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| Waiting for the Sunset Limited at Lafayette, La. |
“There is no security here at night after 10:30,” she informed me. Following her gaze toward the entrance to the Transit Center, I saw what appeared to be a number of loiterers. I felt a little uneasy in this parking lot at 11:30 a.m.
“These trains are late a lot, and sometimes they are up to 16 or more hours late and come in here in the middle of the night,” she continued.
“What about parking garages?” I asked. “Are there any close by?”
“They’re too far away to carry your luggage,” she answered. “And this not a safe area at night.”
“Are the taxis here at night?”
“No.” she replied. “And if you call one, they may or may not show up. So many times, bus passengers have called a taxi, thinking their ride wasn’t going to show up. Then their ride gets here before the taxi, and the taxi driver is left high and dry. And if they do come, it could be an hour after you call. You can’t depend on them at night.”
After driving more than 700 miles from our home in Tennessee, my husband, 15-year-old son and 12-year-old daughter had just arrived at the Transit Center in Lafayette, La., to board a train for our first long distance Amtak trip. This was an unstaffed station that only opened for about an hour for departures and arrivals. We had just gotten into town after spending the previous night with friends near Laurel, Miss. We still had about three hours to wait for the train.
We were expecting adventure on the trip but not before boarding the train.
The area around the station did not look safe at mid day. I wondered if we should just turn around and go home.
During the trip planning I had called the airport for information about parking and shuttle service. Parking was available there for a daily fee, as well as shuttle service. We headed over to the airport, which was close by and easy to find. At the shuttle service office, we learned that pick-up was available 24 hours a day. When I explained to the young woman there about the possibility of a late train arrival, she contacted the owner. He gave us his card and said to call on our return trip when we reached a certain town, and the shuttle would be waiting for us, regardless of the hour.
Suddenly, it seemed like we had been rescued by a “Good Samaritan.” The owner also discounted the shuttle rate for us, and then offered to take us somewhere to eat before returning to the station. After we arrived back at the station, he made sure it was unlocked before dropping us off. He told us he provided this same service regularly to some local Jesuits who came in from trips on late buses. The airport parking and shuttle were unplanned expenses but provided much peace of mind.
***
The air conditioned waiting room provided welcoming relief from the sweltering late June heat. A few loiterers were sitting in the small room, making for an uncomfortable presence for me, especially the one who kept staring at us and our luggage.
A tall elderly man walked over and asked my husband how far we were going on the train. He told him we were going to California. The man said he was returning to his home in Oceanside, Calif., after attending the funeral of his son-in-law, who had been killed on an oil rig in Louisiana. He also mentioned he was 85 years old and loved to travel by train.
A few minutes later, a middle-age black couple entered the waiting room. The wife told me she had just called “Julie,” the automated Amtrak agent, and that our train, Sunset Limited, was running about 20 minutes late. She told me that she and her husband, a minister in Baton Rouge, were traveling to Los Angeles to attend a family reunion. She and her husband would be returning on the same train the same date as we were. This was a pleasant surprise. Now I knew we would not be the only passengers getting off at this station on the return trip.
As we continued chatting, we heard a train whistle. All seven of us went out on the platform and watched as a freight train rolled by. It wasn’t long before we heard another whistle, and this train slowed to a stop. The minister’s wife told me that she and her husband were going to get seats on the lower level where immobile passengers and others with special needs usually ride. She said they wanted to help look after those passengers.
An attendant stepped off onto the platform and took our tickets. We followed her to the upper level, where she showed us to two pairs of seats on the right side of the train. She put two tags above our seats that read “Los Angeles.” All of our luggage fit into the bins above our seats. On the floor, I found room for the cooler I had brought, containing soft drinks, water, my favorite yogurt, homemade muffins and other snacks. Additional water, soft drinks and snacks were packed in our luggage.
I asked if any bedrooms were still available and the attendant shook her head “no.”
“They’re all sold out, “ she said. “We have two large groups traveling on this train from New Orleans to Los Angeles. One group is going to a wedding and the other one to a family reunion.”
As we settled into our deep blue seats, I was surprised at how big and comfortable they were. They were designed like huge recliners with all the positioning options. I was glad I had kept my lightweight track suit on in spite of the heat in Lafayette. The air conditioning was very cool, but not uncomfortably cool. In a few minutes, I would go in search of the snack bar and a cup of coffee. But for now, I just wanted to settle back in my traveling recliner and watch the Cajun country go by.
***
As the train clickity clacked at a leisurely pace toward Texas, our attendant made her way through the car, stopping at each seat to take dinner reservations in the dining room. When she stopped at our seats, our kids took one look at the menu and said they wanted to eat in the snack bar. Eating in the dining room is considered part of the train experience, but my husband and I decided to eat with our kids from the snack bar.
Although there were several kids riding in our car, someone joked that it could be called the “quiet car.” At this point in the trip, nearly all the kids were fully engrossed in the tech toys they had brought along. A few babies were riding in the adjoining car, and all of them were peaceful. Many of the couples riding with us were middle aged. One gentleman said he was 83 and still working as an architect. A builder in the adjoining car joined him for a few minutes for a conversation about building trades. In the back of our car, several young men were riding together. One of them was a Larry the Cable Guy look-a-like, complete with the button front shirt and cut-off sleeves. He also had a black-eye and slightly puffy face. Whatever had caused this was not a problem on the train. He and his friends were very quiet.
We had boarded the train at 4:15 p.m. and by 5 p.m. some passengers were heading to the dining room for the early reservations. Walking through the cars for the first time was not that difficult, although some passengers would grab the backs of seats as they walked. We quickly learned how to open the doors between cars to get to the snack bar. Steps at the front of our car led to the lower level where the restrooms and dressing room were located. This was another benefit of riding on a train. If you got tired of sitting, you could take a little walk.
My first cup of Amtrak coffee (learned later that it was Green Mountain Coffee, although currently another organic coffee brand is served on board) more than met my high standards, and I was pleased to find the snack bar menu had a varied selection–pizza, assorted sandwiches and even kosher (Hebrew) hot dogs, chips, ice cream, pastries and beverages.
A congenial and peaceful atmosphere settled over our car. It wasn’t long before the train rolled into St. Charles, La., and stopped at the station there. St. Charles was very interesting, where we caught glimpses of ships and oil rigs. And then we were in Orange, Texas, where we would begin more than 900 miles of travel across the state of Texas. It was dusk when the train stopped at Beaumont. After picking up a few passengers there, the train rolled slowly by a baseball park, and we could see a game in progress under the bright lights of the field.
A freight train was having problems ahead of us, so the Sunset took a different route into Houston, which put us about three hours behind. Pillows were passed out to everyone in our car, and the lights were dimmed. Some passengers closed the curtains at their seats. I left mine open. After we finally got into Houston, about 11 p.m., more passengers took the few remaining seats in our car. When the train left Houston, it picked up speed and the sound from the tracks became quite noisy. The conductor and car attendant made frequent trips back and forth, walking at a brisk pace. But these were the only sounds of the night. I didn’t hear any of the babies crying or loud snoring from the adults. It wasn’t long before I fell asleep in my fully reclined seat.
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