Wednesday, 1 May 2019
Glacier Park, Montana, USA
Surprisingly good sleep considering the shake, rattle and roll of the train as it trundles across the plains of North Dakota. Not as bad as the Washington DC to Chicago train as the track seems to be a lot straighter.
Wake up to snow. They’d had a big blizzard a few days ago, the remnants of which I see across the flat lands.
Full day on the train but it soon passes. By the time you’ve had breakfast, caught up on news, listened to a few Infinite Monkey Cage podcasts, typed up blog, had lunch, watched the flat scenery from the observation car and watched a film, it’s soon time for a pre-dinner drink in the observation car as we enter Glacier National Park.
Shortly before we have a brief platform stop at Havre, a load of men in uniforms board the train. Stupidly, I enquire who they are as one passes my cabin. Border patrol, he says. Oh right, say I. Where you from, says he. England, say I. Let’s see your passport, says he. Really? Says I. Of course, says he. We’re border patrol. Flipping ‘eck. Only asked who you were. Hand over passport. What visa have you got, says he. Erm, says I. I’ve got no idea. Filled in an ESTA. He’s taking too much interest in my North Korean visa for my liking but says nothing. Passport flicked through. He’s seen the entry stamp, which I fortunately asked immigration to stamp in Dallas after being told they don’t stamp passports any more, as it’s all electronic these days. And with that, hands passport back and clears off. Cheeky sod.
Had seen snow capped mountains in the distance as we entered Montana and as we head further west, pass through them.
These are the Rocky Mountains. The setting sun glancing off the ice packs thousands of feet up. Stunning views along the way before darkness falls. Pass remote settlements and you wonder how they make a living. All along the route today have been small settlements out on the plains. Full of rusting scrap and other debris by the wayside.
Dinner with a Louisiana retired couple visiting son in Portland, and a millennial girl who is migrating from Milwaukee to Portland. Starts snowing too. Quite a good chat and they have delight in telling me that they all watch ‘The Great British Bake Off’ on Netflix and love it. Everyone is so nice, they say. At the end of the meal the elderly gent offers to pay for the millennial girl’s dinner, as she’s just starting out in the world and saving up for rent etc. He places $15 on the bill, thinking the total is only $12. The money is returned by the waiter who says it’s not enough. Total is actually $23 plus tips. Elderly gent had been looking at the table number 12 on the bill, rather than the cost. And has to stump up another $10.
Having bought another beer to take to cabin, place it on the floor so it wouldn’t slide off any surfaces as the train shakes, rattles and rolls along the tracks. Soon discover my feet are wet. The beer has toppled over on one vicious pitch and toss of the carriage. Dispensing its contents all over the sodding, and now sodden, carpet. $8 down the drain. So to speak.
