Traveling Out of Place (Part 6)

(If you haven't already, please scroll down and read parts 1-5 before reading this entry.)

August 21, 9:00 a.m. in central Iowa

We slept the whole time we were traveling through Nebraska. So that’s two states (the other being Idaho) that I’ve been in for the first time, but didn’t actually visit.

Now we’re back in corn country. It’s flat, but there are lots of trees. Even when we’re passing through farmland, deciduous trees line both sides of the tracks more often than we see an unobstructed view of a cornfield.

This morning, we shared the breakfast table with an Amish couple returning to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, after a week’s vacation in Durango, Colorado. Our visit was delightful. We talked about the different kinds of farms we’ve seen on this trip, as well as the wonder of the Colorado Mountains and canyons that we agreed could not be adequately described to people at home who had never seen them.

 

12:00 noon, near the Iowa-Illinois border

We just crossed the Mississippi River at Burlington, Iowa. I don’t think we expected how much that landmark would represent our nearness to home. In truth, we’ve still got a long way to go. But even the houses at the edge of these huge corn farms look more like what we are accustomed to seeing in rural New York – white frame two-story homes with steep-pitched roofs and front porches. And in the small towns, many of the newer homes are split-level ranches just like we see throughout our own neighborhood.

Something else we’re seeing for the first time since we left are big clouds that look like they could produce rain. Smoky haze is completely without definition, and when we weren’t underneath it, the sky was clear the whole time we were out west.

 

7:30 p.m. in Chicago

Union Station in Chicago was not the maze that baffled us eleven days ago. We knew exactly where to go, promptly stored our luggage, and took advantage of a six-hour layover by walking around downtown. We visited the Money Museum located inside the Federal Reserve Building. It was surprisingly interesting to view American history through the development of currency and monetary policy.

We found a bar and grill on Madison Street where we enjoyed a relaxing dinner, then walked through Grant Park and out onto Lake Michigan before returning to the station. After 52 hours on the train (that’s the longest of all the rides we’ve taken), it was good to walk briskly for a while.

Chicago is a great city. But as we walked its streets, I noticed that expressions on people’s faces were markedly different from what I saw on the West Coast. They seemed stressed, hardened, or just exhausted. No one made eye contact with anybody they didn’t know. Too risky, I guess. What I’ve just described is almost the opposite of the street encounters in Seattle and San Francisco.

 

August 22, 9:00 a.m., near Buffalo

We’re almost home. One of the nicest things about taking a long trip is coming back to your own bed, bathroom, kitchen, and favorite place to sit. You luxuriate once again in the house that fits you and the people you love like a glove.

One of the luxuries of home is the shower. We are extremely blessed to have been able to afford this long trip in sleeper cars with their own toilets and showers. But the early morning adventure of getting showered and dressed for breakfast doesn’t exactly feel like privileged status.

The beds are bunks. The spacious double seat folds out like a futon into the lower bunk, and the upper bunk folds down from the ceiling. When the lower bunk is out, only a couple of inches of clearance remain between it and the sink/toilet/shower unit that takes up roughly one quarter of the entire compartment. The upper bunk is reached with a movable ladder that has to be placed in that last quarter of space, and if more than one piece of luggage is sitting there, you’re not likely to be able to open completely the door to the toilet. When you are ready to wash yourself, you must completely undress in a very cramped space and then maneuver yourself into the shower with your soap and shampoo. The shower is located inside the toilet (or is the toilet in the shower?). In front of the seat, you have about two square feet to stand (which is why it might be preferable to sit while showering, but I haven’t done that). The instructions for the shower are to turn the nob to set the temperature and then push a button for 30 seconds of water. But of course the water needs more than 30 seconds to heat up, so you need to push the button more than once. When you finally get it to an acceptable temperature, you rinse yourself down, lather up the soap, rinse again, hang the showerhead while you dispense your shampoo, scrub the shampoo into your hair, and rinse it out. All this time, of course, the train is moving and sometimes jostling, likely causing train novices (like me) to lose control of the shower head, fall against the wall reaching for the soap, or get shampoo in their eyes. After you rehang the showerhead and turn off the water, you reach up and grab a towel from high up behind the toilet seat. Drying yourself off requires minor gymnastics. When you finally tumble out of the shower, you must then discern how to get dressed and, in my case, shave in front of the mirror while standing on your knees in the lower bunk. Best to do this in a flat rural area free of curves. But that never seems to be where you are when it’s time to get ready for breakfast. Keep in mind that these sleeping compartments are designed for two or three people. So the individual challenge is multiplied by the need to give each other enough room to negotiate.

