On the Way to Vermont
I love Amtrak. I love not having to drive. I love the forced leisure of the hours spent alone with snacks and book. I love the gentle rocking of the cars, the chuffing of the motor, and the scenery scrolling past: urban back-lots to prim Connecticut villages to, just an hour or so ago, birch trees and the snow line. I like sitting in the cafe car and talking to people. A woman who just came back from an eco-tour in Costa Rica with her two granddaughters. She seemed put out by everything but agreed that the train is nice. A conductor sitting back there in the corner, explaining that we are having to slow down so much because, “in this country right now,” investing in transportation isn’t something that the people in power are interested in. “We need new rail,” he said, and: “in every other country in the world, the rail system is run by the government…and that’s good.”
As always when I go on trips through rural areas like this, I wish that I were a highly skilled photographer so I could drive around for months, making a book of photos on the squalid splendor of the decaying Northeast.
Image: Joseph A/Flickr
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