Sunday 1 June – The “The Coast Starlight” Train

We're up early- I want to finish writing yesterday's blog, so that I can post it in the hotel,while we still have wifi. We are catching the 10.15 am “Coast Starlight” train from Los Angeles to Oaklands, the nearest train station to San Francisco. We are due to arrive in Oaklands at about 9.30 this evening, so we'll be travelling all day.

As we check out of our hotel, Reg has another discussion with the (different) hotel receptionist about why our swipe card room key has locked us out of our room 3 times while we've been staying in this hotel (each time necessitating a trip down to reception from our 4^th floor room, to get it working again), and about the frustratingly slow hotel wifi. The speed is 0.2 megabits per second – Reg has an “app” on his tablet which measures internet speed (as do all “geeks”, presumably). The utterly charming Chinese receptionist apologises, but says this is as good as it gets – the internet provider cannot do anything about it, something to do with the state of the copper wires in the area, apparently. Reg points out that the hotel has a conference centre, and it can't be very easy for people attending such an event. Fortunately we discover that the receptionist comes from Guillin, in China, a town we visited 2 years ago. I'm therefore able to divert the conversation, before reminding Reg that we do have a train to catch.

The inside of Union Station, Los Angeles, is majestic, with palatial architecture; it reminds me of the inside of a cathedral, rather than a station. I make a mental note, as I glide my slippery suitcase over the station's wonderful inlaid marble floors, to look up its history on the internet when I next have an opportunity.

Reg has had to pop into the Amtrak (America's national passenger rail service) office to check that our train tickets are ok, as he altered them by phoning the Amtrak office in UK – because of the special deal we have with “3”, our mobile network, it's free for us to phone UK, but costly to phone the USA. All is well with the tickets.

We don't have sleepers for this journey, as we aren't travelling overnight. There are sleepers on the train, however, as it will continue all the way to Seattle, Washington State, where it will arrive at about 8.30 tomorrow evening.

We actually enjoy being in the “daytime” travel section of the train. It's really comfortable, with plenty of leg room and open views: when you have a sleeper, you can only look out of the window on your side of the train, as there are sleeper compartments on the other side of the corridor.

We discover that our journey on the “Coast Starlight” is an absolute joy of a train ride. We are soon travelling right by the sea on the Pacific Coast, and we continue to follow the ocean for a couple of hours. We are invited over the train tannoy system to look out for dolphins, but we don't see any. The view out of the window opposite is soon equally delightful; craggy mountains and valleys provide spectacular scenery. The train gradually climbs and then descends, following what is, we are told, the famous “horseshoe loop” . We can see the front end of the train twisting its way across the valley in front of us; it's a tremendous sight.

The sea is on our left; we notice that there are fenced off farmlands, with black cattle grazing, on our right. We are told (again by tannoy) that the land has been divided up into small ranches. Interestingly, although the beaches here are public, the land is private, and there is no public right of way, as there would be in England to a public beach. Therefore, the only way, we are told, of using these beaches is if you know someone who owns the ranch, or if you go there by boat.

We later pass through rather ugly oil fields full of oil-extracting machines ('”nodding donkeys”). These soon give way to lush, cultivated farmland valleys, with mountains in the background. Interestingly, a young woman we speak to in the restaurant car, when having our evening meal, tells us that Rodeo Drive,in Beverley Hills, has lots of ugly “nodding donkeys” extracting oil, near it, but they are camouflaged behind false facades. This same lady also tells us that she works in a school in the Beverley Hills area, and while there are some enormously wealthy people living there, there is also extreme poverty, especially amongst Iranian immigrants living on the outskirts of Beverley Hills.

A lady is having difficulty retrieving her bag from the overhead shelf. Reg gallantly offers to help, but as he lifts her bag down, wine pours out of her bag, all over Reg's seat. The woman is profusely apologetic. We tell her not to worry. She disappears with her bag for about 20 minutes, presumably to the “restroom” to try to salvage the contents of her bakpack, and to dispose of the rest of the opened bottle of wine. Reg, meanwhile, philosophical as ever, trots off to the restroom, to return with numerous paper tissues, so that he can sit down on his wine-soaked seat. When she comes back, the poor woman again apologises.

“Did you forget about the wine being in your bag?” I say, trying to make her feel better, although the answer to that question is rather obvious.

“I was going to share it with my friend,” she ventures, still embarrassed.

I do sympathise with her (I am able to be sympathetic because it isn't my seat that is wet). We had half a bottle of wine left when we had to journey on from Benson; I was tempted to bring it with us, but the thought of a possible spillage made me pour it down the sink on the morning we left.

In the last couple of hours of our 11 hour journey, we pass through some beautiful marshlands, which our “tannoy” tells us is a haven for wildlife, including otters and many species of birds. I spot what I am sure are 2 otters enjoying a lake area within the swamplands!

This has been a wonderful train journey, with amazing views; it's also been a lovely, relaxing day, enabling me to catch up on some reading, plus a couple of emails – I've written them in Open Office, & will cut and paste them into Hotmail when we next have wifi.

Changing our date of travel to San Francisco means that all coach seats from Oaklands Station into the centre of the city are fully booked. Reg has an app on his tablet which gives him maps, and he's able to locate the subway station nearest to Oaklands. We don't know if it's a safe area to walk through – but there's lots of traffic about, and the pavements are good for trundling suitcases, so we plough on. Soon I'm relieved to see the subway sign, and amazingly for this time of night, there's someone in a little information kiosk. He's really friendly, and helps us to get our tickets out of the machine. Reg has (with another app!) has already worked out that we need to get off at Powell Street station, in the centre of San Francisco.

We're tired; we've been travelling all day. Reg has already worked out where the “Hi-San Francisco Downtown” hostel is – just a few blocks away from where we get off the subway. As we emerge from the station, a young man of Hispanic origin, who looks as if he might be homeless and who is slightly inebriated, insists on taking us to our hostel, and Reg hasn't the energy to argue; we know this will mean parting with a few dollars, but from the safety point of view it's fine, as we are in a well-lit area in the centre of San Francisco, where there are lots of people about.

Sure enough, the young man takes us straight to our hostel. We give him a few dollars and are glad to be in the welcoming hostel vestibule.

Our room, with ensuite, as with most YHA hostels, is basic, but comfortable and clean – and has wifi! There's no point in unpacking much, as we're off to Yosemite National Park in the morning.