Three Men and a Lady Have Breakfast on the Train

Posted on June 3, 2016January 10, 2017 by Mary Klest

San Antonio to Chicago, Texas Eagle, Train No. 22

The cars in the parking lot had their headlights on when I boarded the train. With a new day rising, I was hungry for a train breakfast. The Texas Eagle has a Sightseer Lounge where passengers can get snacks, sandwiches and drinks. Nothing there appealed to me. Most of the food was wrapped in plastic. The train also has a full meal service dining car. When I arrived for breakfast every table was empty except for one, where three men sat. They were on the younger side of middle age. A service attendant escorted me to this table. One of the men had already received his meal and was eating when I sat down. They did not know each other. Each was traveling solo.

Some passengers complain about this arrangement of being seated with strangers. Not me. Sharing a meal brings people together – people who may not have the chance or inclination to sit down with each other in any other circumstance. I liken it to making up a foursome in golf. It’s usually a pleasant time on the golf course with whomever you are joined to play with. The same holds true for meals on a train.

Dining car breakfast with Curt, who grew up in Texas.

The man sitting across from me was wearing a cap with the letters USMC on it. He was a former marine traveling to Bloomington, Illinois, where he lives with his grandmother. His name is Curt. He said he traveled around the world while in the marines, but never mentioned any of the places he had been. Of his grandmother he said, “I’m trying to keep her out of a Home.”

He drove his grandmother’s car down to Texas to give it to his niece. “She’s studying archeology. That girl is smart. She’s going to be somebody some day.” His gloating over his niece made me think he had no children of his own. When I asked what he did for a living he mumbled, “Different jobs. Remodeling.” He appeared quiet for someone who had been a marine and grew up in Texas.

Sitting next to Curt was Steve. He works in a photography lab in Kansas City, Missouri. He was returning from a conference at the Gonzales Center in San Antonio. He flew there but chose to take the train back. “I was able to walk from conference to the Amtrak station so it worked out well,” he said.

Our conversation turned to politics and government. Steve said he was leaning towards voting for Ted Cruz. (This was before Cruz dropped out of the 2016 Presidential race.) “There are just too many laws inhibiting our free

Steve was taking the train back to Missouri after attending a conference.

dom and blocking business growth,” he complained. Curt nodded his head in agreement.

The man sitting beside me spoke up. “Your political system confuses me,” he said with a pronounced British accent. “I mean what do delegates do? Isn’t it supposed to be one person, one vote?” The Americans shook their heads. His name is Peter. He was taking the train to Chicago to catch a flight back to London.

“Why did you choose Texas to travel to?” I asked Peter.

“I’ve been vacationing at the Silverleaf Hill Country Resort for four weeks. It’s 50 miles from the Amtrak station but I’ve got my bike with me and rode the distance.”

“Four weeks vacation!” Steve exclaimed. “I didn’t take any vacation last year.”

“I don’t understand that either,” Peter said. “I was talking with a taxi driver here and he told me he didn’t have the money to travel to Europe. I told him to travel during the off season, as I do.”

Peter was not a jetsetter. He was a warehouse worker who bought a timeshare vacation in Indonesia through RCI, a worldwide exchange network. He trades off his time to visit places such as Texas. He packs his bike in a suitcase and brings it with him. “I’m sure to get where I need to go. I ride my bike 15 miles to work everyday. It keeps me in shape for my trips,” he said.

Peter packed his bike on a train to tour Texas.

Our train breakfast arrived at a staggered pace with no aroma to whet our appetites. The service attendant never spoke. He slid the plates in front us one at a time. As we ate we talked about politics, property taxes, crime and healthcare. Peter seemed satisfied with the system he lived and worked under. Maybe he was being polite. Curt and Steve were disgruntled. “Property taxes are too high. It’s no way to fund schools,” said Curt. “Healthcare is still too expensive,” said Steve. We didn’t bother to discuss the food. My eggs were tasteless. The croissant was good. The crew lingered a few seats away.

The service attendant handed only me a bill. The three men had sleeper car accommodations so their meals were included in the ticket price. After our conversation ended, we headed in different directions. I wouldn’t see them again.

When back in my seat I felt the mood in America was changing. Who knows what the American dream is anymore? I looked outside as we passed a row of small wood houses with a pickup truck parked in every other driveway. A church steeple towered up like an exclamation point to the sky. Shiny red tractors under a tent waited for buyers.