This comedy is corrected with experience. Even after just seven nights on a train, Martha and I have developed a routine that made everything work. Still, I’m glad we broke up the trip so we could enjoy slow, leisurely showers in reasonably sized bathrooms while in Seattle and San Francisco.

As awkward as the showering and dressing can be, both are at least private in a sleeping compartment. You don’t have to be self-conscious or worry that others are waiting for you to finish. The privacy is worth something, and while you’ve gone to the dining car for breakfast, an attendant comes to strip and fold up the beds and return the room to its daytime configuration, which is really quite comfortable. In addition to the couch-like seating that extends the width of the compartment, a single chair folds out on the opposite side of the large picture window. If you leave the door and curtain of the compartment open, you can also see out of the windows of the hallway on the opposite side of the train. We have a small foldout table below the window (where I’ve placed my laptop while typing), plus the freedom to move about the train. We have found both the observation deck and the cafe lounge to be comfortable, inviting, open spaces.

There is a less expensive sleeper car option – a “roomette” that is half the size, with a sink but no private shower or toilet. The two facing seats fold out to make the bottom bunk, while the top bunk comes down from the ceiling. And if roominess is more important than private amenities, there’s a “family room” available in some trains that is the full width of the car, has windows on both sides, but lacks a private shower or toilet.

Would we do this again? Absolutely. Even the more annoying aspects of train travel are far outweighed by its benefits. When we were visiting with the Amish couple yesterday morning, they asked us whether we preferred trains or airplanes for traveling. (Airplanes aren’t an option for them. She said she had trouble imagining what the world would look like from so high.) We told them trains were far preferable – for all the reasons that I detailed at the beginning of this travelogue, especially the chance to visit with all sorts of interesting people. “That doesn’t happen on a plane?” he asked. “Oh, no,” I said. She had already discerned why. “Everybody just wants to get where they’re going,” she sort of asked and stated at the same time. “That’s right,” I confirmed. “Well, that’s what I most like about the train,” he said with a nod of satisfaction. “Meeting all these people.”

 

11:00 a.m., about an hour from home

By the time we pull into the Syracuse station, we will have traveled 6,888 miles on trains. We have passed through 17 states, 12 of which I had never entered before, ten of which I actually saw for the first time. (Idaho and Nebraska were places I slept.) We visited two major West Coast cities, where we walked a total of 54 miles. (We also walked six miles in downtown Chicago yesterday.) In Seattle, our walks included 1050 feet of ascent. In San Francisco, we ascended 3,370 feet.

We’ve been a long way in a good way. Train travel is more relaxing than flying, driving or riding a bus. There’s no security hassle or intimidation, no worries about where and when to pull over, or whether there’s enough fuel. And there’s way more space per person. It’s much easier to move around a train than either a bus or a plane, and there’s no place to move in a car. On a train, getting up, going to different cars, meeting new people, and sitting in different configurations is not only possible – it’s encouraged.

After all this time on a train, looking at America up close, I have a new appreciation of how vast the land area of the nation truly is, and how much of it is wide open – either desert, mountains, ranchland or farmland. I have seen first-hand the visible evidence of destructive climate change and am reminded of the fragility of our ecosystem. I have also experienced personally what I always suspected to be true – that life on the West Coast is quite different than in the East. It’s hard to escape the conclusion that we have witnessed the “cutting edge” of American life; the kind of urban life that the American ideal promises, but which remains more a hope than a reality in most U.S. cities. Seattle and San Francisco are far from perfect. They are not utopias. (Their respective economic booms have, ironically, led to rising homelessness, largely the result of skyrocketing real estate values. In San Francisco, severe restrictions on new housing construction have made the problem worse.) But their striving toward a multi-cultural, pluralistic society is much further along than in other places I have lived in or visited.

Still, where we are headed is good, even sacred, because it is home. Home is the place you love despite its foibles, because you also know what's right about it even if others don't. It is the place you know well enough to claim affectionately even as you rail against its failures and shortcomings. It is where you put down roots, cast your lot, and place your hopes. It’s where you live.

©2018 by J. Mark Lawson

 

Comments

[Deb Record]

Great read! Thanks for sharing! Welcome home!
So good to experience life away, but yes...there's no place like home!

[Larry Boyer]

So much fun to read!!!! It is so refreshing to see how you seemed to so enjoy these new places you discovered, many for the first time!!!!

Again welcome home!!!