LOUIS MISSOURI — My husband and I vanished for the past week, leaving no trace except for the books we hadn’t finished and the throw pillows haphazardly piled on our pewter gray couch.
It’s the middle of July, and summer has become unbearable in the Midwest. Despite having experienced summers here before, I’m still surprised by how it can feel hotter than Manila.
We had talked about this trip for some time but only managed to pull it off after a month of real planning. And finally, we did it. We booked our tickets and packed our bags—just a carry-on each—to see the West Coast and the Pacific Northwest by train, a journey spanning close to 1,400 miles (2,300 km) across three states: California, Oregon, and Washington.
I often get mixed reactions when people hear we’re traveling by train. Some raise their eyebrows in surprise, finding it inconceivable to travel via what they perceive as an old-fashioned mode of transportation in an era dominated by flights and four-wheel drives. They see only the imagined inconveniences of train travel—limited personal space, a slower pace, and the unpredictability of schedules—wondering why we wouldn’t opt for a faster, more modern way to get around.
I shake my head. These people have clearly never experienced the charm of train travel or have been limited to reading reviews from those who don’t appreciate its unique allure. They miss out on the rhythm of the tracks, the breathtaking scenery unfolding outside the window, and the slower, more deliberate pace that gives the mind space to breathe and decompress.
Others, however, respond with a sense of nostalgic excitement, their eyes lighting up as they recall their own journeys on the rails. They reminisce about the rhythmic clatter of the tracks, the ever-changing landscapes unfolding through the windows and observation deck, and the bonds that often develop among fellow passengers. With Wi-Fi often non-existent on Amtrak’s long-haul rides, you’re likely to strike up conversations in the café, the observation car, or the dining room at some point during your journey.
These friends understand that train travel offers something beyond mere transportation; it’s an experience; the joy of slowing down, the chance to connect with others, and the opportunity to witness the beauty of the world in a way that no other mode of travel can provide.
Then there are those who are simply curious, neither judging nor reminiscing, but eager to hear about our adventure. They ask questions about the route we’ll take, the sights we’ll see, and the comfort of the train cabins.
For them, our choice represents an intriguing alternative to conventional or popular modes of travel, a chance to explore the romance and allure of a seemingly bygone era while discovering new places at a leisurely pace–in our case, 35 hours from end to end, from Los Angeles to Seattle, a journey that normally takes 2 hours and 45 minutes by plane.
Widely regarded as one of the most stunning train routes in the US, the Coast Starlight runs the length of the West Coast and Pacific Northwest. Most of our journey was spent lounging in the observation car, where we soaked in generous streams of sunshine streaming through the skylights and windows as the train meandered through changing terrain. The ever-shifting landscapes—from the rugged coastline to lush forests and rolling valleys—was a visual feast that was both mesmerizing and soothing.
I was glad we heeded the advice of our Uber driver in St. Louis, a lanky man in his sunset years who lived in Los Angeles for 40 years before a family tragedy urged him to move to the Midwest for a fresh start.
“I used to take that train every week when I went to visit the kids in Seattle,” he said, his voice choking slightly as he reminisced about his previous life. He suggested we take seats on the left side for the best views of the Pacific coast.
As soon as the train departed from Los Angeles Union Station—a fabulous structure that blends Spanish Colonial, Mission Revival, and Art Deco styles—we settled into our cozy nook on the left side of the observation car and slowly slipped into what veteran train travelers describe as “train zone.” This state of consciousness, characterized by an “energized, untethered, unhurried” feeling, enveloped us as we submitted to the rhythm of the train and its gentle rocking motion.
I’ve only been to California fewer times than I can count on one hand, and during those visits, I simply drifted along with the currents of where my relatives would take me. Those trips have left me with vague memories, perhaps because I had very little agency in shaping the experience. Seeing California again–not from the backseat of a car and this time with my husband–was an opportunity to write new memories of a place that had long been synonymous with just another extension of the Philippines for me.
California looked and felt different–stunning after a long drink from the snowmelt of winter and the shower of cool spring rains. The train followed the sinuous curves of the coastal cliffs, eventually taking us deep into towering redwood forests that swallowed us up and spitted us whole into verdant vineyards and past strawberry fields that stretched for eternity.
