm nervous about Sunday. Especially because the race, at 8.30am, will come after 10 days straight of work, including a 14-hour double shift the day before. But regardless of what happens over those 13.1miles, I've already taken a lot away from the experience. Three months ago 10km was the longest road distance I'd covered. And I only did that about three times a year, for the Burnie 10. One run to see if I could do the distance. Another to see if I could go faster. And then race day. Then I ran on average about 6km at a time for the rest of the year. In the past two months I've run 11km, 12km, 14km, 17km and 18.5km (told you I could count my training runs on my fingers). I never knew I had that in me. As for 21km? Well I'll know in a few days.