Monday, April 09, 2007
See America By Rail
I went back to Quincy this weekend to celebrate the resurrection of my lord and savior and play canasta with my parents. Rather than once again testing the limits of my affection for cruise control and convenience store sandwiches, I decided to take the train this time around, which turned out to be kind of fascinating. First of all, I was sitting behind a pair of gentlemen who, though strangers when they got on the train, determined that they were going to become the best friends of all time by the time they disembarked. They managed this by chatting really loudly about everything from their somewhat old-fashioned views on gender roles to the vital importance of high school basketball in our modern world of today. They also decided about halfway through the trip that it would be appropriate for them to remove not only their shoes but also their socks. Luckily the trip was only four and a half hours, or I feel certain pants would have followed.
Another great thing about the train was the helpful staff that treated all of us as though we were small, petulant children. I have never been hectored so many times about putting my luggage in the overhead rack or under my seat, and I have flown with my mother. I really thought there might be a rumble when one of the conductors referred to an aggressive woman with five or six pieces of carry on as "young lady." No such luck, however.
In the end, however, the best thing about the train was that it went to Quincy, where I spent much of the weekend eating cheap chocolate (Bunny Munny, anyone?) and playing piano duets with a fourth grade level of difficulty with my sister. Now that is a vacation.
I went back to Quincy this weekend to celebrate the resurrection of my lord and savior and play canasta with my parents. Rather than once again testing the limits of my affection for cruise control and convenience store sandwiches, I decided to take the train this time around, which turned out to be kind of fascinating. First of all, I was sitting behind a pair of gentlemen who, though strangers when they got on the train, determined that they were going to become the best friends of all time by the time they disembarked. They managed this by chatting really loudly about everything from their somewhat old-fashioned views on gender roles to the vital importance of high school basketball in our modern world of today. They also decided about halfway through the trip that it would be appropriate for them to remove not only their shoes but also their socks. Luckily the trip was only four and a half hours, or I feel certain pants would have followed.
Another great thing about the train was the helpful staff that treated all of us as though we were small, petulant children. I have never been hectored so many times about putting my luggage in the overhead rack or under my seat, and I have flown with my mother. I really thought there might be a rumble when one of the conductors referred to an aggressive woman with five or six pieces of carry on as "young lady." No such luck, however.
In the end, however, the best thing about the train was that it went to Quincy, where I spent much of the weekend eating cheap chocolate (Bunny Munny, anyone?) and playing piano duets with a fourth grade level of difficulty with my sister. Now that is a vacation.