The beauty of long-distance train travel in the summer is that you have more daylight hours to soak in the stunning views, with the sun lingering in the sky until around 9 p.m. The absence of Wi-Fi made the journey even more nostalgic and immersive.
Sometimes, after reading a few chapters of the book I brought along (no, I did not finish it, although I hoped to), I would lean back in my seat and lose myself in the scenery unfolding before me. My mind would drift, hover, and glide like the flocks of birds soaring over the ocean. Sometimes, it alighted on a thought like a snowy egret before spreading its wings and taking off again. From a distance, white-crested waves crashed satisfyingly on the shore, dissolving into a thin layer of foam before retreating back into the vast expanse of water from which they came.
For some reason, the Southern Californian coast reminded me of long, scenic drives from Cebu to Dumaguete through Barili where ultramarine waters collided with the ebony cliffs and a rush of emerald foliage. Yet, while the waves back home are infinitely gentler, in California galloped to shore like wild stallions with a number of surfers trying desperately to keep their seat.
The tracks hugged the rugged coastline, offering panoramic views of the Pacific ocean and the dramatic cliffs that rose sharply from the water. I could imagine the rhythm of the train blended with the rhythmic crashing of the waves, creating an unconventional symphony that was both soothing and exhilarating.
We passed through quaint seaside towns where strings of trailer vans and colorful tents dotted the shore. A carpet of grass, shrubs, and wildflowers sloped gently into mottled blonde sand dunes shaped by the tides. As we journeyed further, the coastline morphed, sometimes made harsh by jutting rocks and other times dreamy with long stretches of sand.
The golden hour cast a magical glow over the landscape, the setting sun painting the sky in hues of orange, pink, and purple. It was a moment that begged to be experienced in person. The beauty of the coast, combined with the nostalgic charm of train travel, created an unforgettable experience that easily overwrote previous memories of California.
No wonder California is called the “Golden State.” It looked as though King Midas had run his fingers through the sprawling fields of wildflowers and along the edges of the shoreline, leaving everything touched with a golden hue.
As we crossed into Oregon the following day, the landscape transformed into lush green forests populated among others by a wide array of firs, oaks, maples, pines, and spruces. In his book, Steep Trails, pioneering conservationist John Muir wrote extensively about the rich diversity of the Oregonian forests, describing any of the flora and fauna he encountered as if describing a new acquaintance.
“It is not only a very large tree but a very beautiful one, with lively bright-green drooping foliage, handsome pendent cones, and a shaft exquisitely straight and regular,” he described the Douglas-fir, one of the most abundant trees in the forests of Oregon, Washington, as well as British Columbia in Canada.
Muir traveled extensively across the US at the turn of the 20th century and became widely known for his writings, travels, and advocacy on the preservation of forests and wildlife. His visits to Oregon and his interactions with local conservationists sparked impromptu lectures and laid the foundation for the conservation movement in Oregon and California that would significantly impact the forest and wilderness protection in the Cascade Mountains and beyond.
Oregon is one of the US’ most vast and densely forested areas with a forest cover stretching over 30 million acres or around 121,500 square kilometers–roughly around 3,600 times the size of Dumaguete. Its ancient forests are largely fed by the Columbia River that snakes through Oregon and Washington before emptying into the Pacific Ocean.
Muir regarded the wilderness with a deep sense of reverence and respect. While capitalists saw forests as a source of wealth to be exploited, Muir believed forests to be vast reserves of beauty where our soul can connect with the earth’s life force to heal and replenish. “Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul,” he famously said.
By the time we reached Washington, the majestic peaks of the Cascade Range loomed large on the horizon, their snow-capped summits a stark contrast to the deep green of the valleys below. The sheer scale and beauty of these ridges were breathtaking, their ruggedness softened by the lush forests carpeting their lower slopes.
In Jack Kerouac’s Dharma Bums, a semi-autobiographical novel about a young man’s quest for spirituality in the open road, the Cascades stood for something far greater than merely a picturesque backdrop or a postcard-perfect view. They embody a deeper, more profound journey towards self-discovery and spiritual enlightenment. For Ray Smith, Kerouac’s protagonist, the mountains are looming sacred symbols of the boundless, untamed essence of nature, reflecting the infinite possibilities of human experience and inner exploration.
