I typically
fly most places that I go—I need to take advantage of that free travel after
all. I also like the speed that air
travel affords me. While I do appreciate
the journey itself, sometimes I want to get there sooner than later, and a
4-hour airplane flight is much more time effective than a 2-4 day journey
across the country on a train or by car.
That said, traveling via plane on a standby basis is full of
challenges—long waits at the airport for an empty seat or the possibility of
getting stuck halfway en route is rather daunting. Alternative travel plans, especially in the
summer, are often necessary; which brings me to a recent jaunt I made to visit
a friend. After looking at available
flights, I surmised that I might spend a couple of days trying to get where I
wanted to go via airplane. I didn’t want
to drive, so I checked into another option: the train, more precisely
Amtrak. I used to love traveling via
train, the whimsical journey through small towns, forests, and mountains. I used to travel throughout Europe via train;
it really can be quite wonderful.
Although I wouldn’t choose to trek cross-country via train, the 3-hour
journey from my home to my friend’s city seemed pretty doable. So, I made my reservation, packed my bag, and
headed to the train station.
Train
stations vary greatly in size and décor.
Some are huge like NYC’s Grand Central with multiple tracks and shops
galore. Others are tiny, mere stopping
off points between major cities or out in the countryside. My local train station is a remnant from
another era—a marble lobby with high, ornate ceilings and wooden benches. A newsagent dispenses magazines and coffee in
the corner. No frills, just simple
elegance. After spending so much time in
airports with heightened security, gobs and gobs of shops, endless concourses
and hordes of people everywhere—the local train station was a welcome
change. I often forget how crazy
airports and airport security has become.
In Europe, it’s not uncommon to stroll through an airport with military
troopers wielding AK-47’s and vicious man-eating dogs in tow. Metal detectors and x-ray machines are
standard and we are now desensitized to the possibility of being stripped down
for ‘random’ searches. At the train
station, the mood is completely different.
No security, no metal detectors, no dogs, no guns—not even a mall-style
rent-a-cop in sight. I felt like a real
person; it was civilized and easy. An
agent issued me my ticket, smiled at me (a real smile verses a tacky, drawn-on
smile), wished me a pleasant journey, and I was off. Wow. I could get used to this.
I boarded
the train and settled down into my ‘gee-my-hips-are-accounted-for’ cushy seat,
pushed back the curtain at the window and settled in to enjoy the journey. The train was rather empty, and as such, I
had an open seat next to me. I was able
to enjoy both armrests—a rare feat on the airplane—and I didn’t have to move
for someone to use the bathroom. What
luxury! The train lurched forward, and
at that very moment the whimsical, luxurious nature of my journey came grinding
to a halt.
To tell you
the truth, trains are bumpy, noisy, and full of crazy people. I mean crazy.
Although the train cruises along smooth rails, it’s velocity and the
winding path that it has to take can make even the most trepid stomach feel a
wee bit woozy. I maniacally gripped onto
the armrests (thank god they were there) as we were flung along our course. My computer nearly flew off the tray table in
front of me and I had to think twice about making my way to the dining car for
a beverage. After all, it was about 40
cars away from my seat…and I was having difficulty imagining making it across
even one car without falling on some innocent old lady. I had decided on a Coke, but it quickly
became apparent to me that an adult beverage was necessary to assuage my jittered
nerves. I braced myself against the seats
on both sides of the train and then began my march down the aisle. On my way to the bar car, I almost lost my
balance several times; it was like a severely drunk person walking along the street—I
was teetering dangerously up the aisle.
As a flight attendant, I am used to walking on wobbly surfaces, but most
turbulence I encounter does not compare with my precarious pace walking through
a moving train. Surprisingly, however,
the people around me were extremely calm.
This is expected and normal. On
an airplane, people are often rattled by bumpy rides. I can tell you this, however, as a seasoned
flight attendant, I feel much less comfortable walking down the bumpy aisle of
a speeding train than I do riding the bunking bronco of plane.
Sitting in
my seat on the train, I also noticed that the presence of safety warnings is
significantly less than on an airplane.
No visible warnings to buckle up are present; there aren’t even seat
belts. I guess I’m not supposed to worry
as much about my safety on the train as compared to the airplane—but if we were
to hit something I imagine I would be more apt to injury here than ‘hitting’
something on the airplane. Plus, on an
airplane, the pilots can steer around weather or even go over it, while the
train’s conductor is forced to ride the rails and power a train on its given
course, sometimes right through a serious storm or, say, a herd of cattle that
has wandered onto the tracks. Yeah, so
very safe.
Oh, and
forget trying to pee like a boy on the train…I had to sit down and pee like a
girl or risk ruining my shoes and the front of my pants or even go careening
into the wall headfirst. Plus, the
bathroom on a plane has a button to push if you get into a precarious
situation—on the train, you’re on your own, which I learned by mistake when the
handle of the bathroom door broke off and I got stuck in the bathroom for half
an hour and had to call for help…no joke!
Although I would have been embarrassed to call for help on the plane, I
still would have done it. On the train,
with no call light in sight and people ignoring my helpless banging on the
bathroom door, I had visions of being discovered several days later in an empty
train yard, asphyxiated from the smell off human excrement and covered in slosh
from the toilet. It was enough to make
me just a little frantic when, after a half hour, no help was in sight and my
desired train stop was rapidly approaching.
Fortunately, I managed to dislodge the handle on the other side of the
door, opening a peephole in the door through which I could shout. A passerby came to my rescue, and I was
out. The situation was never truly
dire—but why do such things always happen to me.
Oh, and the
people…While I do encounter my share of cray cray on the airplane, traveling
short distances between cities by plane is still very expensive and, therefore,
not the primary means of transport for the average Dick and Jane. Amtrak is not quite Greyhound, but it’s not
much different either. I was fortunate
enough to have my own row, but all manner of strange paraded by my seat,
including but not limited to: a man dressed entirely in blue and black striped
spandex, a woman wielding a sock-puppet, and a gaggle of people that appeared
homeless—complete with raggedy clothing and a total of about 12 teeth among the
4 of them. Also, the guy across the
aisle spent the vast majority of the train ride staring my way with a look that
bordered on psychotic. He alternated
between angry scowls and exaggerated smiles.
I never felt unsafe, but it was definitely enough to make one feel a bit
uncomfortable.
So,
although the journey was 'pretty' and 'something different', the bumpy ride and
rather…well…shitty conundrum with the bathroom door made the whole experience
less than desirable. Plus it took me
longer than driving and the ticket’s cost was twice as much as what I would
have paid in gas had I driven myself. Next
time, I think I’ll stick to the craziness of airplane travel. Although I’m not guaranteed a seat, at least I’ll
be in my own element. And I can pee
standing up.
