It turns out that everything my son knows about riding on a train comes from Harry Potter. When he found out that my mom, daughter, and I were going to take a train to Chicago for Emily’s “Hooray, You Graduated From High School!” trip, his first question was whether we’d be able to buy food off of a trolley as Harry, Ron, and Hermione did. Then he (jokingly) requested that my mom take a photo of us running into the wall at Platform 9 3/4.
This is my daughter’s first train ride ever, my first trip on a train in the United States, and my mom’s first US train since she was 10 — when she rode with my Grandpa (who was a lawyer for the railroad at the time) to California, and played hide-and-seek with him in the Omaha train station. Needless to say, we are all pretty jazzed for this journey. (Ugh, is it just me, or has reality TV completely ruined the word “journey?”)
My first train travel happened when I was in London for a semester abroad my junior year of college. My friend Corrine (a costume designer) and I decided we wanted to see more of Europe. She wanted to go to Hungary and I was going to explore Wales with my mom, so we agreed to meet in Prague on December 18th. Keep in mind this is 1996: no cell phones. I made plans to somehow meet my friend in Eastern Europe on a agreed-upon date, without any way to get ahold of each other if travel plans went awry. Oh, to be young and confidently ignorant (ignorantly confident?)!
My mom dropped me off at the train station in London, where I purchased a ticket to Prague. I understood this journey to be nonstop, one train, 24 hours in duration. Imagine my surprise when I was told I had to get off the train somewhere in Germany (I have no memory of where!) and board another train 3 hours later! I was stuck in a German train station in the middle of the night. I had no Deutschmarks (this was pre-Euro) and the exchange booths were closed, so I could not buy anything to eat from the vending machines. Oh, and the bathrooms only had pay toilets.
I was becoming increasingly anxious about meeting Corrine, seeing as I had an unexpected layover (wait, what do you call it when it is train travel?) and would not be arriving when I had said I would. What the heck was I going to do if she wasn’t there when I arrived???
Eventually, I did board a train to Prague. I was no longer surrounded by any English speakers, and the train was packed. It was night time, and everyone was sleeping — I managed to pass out for a while as well (with my legs on top of my pack — totally paranoid) until we were suddenly woken by officers asking to see our passports and tickets. Eastern Europe is no joke, folks.
When I finally disembarked into a sea of humanity — all of whom spoke Czech or maybe German but certainly not English — I was shocked and relieved to see the curly, red mane of Corrine bopping through the crowd! She had already procured a bed-sit for us (oof, that’s another story) and we had a wonderful time exploring what quickly became my favorite city in the world.
After a few days, we boarded the train — together, thank goodness — headed to Berlin. It was an uneventful 4-hour trip, and we arrived unscathed. After a whirlwind, 36-hour, self-created tour of Berlin — accompanied by a solo traveler from New Zealand who knew as much German as I did (i.e. 2 years in high school) — we were back on the train for a 7-hour trek to Amsterdam.
The plan was to spend Christmas in Amsterdam, so we were traveling on December 23… which just so happens to be Corrine’s birthday. I was concerned it would be a bummer of a day for her — the train was so crowded at the start that we were sitting on our packs in the aisles!
I should probably mention that I wore a baseball hat throughout this adventure. Not just any baseball cap, mind you, but a Grand Rapids Football cap that my dad had sent overseas with my mom for me. Showers were few and far between when you’re living the Student Hostel Life, and the hat was a welcome cover for my greasy head of hair. Why is this cap detail important? Well, as I was perched on my pack on this crowded train to Amsterdam, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to find a woman looking at me, somewhat uncertainly: “You’re from Grand Rapids?” “Yes…” I replied. “Grand Rapids, Minnesota?” she verified (since we are very often confused with Michigan) and I confirmed. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “I’m from Hibbing!” I was not quite as surprised as you might expect by this revelation; my family has a tendency to run into Minnesotans in all corners of the globe. However, it was fun to chat with someone from “back home,” and I was grateful to my dad for my identifying chapeau.
Eventually the train population thinned out, and Corrine and I were able to get seats. I pulled out a box of matches I acquired from a small, Czechoslovakian pub, struck it, and serenaded Corrine with “Happy Birthday.” Sure, it wasn’t the most exciting birthday she’d ever had, but I think it was memorable!
My next train adventure would be 3 years later, when my parents took my brother and me to Norway. We had been contacted by a young man who had discovered that his dad and mine were third cousins, so we headed over to meet some newly-found family, and to tour the Land of Saxhaugs.
Part of the trip was an all-day train ride from Oslo to Bergen. It began the portion of the trip I’m calling, “Tim Beats Susie In Gin Repeatedly.” On the train across the barrens of the Planet Hoth, at a picnic table waiting for a ferry tour of the fjords, on the ferry on the fjords… I am not sure I even beat him once. It was a humbling experience.
I am a fan of train travel. Unlike plane travel, you get to see the land between your starting point and your destination, and it’s an awe-inspiring reminder about the vastness of our world. It does take time, but if you can handle motion while you read/chat/sleep/write, you might very well enjoy it.
Mom, Em, and I recommend you bring your own snacks.
Thanks for reading.
Love, Susie
