Some tough living going on under those meandering clouds all over 'this fair land'' these days. Escape is mandatory any way possible, which sometimes is not possible. Fireworks for the 4th (a mixed sentiment for true patriots who respect the contradictions built into the so-called American way) - just a passing blip, given the noise associated with political protests and ongoing deliberations.
So it might seem a wee bit off-key to brag about a trip to 'never neverland' aboard an actual train, a short 11 hour span, traveling from 2 a.m.in Cleveland Ohio to 1:30 pm. in Washington DC. Not really a long ride, given the size of the country but one so out of the ordinary it requires description in detail. Plus the fact that I had not had the luxury of a bed aboard in many decades, too many to count. It must have been when I was a camper chugging off to New England in summertime, holding for dear life into a high-up berth in a sleeping car stacked to the beam with individual mattresses and a hundred others or so it seemed, in the same car..
Because this time I originally bought a coach ticket ($80) and then fell under the spell of extravagance and changed to roomette status.Whoa, what a change. Private quarters, so-called comfortable beds- in fact, hard and narrow. Privacy of sorts - the two restrooms in the car, and likely the shower room - had no locks from the inside but a mechanism whereby the red light (occupied) showed whenever a person closed the door. Not a bad way to prevent interlopers and allow 'authorities' access when necessary.
Protocols were mostly unspoken and unwritten.. Food and a single alcoholic drink was on the house but only if a passenger was seated in the dining car. He/she had to pay in the cafe. Dining was a good deal - three meals, white tablecloths, solid menu choices - but where you sat was under the supervision of the hostess. In my case, a tired unsmiling woman who 'unseated' me when I took a seat alone at a table,; she pointedly directed me to the empty seat in a table holding three others that needed a fourth body.. No arguing with that lady. Breakfast opened at 6:30 am. - likely in observance of a crew's schedule buy also maybe figuring in what key stops mattered along the way. There were many stops between the Big Cities - and some casual ones, when pet owners could take their four footers to a platform "to do their business.' All traffic outside halted until the train moved on...
At one point we slowed (then already a bit behind schedule) owing to a freight train ahead on the same track. This was the old/new Amtrak - making do out of necessity. Where was the parallel track one might normally expect . Ah, but the blanket provided was cozy enough, the close quarters something of a designer's dream: the sink opened by pulling down a handle. Clean soap and wash cloths were at hand.
The 'dedicated' porter was friendly ("I'm Carlos"), noise was minimal. Colorful scenes of various kinds streamed by outside the window. My flat bed got turned into a seat when I ambled off for breakfast. And when tripping to the cafe car late morning for a constitutional I literally tripped - on an unexpectedly large step in my path. I landed - somehow - on the floor on my back, the back of my head hitting the ground. A uniformed official was around and saw me in time to show immediate professional concern. And possibily the fear of a lawsuit coming their way. He would stay while I recouped my dignity, assured him that I was ok.My head hurt but there was no wound and I had managed to get myself off the floor onto a seat. No lesson learned other than the fact that walking on a moving train takes practice and I had little to none. My last memory of such a journey was as a very young camper on her way to the delights of New England in the summer - also by a lake, though sleeping quarters were definitely of lesser status.
I continued on to my constitutional - a gin and tonic to celebrate the occasion of an actual overnight ride (albeit only a few hours sleep) aboard the mighty vessel called, impressively enough, the Floridian since it would pass through my home town - Washington DC - on its way to Miami many hours (days?) away. I sought a balm to ease my way into the frantic nature of city life after spending a week in a quiet mostly traffic-free lakeside retreat resort of Chautauqua known for education, entertainment and whatever-pleasure-you- seek under heaven's gate. In short, a sane lifestyle albeit at great remove from what is ordinary living. The cafe car master must have felt the importance of my salute to sanity by an unprompted confession of his own out of the blue: He would be taking his grandchild on a trip; he had recently asked her where she wanted to go and she said Paris. So Paris it would be. With that, he topped up my drink with a cut up piece of lime. The end of his shift gather. We were nearing the Capital City.I found my way back to the roomette and contentedly watched the iron horse make its slow entrance into the bustling precincts of Washington's Union Station.
