Mom-cation, Day 1: Traveling Light

“I feel like I’m forgetting something”, I said to Mama last night while packing and surrounded by duffel bags, carry-on bags, toiletry bags, and four days worth of clean laundry (mostly mine). Doing a mental inventory of the requisite big ticket items (Lili delivered safely to Nana and Pa-Pa’s-check. Naughtiest of the three pooches frolicking in the Florida Room of Downtown Dogs-check. Knee-high boots, ankle boots, and 3-inch black heels-check), I chalked up my pre-travel premonition to standard packing anxiety. Until, of course, we were well aboard the Amtrak Empire Builder, chugging alongside the frozen, choppy waters of the Mississippi, and I realized I neglected to pack the USB cord for my camera. Ah, yes. That sounds about right. So while the sounds of our mini-adventure east are readily available, the sights may arrive post-script (which is really unfortunate, because Mama is currently sprawled out next to me, glasses askew and mouth agape, providing the perfect photo opportunity to document our weary travels).

The first thing I noticed this morning upon arrival at the St. Paul Amtrak station (which, besides the slightly disturbing fact that the waiting room hasn’t changed since the last time I was there, approximately 1987) were the two Amish men pacing anxiously in front of the sliding doors to the train. It was about 19 degrees out, and they weren’t wearing anything other than standard black Amish blazer-that-isn’t-really-a-blazer, and didn’t appear to have luggage, so I assumed that they were simply meeting someone on the early morning train arriving from Portland. That is, until we boarded and made our way to the dining car, where it quickly became apparent that two of the three train cars were occupied predominantly by Amish men, women, and children, complete with overwhelmingly large black hats for the men, and modest bonnets for the women and children. Secretly, I find Amish communities fascinating and couldn’t help but wonder where they were headed in such a large, yet surprisingly inconspicuous, group. Milwaukee? Chicago? Some other unheard of and fiercely well-protected Midwestern Amish gathering spot? And, more importantly, did they feel conflicted about leaving their horses behind and hopping aboard a train? Mama suggested that perhaps they had updated their bylaws to include train travel (although I would suspect that planes are still out of the question).

Amtrak dining cars are something of a nightmare for the typical Midwesterner (“Hi, Mama!”) since, more often than not, the dining car is full for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and couples are often paired up together in order to save space and keep the proverbial line moving. Clearly, Amtrak is no stranger to “Minnesota nice”, since the dining car manager made it a point to announce over the loud speaker pre-meal(s), “Please remember that you may be asked to share a table and potentially make eye contact with strangers while enjoying your eggs and bacon”. Thankfully, we were seated with a very nice elderly couple from Portland who were on their way to Chicago to spend Christmas with their daughter, a professionally singer who had difficulty getting away during the holidays. Best of all, they gave us the skinny on a Greek restaurant worth trying. Greek Islands, here we come!

Other Day 1 travel highlights include:

• Miss Oliver, the singing snack bar barista, who began everyone PA announcement regarding the train’s microwave snack supply with a show tune.
• Wisconsin Dells, where we were temporarily suspended on a railroad bridge above the Mississippi and privy to a spectacular view of the Torture Museum and a billboard advertisement for “Wisconsin Dolls”. Because, really, nothing says “family fun” like pasties and stretching racks.
• The 20-somethings we parked next to upon arrival at the Amtrak Station, who were blasting Jay-Z and smoking pot before their own mini-adventure through Wisconsin. They spent the majority of the train ride vacillating between the dining car and staging impromptu pillow fights in the Coach section.
• Multiple skeins of yarn, and a leisurely afternoon with which to tackle them.
• Mary, our 40-something waitress at Hackney’s, who gave us her cell phone number and a promise to research reputable gay bars in the area (and hopefully within walking distance of our hotel). Welcome to Chicago, indeed!