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My Return Train Trip With Two Romani Gypsies

Posted on May 19, 2016May 31, 2016 by Mary Klest

San Antonio to Chicago, Texas Eagle, Train No. 22

Menger Hotel in San Antonio, TX

I like places where my senses feel at ease. The lovely, historic Menger Hotel served as a respite while I visited San Antonio during its annual Fiesta celebration. The parades, street food, people and music were invigorating. I relished the museums and sitting along the San Antonio River outside of the Riverwalk. Near the Blue Star Arts district turtles rested on the river’s banks. Black birds cawed in the trees that offered shade from the hot sun.

Train travel is like that for me. Whatever is going on elsewhere, I feel suspended in time and at peace while inside this tubular vessel. That’s how my return train trip to Chicago began. When I learned that the two men who sat down near me were Romani Gypsies, my pensive mood was jolted by curiosity.

They wandered into the car carrying bags and blankets. They hesitated about which seats to sit in. “This car is cooler. Let’s stay in here,” the man with a mustache said to the other. He took the seat in front of me and the other man in a faded blue jean jacket sat across from him. They looked to be in their early fifties with bronzed skin, dark eyes and silver sideburns.

Their slapstick actions and petty arguments with each other made me think of the jesters in an opera. But my thoughts about them changed. They dropped their belongings, some of which were carried in black garbage bags, onto the vacant seats and floor. Once they were settled in, they spoke to each other in a language I was not familiar with. I tried hard to decipher it.

Rambling on the rails

The man in the blue jean jacket started playing music out loud from his cell phone. The other turned his phone on to a radio talk show. When the Conductor came by, he indicated to the men that they should use earphones. They turned the volume down, but when the Conductor passed they raised it again. They continued broadcasting their selected radio stations as if it were some sort of competition between the two of them.

A phone rang. I heard the mustached man seated in front of me say in English, “Give me a month. You’ll have the money. I’m buying that red truck. This train is much better than the bus. Saved some money. I will be in St. Paul via Chicago on Monday. We may go on to Iowa then back to Florida because of my lungs.” He ended the conversation saying, “I try to be a good Christian, but the obstacles keep coming.”

Texas freight train We had a twenty-minute layover at a station stop so I went in to buy some food. I was nearing the front of a long line when I saw the two men. I learned the mustached man’s name is Michael. Upon his request, I bought them a pack of smokes with a $10 bill they gave me. “You can keep the change and buy yourself a cup of coffee,” Michael said. I gave him the change. He was born in Waco, Texas. He and his cousin, Allen, were traveling to Minnesota to find blacktop work. Allen was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma and seemed lost without Michael there to make decisions. I wasn’t sure where they were living but they got on the train in Ft. Worth. I asked them what language they were speaking.

“Romani Gypsy,” Michael said.

“We’re the only nation without a flag,” said Allen.

International flag of the Romani people.

“No,” Michael corrected him. “We got a flag.” He told me the Romani Gypsies’ country of

origin is India. I quickly looked it up on Wikipedia and Michael was right about the flag and the country of origin. An estimated one million Romani people live in the United States.

Leaving, yet holding the past

We talked more when we returned to the train. Allen admitted to being a womanizer in the past. He called his first wife “a good woman.” A silver chain bracelet was wrapped around his wrist. He read off and on from the Bible. When in the morning Allen couldn’t find his Bible, he began to panic. He questioned each passenger on whether they had seen it.

The Conductor entered the car and Allen pleaded with him for help. The conductor asked him, “Did you have anything in it?’

“My whole life,” Allen replied. Minutes later he found it beneath the seat behind him and opened it to read. I think the Bible reading marked the beginning of his day even while on the train.

Michael and Allen on the Texas Eagle

Allen slept a lot but it was Michael who seemed tired. Tired of questions, tired of trying, tired of chasing the next buck. “The reason why we’re poor,” he blurted, “is because we’re trying to do what’s right.” As we approached Chicago he allowed me to take their picture but only if he could take my picture as well.

During the 32-hour train trip from San Antonio to Chicago, it was Allen who gave me a language lesson in Romani Gypsy.

“Sar son means how are you.” I repeated the words and he smiled.

“Kushti means good.”

“Kusthti,” I said.

“Pakvora – beautiful.”

Allen’s choice of words told me that for all the hardships he and Michael were facing, they remained optimistic. Another thing we had in common – they both love the British singer, Adele.

Seeing Texas By Train With a Blind Man

Posted on May 12, 2016May 12, 2016 by Mary Klest

Texas Eagle, Train No. 21

Marshall, Texas train station

Morning began with a suggestive gray light. Then the sun streaked the horizon with turquoise, crimson and carrot-colored orange. Having passed through parts of Missouri and Arkansas at night, we were entering the state of Texas. Pastures for grazing, bounded by fences, had replaced open Midwest cropland.