The wilderness surrounding us mirrored Kerouac’s spontaneous prose—meandering, unfiltered, and largely untamed. The rugged terrain, with its unruly patches of wild plants and shimmering pools of water, was nature’s stream-of-consciousness. Just as Kerouac’s words flow freely, unconfined by scaffolds of traditional structure, so too did the landscape unfold before us in a raw, organic display of nature’s beauty.
Traversing this wild expanse felt like stepping into a Kerouac novel, where every twist and turn was pregnant with the potential of discovery. The landscape, with its spontaneous bursts of life and untamed splendor, was nature’s own form of free expression, a rebellion against man-made artificial structures that have long sought to repress humanity’s wild side.
Like one of Kerouac’s characters, “I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all.” Long train rides disconnected from the internet have this way of putting you in a meditative state, grounding you into the present moment, while at the same time reminding you of the fleeting nature of all things.
Early in the evening, Mount Rainier’s icy peaks began to blush with a rosy hue as the sun started its descent. By this time, we were only a few hours away from Seattle, and the anticipation of our arrival mingled with the enchantment of the landscape.
We lingered on the observation deck, captivated by the stories shared by our guides from the National Park Service. Their voices carried the weight of history and the thrill of adventure as they regaled us with tales of Mount Rainier, an active volcano steeped in geological and cultural significance. Rising more than 4,000 meters, Mount Rainier stands as the highest peak in Washington state, its towering presence earning it the Lushootseed name “xʷaq̓ʷ,” which literally means “sky wiper.”
The guides spoke of the mountain’s formidable power, its glaciers and snowfields that feed into rivers and sustain the surrounding ecosystems. Around the fringes of its earthy outskirts thrived an explosion of life that calls the mountain’s perilous yet fertile terrain home.
In the 19th century, the route we traversed was still largely a well-kept secret among the indigenous communities that thrived in the vast expanse of land now known as the West Coast. These tribes, with their deep-rooted connection to the land, navigated its dense forests, majestic mountains, and sprawling valleys with an intimate knowledge passed down through generations. This path was more than a mere route to them; it was a lifeline, a corridor teeming with history, culture, and sustenance.
Even decades following the Lewis and Clark expedition, a significant portion of Oregon remained unexplored, unmapped, and uncharted by European settlers. The explorers’ journey, while monumental, had only scratched the surface of the region’s vast and diverse landscapes. The rugged terrain, thick forests, and formidable mountain ranges presented daunting challenges that deterred many from venturing further into the heart of this untamed wilderness.
It wasn’t until the mid to late 1800s that the relentless push of westward expansion began to penetrate deeper into Oregon’s enigmatic interior. Pioneers, driven by the promise of fertile land and new opportunities, embarked on arduous journeys to chart the unknown, sometimes with damaging consequences. These early settlers faced innumerable hardships, from treacherous rivers to harsh winters, relying heavily on the knowledge and assistance of the indigenous people to survive and navigate what to them was tierra incognita.
The allure of the West Coast grew stronger as tales of its breathtaking beauty and boundless potential spread like hot gossip. Surveyors and cartographers soon followed, meticulously mapping the region’s topography, rivers, and valleys. Their efforts gradually unveiled the mysteries of the area, transforming it from an uncharted wilderness into a land of bursting with promise and opportunity.
As we traversed this historic route, it’s impossible not to reflect on the rich legacy of those who literally paved our way, the echoes of their footsteps resonating through the forests and mountains, reminding us of a time when the West Coast was a realm of mystery, waiting to be explored and perhaps written about.
Our train finally ground to a halt at Seattle’s King Street Station, a magnificent railroad Italianate structure dating back over a century, complete with a campanile modeled after the one in Venice’s Piazza San Marco.
Like Kerouac’s protagonists, we found our suitcases piled once more on the sidewalk at the terminus of close to forty hours on the tracks. We had only begun to write our story in the Pacific Northwest. In Kerouac’s famous words, “the road is life.”
Seattle was not just our destination but a waypoint on our onward journey, quite a reminder that each stop is only a chapter in the unfolding narrative of our travels.
Will we be sleepless in Seattle? Well, that’s a story for another day.
__________________________________
Author’s email: thedumalady@gmail.com
