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Published: July 22nd 2009
July 17th 2009 Border guards 101 After a few peaceful days on the artists’ colony that is Salt Spring Island, Auntie Holly and I toddled on back home to Tacoma, Wa. Whilst disappointingly routine - obviously in comparison with our entry into Canada - coming back across the border still required us to explain where we had been and how we knew the people we had visited. I bit my tongue hard before saying something sarcastic which would land me in ho water, but really, is this how countries protect their borders? Does this method really catch out drug runners, traffickers or terrorists? Surely if you were doing something illegal you would come up with and practise a plausible story? Anyway, more importantly, they let us back in the country.
A couple more days of shopping - shoes, handbags, shoes, handbags ….. so Auntie Holly is where I get it from? …. and I bid farewell to Auntie Holly, Uncle LaVerne, Tacoma and the splendid, ever-present Mount Ranier and headed back up north to Seattle for the next leg of my journey.
Here’s to you, Mr Washington My sojourn in Seattle lasted all of about 20 minutes -
just long enough to catch a glimpse of the flying fish at Pike Street Market, and locate the Green Tortoise hostel to pick up my friend Nicole who had flown in from Sydney, Australia, to join me for the coming four weeks. My zoomed out of Seattle as fast as Betty Boy could carry us. Well, not quite that fast as he can go quite a speed and that would have been well over the speed limit. The highway patrol would have stopped me and sent me to prison or jail. And I don’t want to go to either prison or jail. So let’s just say we went quite fast and managed to escape the city before rush hour, heading out east across the state of Washington.
Our first stop: Roslyn. A town with imaginative road names such as No. 245 Street. I thought that was hysterical; but then I am easily amused. It’s not a particularly alluring town, unless of course you were or still are a fan of Northern Exposure. Whilst set in fictitious Cicely, Alaska, the programme was filmed partially in this small town just to the east of Snoqualmie Falls. Not only can you stop
by KBHR radio (sadly, though, the delightfully gorgeous Chris-in-the-morning is long departed), have your photo taken next to the famous moose mural, buy wonderfully tacky souvenirs from Mr Ojurovich (a curious Croat who has lived in the States for over 30 years but intends on returning to Europe shortly. If you are visiting Croatia any time soon, please let me know. I have guy’s telephone number and he is happy to play tour guide!?!?), you can also have a pint in the Brick, which also happens to be the oldest operating tavern in the state complete with a fully functioning running-water spittoon and a bar all the way from England. It’s a very cool place to hang out. And hang out we did - for several hours planning the next few weeks of our trip. And trying to work out what an M.I.P. is. You see, at the table next to us a young lad (how old and English do I sound?!0 was explaining to his friends that he had turned 16 the previous year and had already received his M.I.P. in the mail. We threw around some ideas and the best suggestion was ‘Muppet Impersonator Permit’. Helen Jordan, for
some reason I thought you in particular would appreciate that. Anyway, we never did ask the guy what he was taking about. If anyone fancies having a stab at a silly or sensible suggestion, please feel free to share….
The following day we jumped back in Betty Boy continuing east and into our next state, Idaho. Lacking a particularly poorly detailed map, we decided to programme Pamela to give us directions. The only minor fault I have found with her is the need to input a street address as a destination - she can’t simply point you in the general direction of a town. So you have to make up an address in order to get anywhere. Which has led to an interesting discovery: every town in America (well, obviously only the ones I’ve visited so far) has either a ‘Main Street’, a ‘1st Street’ or a ‘Washington Avenue/Street/Road’. I am yet to find a town of any substantial size missing all three street names; I find this fascinating. Nik and I had some discussion today about common street names in our respective home countries and we couldn’t find any. Again, audience participation please - answers on a postcard…
A motorhome or two....
These things are amazing - some are the size of a small London flat. They pull a car behind them. Sometimes the car has a kayak or small boat on top of it. Sometimes there are bikes attached to the front too. Suddenly I don't feel like I've brought too much with me after all!Leaving the evergreen state (Washington) - large swathes of which were actually anything but green but resembled the arid farmland of Southern California - we entered Idaho, famous for its potatoes. No joke - there is a reference to Idaho potatoes in the musical, Annie (why do I know that?!) and it is written on their licence plates. I tried their potatoes twice in one day. I am no potato connoisseur, but can say they tasted ighty fine.
The most exciting part of our stopover in Idaho - Couer D’Alene to be exact - was the opportunity to buy camping essentials such as a tent and sleeping bag. Oh, and roll mats, an air mattress, two arm chairs, sporks (forks and spoons rolled into one), plates, bowls, cutlery, a lantern, a stove and beer. The list goes on. I haven’t camped since I was an air cadet, so we are talking 14 or 15 years. I’m telling you, times have changed. Modern camping is a hi-tech affair. Possibly this is a result of the decline in tent camping and the corresponding rise in the use of RVs, campervans, mobile homes - whatever these big ‘caravans’ are called. On our night at Wolf Creek campground at the eastern tip of the stunning Coeur D’Alene lake, there must have been 45 motorhomes and only 3 tents. The facilities were outstanding - in a addition to the complementary movie each evening and the free morning coffee, I was blown away by the wireless internet access. It messes with your head to be sat in a tent in the edge of nowhere checking your emails! My mobile phone didn’t have a signal but I could check tomorrow’s weather report for Irkutsk (if I had wanted to, which I didn’t, but you know what I mean). Technology is an amazing thing!
After a superb meal of steak, (Idaho) potatoes, buckaroo beans, krebel (deep-fried bread roll) and some indigenous beer, I got rather cosy with a local named Sven. Although he’s originally from Colorado, he’s considered a local as I bought him in the nearby store. What?!?! Sven is, of course, my beautiful new tent. This tendency to name my belongings is new to me and I truly hope the novelty wears off soon. Otherwise I will return to England with a new family of inanimate objects. Nonetheless, Sven is my new, strong, masculine tent who will keep me toasty and warm and protect me from bears in the weeks to come. Having banned me from naming my sleeping bag (worried about the sexual innuendos that would inevitably follow), Nicole has now named my foot pump ‘Henry’. This really has to stop.
Right, I have to go and pick Nicole up from the cinema. She's been to see the new Harry Potter. Not my kind of thing. Sadly this mean you are going to have to wait a few days for the next instalment about Montana - which is truly beautiful - and Wyoming - haven't got there yet so I'm not sure what it's like but the betting is that it is equally spectacular......
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Catherine DJ
non-member comment
Naming
Anthropomorphism... easy for you to say! I am all in favour of it - as you know, Jennifer! How about SB as a non-gender specific 'name' for your sleeping bag?? Keep up the fabulously interesting blogs and great photos, I learn such a lot from them. xx