I sipped a two-dollar cup of coffee and listened as the conductor made a good morning announcement: “Welcome to those who boarded overnight. A safety instruction card is available at your seat describing emergency exits. Shoes must be worn. Escort your children at all times. The rest rooms are in the lower level. No smoking. Next stop, Marshall, Texas.”

My hunch that everything would be big in Texas was immediately put to rest as we passed the Piney Woods of East Texas. The young woman seated behind me complained to her boyfriend, “These pine trees are skinny, not like the ones we have in Michigan.”

This is what Texas looked like to me from the train – Head Hunters taxidermy, fireworks stores, green pastures, Route 80, Valero gas station, Coastal hay for sale, BBQ, peach tree orchards, Southwestern Christian College.

In the dining car I was seated with a man named Ed. He couldn’t see any of what Texas looked like because he lost his eyesight at the age of nine. He was with his Golden Retriever service dog and a woman named Bo, who was his wife. His dog laid down under the table on my feet. “I hope he isn’t bothering you.” A dog owner myself I assured him, “Not at all.”

Texas telephone towers Ed’s sunglasses wrapped around his eyes past his temples. They were not dark glasses, but gray colored. “When I called Amtrak the first woman I talked with said I could travel with my dog. The next woman said she wasn’t sure, but when I got here they let me on.”

The couple had traveled by train from Cleveland to San Antonio then back to Austin. From there they were making their way to Tucson. Friends had told them to come visit in the spring before the weather got too hot. They talked of their other trips – to Europe and the Middle East. I was curious and asked Ed, “So much of travel is visual. How do you describe where you’ve been?”

“I think visually,” he said. “I love to design stuff. When traveling I might recollect what it felt like. There’s a spatial quality to places. I remember certain smells and sounds, including music. I know if the people are friendly or not.“

A second marriage for both of them, they exchanged wedding vows in Switzerland.

“Why Switzerland?” I asked.

“Because of its role in establishing a training school for guide dogs,” Ed said. Bo talked about the beauty of the country and the people.

Ed and Bo on the Texas Eagle

I asked if I could take their picture. The man who had no idea what I looked like, only what I sounded like, removed his sunglasses and posed with the same vanity we all do. Bo smiled broadly; confident she had found a gem of a man.

I went back to my seat and shut my eyes. I wanted to experience the train ride in the way Ed might. The rumble beneath my seat sounded like two people on a treadmill running in unison. Above me a whisper of air circulated. My shoulders rested between the wings of the chair. Its polyester fabric pin-pricked my skin. I heard the crinkling sound of a package being opened and then smelled a whiff of potato chips. A lawyer talked on his phone incessantly.

I put my ear buds on and listened to Van Morrison sing Bright Side of the Road, then Bonnie Raitt, I Will Not Be Broken, and The Lumineers singing Bob Dylan’s Boots of Spanish Leather. My eyes-closed session ended with Sheryl Crow and Sting singing Always on Your Side. At will, my eyes opened to the sights of Texas. And it was amazing.

Passing the St. Louis Gateway Arch in Spring

Posted on May 4, 2016May 4, 2016 by Mary Klest

Texas Eagle Passenger Bloomington The train was nearly full on a springtime Tuesday. When my previous seatmate got off in Bloomington, Sarah took his place. She was heading to St Louis to visit her husband who landed an IT contract job there. A middle-aged woman with a friendly smile, Sarah remains in my mind as a mystery. She emigrated to the U.S. from Greece when she was a young woman. “We were not exposed to American influences the way kids are now. They listen to American music. Watch American movies. Eat American food.”

Her two boys are grown but she didn’t have any interest in working outside the home. She took a retail job for a short while but didn’t like standing on her feet all day. “I have been sad for 10 years,” she said. The reasons for her sad life piled up like a stack of blocks. She contradicted herself often. Her husband was everything to her but he was also absent to her. Her mother in law was cruel to her, but also defended her. One son loved her but the other did not. She was jealous of her husband’s friends. “I don’t have any friends,” she said.

Sarah was self-conscious about her accent and her face. I barely noticed her accent and admired her big round eyes and pulled-back hair. She positioned a lime green neck cushion against the seat and closed her eyes. “The sound of trains reminds me of Agatha Christie novels,” she said. “I like trains. Driving makes me nervous.” The mood got lighter when we approached the city of St. Louis and its Gateway Arch.

St. Louis Gateway Arch at dusk.

We arrived in St. Louis at dusk. During the 40-minute layover, I disembarked the train and stood on the platform watching the city fade into the night. Sitting on the west bank of the Mississippi River was the Gateway Arch, the tallest stainless steel monument in the world. It celebrates the explorers who opened up the western territory – Thomas Jefferson, Livingston and Monroe, and Lewis and Clark. It was different from other architectural icons in big cities. It did not point to the sky or span a body of water. It arched from and to the ground.

