Trains

 Occasionally, summer would find us boarding a train to visit with relatives in far flung places. Trains provided the biggest dose of sensory overload that my brothers and I had ever experienced. We were starstruck; the giant black steel engine revving and raring to go, the accompanying smoke billowing from seemingly everywhere, the bells, the toot toots, the conductor barking instructions; so much to see and hear. Our little brains could not absorb it all fast enough. 

And those were the days of dressing up for travel. Mom wore one of her best outfits, making all her little clucking noises about staying neat and clean while simultaneously trying to corral my older brother and me. Dad, in his blue serge suit, held my baby brother in his arms, hoping the kid wouldn’t throw up on his jacket. Safely ensconced in our seats my brother and I would then scrimmage for the window seat. 

At the time, we were oblivious to the subtle niceties of train travel. Our Pullman seats were firmly cushioned and clean with removable headrest covers. The windows were clear and bright with pull down shades. None of that mattered to us. We were too taken with watching the baggage cart handlers and the people rushing around to find their correct car. The constant movement of people and carts and luggage was enthralling. We heard the conductor call “all aboard”. When the train finally began moving we were so excited we could barely squeak with delight, much less talk.

Once the train was rolling, a redcap walked by to ask our parents if their needs were being met. Shortly afterwards, a conductor came by and punched their tickets. We were so taken with the outdoor moving landscape and the indoor human landscape our little eyeballs didn’t know which way to turn. In due course, though, the steady clack clack clack rhythm and the train’s side to side movements caused us to fall asleep, a much hoped for eventuality by our parents. Hours later, upon arrival, we were delighted and disappointed at the same time. We had arrived at our destination but what had we missed while we slept, we wondered. 

After my school years were over, I hopped a plane to Italy and, after visiting with relatives in Rome, I purchased my first Euro rail pass to visit other countries. To my surprise, European train interiors were designed differently. There was no center aisle, no open seating. Instead, the main corridor was located at one side of the train, with separate compartments that seated six. Sliding glass doors allowed only nominal privacy since anyone could park themselves in an empty seat. Luggage was placed in the overhead rack. The compartments were comfortable but not plush. Back then, trains stopped more frequently. Border crossings meant more officials coming by and checking papers and passports. 

This was the beginning of my ‘grown up’ journey into adulthood. As the year went by and I became more used to the mores of European travel, admittedly the initial thrill of train travel did diminish but I always enjoyed the company of new friends that I made along the way. Oftentimes we exchanged home addresses and the heck of it is that some of those people remain my friends to this day. I remember returning to America with only one regret, but I still live in hope that one day the Venice Simplon Orient Express will count me as one of its customers.