April 16, 2016
Admittedly I am not the first to enjoy train travel, nor am I the first to write about it but here I am aboard again today.
Oh joy! Oh yay!
It is with a little bitter-sweetness that I ride the rails today because I have lost my co-conspirator, my partner in crime, my travel companion. I have lost her to work and to school and vacation depravity and all that adult-hood demands of her.
For 14 years my baby and I rode the rails together once a year to Montreal. We also enjoyed trains in the USA as well as in Europe.
Like peanut butter and jelly, like milk and cookies, like Bonnie and Clyde we belonged together.
I recall the great anticipation; making a list of snacks and games to accompany us was a treat all in itself and started weeks before our departure date!
Standing outside waiting in line in order to acquire two seats together we would huddle in the cold as this trip usually took place during winter school break where the train would finally appear; a large white snow-covered snake emerging from an icy glass forest reminiscent of Doctor Zhivago.
But… Once we stepped inside?
Sheer relaxation, quiet and companionship for the next 15 hours.
900 minutes of uninterrupted mother-daughter time. We would read magazines and color, play cards, play hangman and listen to music. Here a mountain, there the ocean, on the periphery curly blue smoke chimneys on bright red farm houses and everywhere a blanket of snow and green fir trees bending under the protective white powder.
After dinner in the dining car where we got to meet fellow travellers and learn about their journeys, we would lay back in our seats and settle in to sleep. Rocked by this rolling train, anticipating that long-awaited sunrise when we would pull into the station and my baby could run into her grandfather’s arms.