Shortly after pulling out of St. Louis I heard a couple that looked to be in their early fifties, talking. The wife said in a stilted voice, “Who is winning the Cardinals baseball game tonight?” And Siri, Apple iPhone’s personal voice assistant, responded in her robotic monotone, “The Atlanta Braves are winning 4 to 3 in the bottom of the fifth inning.” A minute later, her husband asked, “Who is pitching for the Cardinals?” Siri gave him the answer. Who says three’s a crowd?

Amtrak Texas Eagle view of Gateway Arch on Mississippi River

Gateway Arch on the bank of Mississippi River

Amtrak Texas Eagle arrives in St. Louis at dusk

Texas Eagle Passes Illinois Railroad Prairies

Posted on April 27, 2016April 27, 2016 by Mary Klest

Amtrak Texas Eagle, Train No. 21

Native plants grow alongside a railroad right of way in central Illinois

A landscape can flush out memories the same way an old familiar song does. It happened to me while traveling on Amtrak’s Texas Eagle train through central Illinois. I was a college student heading to school. I was a young editor reporting on railroad prairies – native plants growing along the ICG Railroad right of way. This land was not only familiar to me but to my ancestors who made a living tilling the soil, acre after flat acre. Like a river returning to its source, Illinois created a current inside of me.

I sat with this feeling for a while.

A few years ago, through a mindfulness class I attended, I learned to stop myself from ruminating. The reason I learned to stop was because ruminating gave me no advantage for appreciating what’s happening in the moment. For that reason, I let the memories go and gazed out at the landscape that presented itself to me on that day, on that train.

During mid spring before the crops have started their growth cycle, the view was equivalent to that of a teenager’s blank stare, as exciting as a pair of dormant brown corduroy pants. If there is not a color called dormant brown, I thought there should be.

My seatmate knew nothing about Illinois. He kept his attention on his laptop. He traveled by airplane from Minneapolis to Chicago to attend a business meeting. He was taking the train from Chicago to Bloomington where he would attend another meeting.

“I could have drove,” he said. “But taking the train I avoid a speeding ticket and I can work. Time is everything, you know.”

An efficient fellow he was. Sitting next to him felt awkward, like the pauses during a bad first date. My limbs tightened. He was wearing clear frame glasses, blue jeans, a sport jacket and a black & white checked shirt. His dark hair was properly cut and combed.

Wind farm in central Illinois.

I saw some tall white wind turbines in the distance turning their trinity of wings slowly in unison. They grew closer and more numerous as the train moved along its track. Illinois ranks fourth among U.S. states for installed wind turbine capacity. But what I was searching for was a field of blooming Prairie Trout Lily. Continue reading→

College Student Opts for Train During Spring Break

Posted on April 19, 2016May 31, 2016 by Mary Klest

The Cardinal, Train No. 51

Spring break is over and my seatmate, Tiquan, is taking the train from his home in New York City to his school in Hinton, West Virginia. He studies biology at Concord University in Athens and plays corner back on the University’s Mountain Lions football team. He had been playing for Wagner College in New York but things changed after his roommate invited him to visit Ocean City, Maryland.

WiFi and electrical outlets keep college students plugged in while on the train

Before I go on, here is a picture of Tiquan when I first sat down next to him on the train. Like many Millennials he’s plugged in and engaged with electronic devices. I sat quietly for ten minutes or so before noticing that the battery on my phone was low. I needed to reach over and plug my device into one of the onboard electrical outlets provided. Our conversation began this way:

“Excuse me. Can I plug my phone in here? My battery is low.”

“Sure, go ahead.” When he turned and smiled I could see he was of college age.

“Where are you going?” I asked. From then on we talked about college, New York, trains, football and oh, yes – the girl. He continued the story about visiting Ocean City and how he met a girl who changed his life.Continue reading→

Waiting for the Train and Lost Love

Posted on April 12, 2016January 10, 2017 by Mary Klest

Passenger at Charlottesville, VA train station

Paul waits at the Amtrak Charlottesville train station.

Charlottesville, VA to Chicago, Cardinal, Train No. 51

Paul was standing outside the Charlottesville Amtrak station waiting for the train when I met him. After visiting his son in Florida he was heading home to Charleston, West Virginia. He wore jeans, a light waist-length jacket, glasses and a cap that covered his white gray hair. His posture was bent forward in a slight hunch. He hoped to arrive home at 8:30pm.

“My ex-wife is going to pick me up and take me home,” he said.

