My husband and I recently fulfilled a lifelong dream for both of us: we rode the train from Chicago to Seattle, Washington.
Having done LA to Chicago in coach alone one dismal time, I knew we needed a sleeping compartment, so I set about researching. Both of us have physical limitations that don't exactly encourage climbing Amtrak stairways to the dining car or trying to board on our own without assistance, so I ended up purchasing tickets for 2 disabled individuals in what Amtrak refers to as a "Family Bedroom". Per the available literature, it comfortably holds 2 adults and 2 children, with berths for each. Size looked great, as the compartment is as wide as the rail car itself, and had more leg room than we thought we'd encounter in a roomette.
We were aboard, and the room on #7 westbound was nice. Blankets were immediately provided as were a bunch of pillows for those of us who like to kick back. My hubby sat on the side of the car with an optional seat facing him so he could stretch out his legs; I opted for the adult lower berth being made up at night and having my feet on the long seat between us during the day. Because of our disabilities, our meals were served in our compartment; we had only to consult the menu and let the attendant know our choices and it appeared. The ride was smooth and scenery from North Dakota westward breathtaking.
However, if you are a person of size: do NOT attempt to make a last-second run to the restroom down the hall. You get in, you lock the door, then dance the dance of the damned as you try to assume the position in a lavatory smaller than my linen closet. Mission accomplished, one must then decide which way is up: flush first facing that ferocious commode, or wriggle around the other way to rearrange one's clothing before making the 180 again to flush. We are still finding new bruises to our bodies from lavatory use.
There is a shower available in each sleeper car. Prudently, we had pre-determined not to shower on the train but tough it out for the 46 hours to Seattle or Chicago. Flighty and compulsive as I am, I decided to have a shower our first night out of Seattle on #8 headed home.
Lawdy, lawdy! The seat for use while disrobing, etc., was stacked to my shoulder height with bundles of towels in plastic. They slide, by the way, when you touch them or the train moves jerkily. There was one clothing hook for my sweats; I think I dropped my dirty undies into the trash inadvertently no less than 3 times, and there was no real shelf space for one's toiletries like deodorant, hairbrush, etc.
So I carefully tiptoe into the generously-sized shower stall (that's true!) and attempt to adjust the water. One is blasted in water you feel has come off the glacier outside the train in one second to the chef's boiling kettle in the next. Washing up, holding on, and watching the rising water level in the stall at my feet is a skill set that I never learned before, but I don't choose to learn now.
Water off, curtain clipped back, fight for those slippery towels. I'm sorry, my bare feet weren't going on the floor, so I used 3 towels total - one for the floor, one for my hair, and one to quickly dry my body now quivering with the motion of the train. Sorry, Amtrak!
Nowhere to sit, as noted earlier, so one has very limited choices when it comes to dressing: try to get enough clothing on to appear decently in the hallway back to the compartment and finish dressing there, or duke it out with your undies and garments in the humid, tiny space. A true confession: I threw my sweats back on and hauled my undies and everything else with me back to my room. Burst through the door and as my husband looked up, I yelled, "Commando!"
One last thing I didn't mention but must for comedic effect: there is a luggage storage area between the compartments and the rest rooms. As I did my best to fly down that hallway half-dressed in the swaying train, a huge black upright suitcase on 4 wheels sashayed out of the storage area and into my path. The NHL could use me with the body check I threw into that thing.
None of the above is intended as criticism. It is pure either-I-laugh-or-I-cry farce. Trust me, I will never shower on Amtrak again!!
Happy rails to you!
No comments:
Post a Comment