The Union Station

Took the Max to the familiar city center. And then walked through unfamiliar streets to get to the Union Station. That's where I'll be boarding my train to Seattle.

Yeah, that's me. Walking down streets with a big bag and a luggage in tow. Once I had crossed the main street that separates the southwest side (where the city center is) and the northwest side (where the train station is), things looked so different. Streets are suddenly lifeless - yes, practically no one at all, except homeless folks sleeping on benches. Shops, for some reason, are all closed, or those that are open are quiet. Quiet as it may be, you don't feel scared at all. You don't fear if you might bump into strange people (which are quite a sightful in Portland - punks with strange hair and stranger dressing, homeless who beg you for 'small change', hispanics and blacks who look like they've just come out from some dingy lanes) who might just mug you from the back or anywhere. All you feel is real peace and quiet, as you trudge along the pavement, hearing nothing but the sounds of your luggage wheels rolling over the grooves of the pavement.

And it is then that I realized I like walking. Heavy as my bags may be (my back aching from the shoulder bag and my arm creaking from pulling the luggage), I liked the walk. And anyway, I thought to myself, after getting chair-bound for 18 hours or so, a little walking like this wouldn't hurt my deprived legs.

The Union Station wasn't too far as the map made it out to be (the lady at the Visitor Center said the same thing, "It looks like a long distance but the blocks are short, so if you are not in a hurry, it should be a nice walk."). And it sure looks like one of them quaint old train stations you always see in movies. But it is dead quiet.

I arrived much earlier than I wanted to. But there wasn't a cafe in sight I could hang out in. It is that dead. So I checked in my baggage again, and took off exploring the Northwest side. I don't believe I can't find life anywhere here.

Well, I had to ask around for a Starbucks. Not that I'm crazy for Starbucks, especially in the US, but I thought it is the least I can find. There must be a Starbucks somewhere! Starbucks are like so abundant in Portland, you see one almost every other block. It's that disgusting.

After many different directions given by the rare human life I stopped along the way, I finally found Starbucks.

Here I am, sitting and enjoying my grande skinny latte, writing my journals (I should've done this for my Frisco trip, dang!).

Another half hour to go before I head back toward the station and board my 3-half-hour train ride to Seattle.