“It’s nice to have that kind of relationship,” I responded.

“She’s mellowed out. It wasn’t always that way. I gave her the house and car.”

He told me they have three grown children and that he and his wife have been divorced for eight years.

“I should have waited it out. Two or three years and it would have worked out.”

I asked, “Why do you think that?”

“She joined the Wiccans. She thought she was a witch. Then she thought she was a psychic. I was going to church and she said I was crazy for going to church. I moved out and didn’t go back.”

I’m wondered why he would be revealing this information to me, a stranger at a train station. But a heavy heart needs to heave no matter where it’s traveling.

“It sounds like you still love her,” I hint. Continue reading→

A Musician and Self-Published Author Prefers Rail

Posted on April 8, 2016April 3, 2016 by Mary Klest

The Cardinal, Train No. 50

The giggling girls in the Café car are hairdressers from Charleston, West Virginia heading to the International Beauty Show in New York City. “What do you want to learn while there?” I ask.

“Just everything,” they squeal. “We want to see everything.”

Cafe car view from Amtrak Cardinal train

Orland in the Cafe car on the Cardinal heading to Charlottesville, Virginia.

A man to the left of me is gazing out the window but turns to see what the commotion is about. I throw a “Hello” his way and he catches it. He smiles, but waits a few minutes before talking with me. He is probably registering in his mind whether or not it is safe to talk with me. I am safe. I’m not going to judge him, or hush him, or tell him he’s ugly (he is not). On the train there isn’t much to lose during these chance encounters unless you are a very sensitive person. The upside is train travel camaraderie.

He’s a retired civil engineer who is spending his post work life developing his creative side. “I like playing music, writing songs and painting,” he says. “What do you do?”

“I’m a writer.” Most people follow up with a ‘What do you write?’ question but he says: “Oh, wait here. I have something.” He gets up and leaves. I sip my coffee and wonder what he is up to. In a few minutes he returns and slides a black soft cover book across the café car table. Ugh, a self-published author. I try not to judge.

“I’ve written three books. My brother has written six,” he says. That slide across the table has become familiar to me. The authors don’t ask a dime for their books. They just shove it towards you as if it were something as measly as a business card. Continue reading→

A Military Vet and His Dog Ride the Rails

Posted on April 6, 2016April 3, 2016 by Mary Klest

The Cardinal, Train No. 50

A few seats up from me sits Don and his border terrier service dog. He dips his nose down repeatedly to kiss the dog’s forehead. Don has maybe reached the age of 30. He tells me he is an army veteran who got his body blown up by an IED in Afghanistan in 2004. “It broke 18 of my bones. I have PTSD. When I get overexcited my dog calms me down,” he says while stroking the dog’s back. Don is traveling from Denver through Virginia to New York. “I can’t drive anymore. But I like trains. I love trains. I love riding trains,” he says in a rhythm that mimics the train’s rolling wheels.

Outside, the rushing white water of the New River in West Virginia meets a dam and flattens out to a still pool.

The Healer Finds Joy

Posted on April 4, 2016April 3, 2016 by Mary Klest

The Cardinal, Train No. 50

Amtrak Cardinal train enters the New River Gorge

View of the New River Gorge from Amtrak Cardinal train

While on the train I witness the seniority of the natural world. We pass through portions of the millions-of-years-old Blue Ridge and Allegheny Mountains, the New River Gorge and the Shenandoah Valley.

The New River is the second oldest river on the planet according to volunteer train narrator Al LaDriere. He asks: “Who knows what other characteristic makes this river different?”

“It flows north,” says my seatmate, Oksana. She’s right. She lived in this area since arriving from the Ukraine as a child. Now she lives in Durango, Colorado with her second husband. She is returning to Charlottesville to visit with her two boys, ages 18 and 20.

“I never would have guessed that about the river,” I tell her.

We get up out of our seats and cross the aisle for a better view of the ancient river’s rushing water. Oksana’s physical features remind me of a pencil. A pixie haircut surrounds her bony face and angular nose. Her eyes are expressive and penetrating. She tells me her first husband died. Her parents died. Her younger brother died. All of these encounters with death for a woman still in her thirties seemed as unlikely as a river flowing north.

Oksana’s life moved in another direction. She remarried and changed careers from being an antiques dealer to becoming a shamanic healer. She dedicates her time to helping people recover from trauma or the loss of a loved one. She has a studio in Durango and offers one-on-one long distance help via Skype.

Most of the sites on the Cardinal train route are familiar ground for Oksana but they are new to me. We enjoy being in this moment together, on the crest of mountains, watching the river snake through the passes, the train trusting its path.