The three biggest lessons learned from my latest train journey:
1. There is one hell of a lot of Upstate New York. Obvious, I know, but I don't think the whole thing is really properly expressed on maps. It's only driving or riding across it that you finally realize, my God, there's a lot of this place. And not much in it. It was simply hour after hour after hour of riding across what looked suspiciously like snow-swept tundra, only with more trees in, with the occasional stop in places with names like Rensselaer and Syracuse and Schenectady, the last of which I thought was just a name Harlan Ellison made up. But mostly it was empty. Empty and big.
2. No train ever gets in on time. I took two trains, one from Toronto to New York City and one from NYC to Greensburo, NC, where my parents picked me up, and both were over two hours late. This meant I spent 17 hours on the first train (see? I told you there was a lot of upstate New York) and 14 on the second, for a grand total of 31 hours sitting on my ass wondering nervously if I dared buy something else from the cafe car. I'll say this for BritRail, they might not be any more timely than Amtrak, but at least they didn't actively try to poison me and then overcharge me ridiculously for the priviledge. Many many Walkman batteries gave their lives in preservation of my sanity.
3. New York is just like any other city, only bigger. Admittedly, I did not see much of New York, only those bits that lay between Penn Station and the hostel where I snuck my measily four and a half hours of sleep. And when I say any other city, I don't mean any in Canada or New Zealand, because it wasn't clean enough. And all the potential thieves, muggers, rapists, beggars, drug dealers, and crazies that I was warned to expect might well have been scared off by the sheer amount of luggage they would have had to peel off in order to rape, mug, or beg money from the actual human being underneath (I was carrying Clute's Encyclopedia of Science Fiction, which I will hold up to the old trustworthy Bible for a bullet-stopper any day, assuming you'd want to walk around with the thing strapped to your chest, or that you could without, you know, falling over)... but still. As usual, the hyperbole of danger has failed to manifest itself in reality. Someday I will go back and explore that city further, and hopefully with less luggage.
And, in a final point (oh, come on, you didn't think I was going to stick with that three thing, did you?): People who sing along to songs they are listening to on headphones should be shot. Especially on trains. Thank you.
But I am home, safe, sound, and relatively sane, back to my chore-ridden, central-heat-less, 28.8-modem-connection existance, returning to my house of limited indoor plumbing and, courtesy my brother's departure two weeks ago, no food or toilet paper.
On the bright side, my dog was happy to see me, and I have my Mac back. No offense to all the lovely computers that have lent themselves to me on my journey, of course, but to have a computer with decent graphics which isn't forcing me to use Microsoft Word is bliss, bliss, bliss.
Really it's only the loneliness I mind.
Well, I suppose I shall round off the post with some linkage. First off, Making Light has posted a really nifty review of anti-Bush advertisments online. I'd add my two cents, but, well, 28.8 connection. Bah humbug.
And I feel in an obscure way that I should link to this. We've been friends of the family for 16 years now, and I even knew the father (the artist described in the article) somewhat, although generally he was only ever in the house because it happened to be on the way to his studio, and he died when I was still quite young. Both boys, however, are longtime friends, and the artwork is... strange. Makes you look at the world sideways.
The RSS feed, by the way, would appear to be broken. Sigh. It's on the list, right after unpacking and getting rid of the moldy oranges in the fridge.
Right now, I need to do some shopping - because sooner or later, I'm going to need to eat. And use the bathroom.
1. There is one hell of a lot of Upstate New York. Obvious, I know, but I don't think the whole thing is really properly expressed on maps. It's only driving or riding across it that you finally realize, my God, there's a lot of this place. And not much in it. It was simply hour after hour after hour of riding across what looked suspiciously like snow-swept tundra, only with more trees in, with the occasional stop in places with names like Rensselaer and Syracuse and Schenectady, the last of which I thought was just a name Harlan Ellison made up. But mostly it was empty. Empty and big.
2. No train ever gets in on time. I took two trains, one from Toronto to New York City and one from NYC to Greensburo, NC, where my parents picked me up, and both were over two hours late. This meant I spent 17 hours on the first train (see? I told you there was a lot of upstate New York) and 14 on the second, for a grand total of 31 hours sitting on my ass wondering nervously if I dared buy something else from the cafe car. I'll say this for BritRail, they might not be any more timely than Amtrak, but at least they didn't actively try to poison me and then overcharge me ridiculously for the priviledge. Many many Walkman batteries gave their lives in preservation of my sanity.
3. New York is just like any other city, only bigger. Admittedly, I did not see much of New York, only those bits that lay between Penn Station and the hostel where I snuck my measily four and a half hours of sleep. And when I say any other city, I don't mean any in Canada or New Zealand, because it wasn't clean enough. And all the potential thieves, muggers, rapists, beggars, drug dealers, and crazies that I was warned to expect might well have been scared off by the sheer amount of luggage they would have had to peel off in order to rape, mug, or beg money from the actual human being underneath (I was carrying Clute's Encyclopedia of Science Fiction, which I will hold up to the old trustworthy Bible for a bullet-stopper any day, assuming you'd want to walk around with the thing strapped to your chest, or that you could without, you know, falling over)... but still. As usual, the hyperbole of danger has failed to manifest itself in reality. Someday I will go back and explore that city further, and hopefully with less luggage.
And, in a final point (oh, come on, you didn't think I was going to stick with that three thing, did you?): People who sing along to songs they are listening to on headphones should be shot. Especially on trains. Thank you.
But I am home, safe, sound, and relatively sane, back to my chore-ridden, central-heat-less, 28.8-modem-connection existance, returning to my house of limited indoor plumbing and, courtesy my brother's departure two weeks ago, no food or toilet paper.
On the bright side, my dog was happy to see me, and I have my Mac back. No offense to all the lovely computers that have lent themselves to me on my journey, of course, but to have a computer with decent graphics which isn't forcing me to use Microsoft Word is bliss, bliss, bliss.
Really it's only the loneliness I mind.
Well, I suppose I shall round off the post with some linkage. First off, Making Light has posted a really nifty review of anti-Bush advertisments online. I'd add my two cents, but, well, 28.8 connection. Bah humbug.
And I feel in an obscure way that I should link to this. We've been friends of the family for 16 years now, and I even knew the father (the artist described in the article) somewhat, although generally he was only ever in the house because it happened to be on the way to his studio, and he died when I was still quite young. Both boys, however, are longtime friends, and the artwork is... strange. Makes you look at the world sideways.
The RSS feed, by the way, would appear to be broken. Sigh. It's on the list, right after unpacking and getting rid of the moldy oranges in the fridge.
Right now, I need to do some shopping - because sooner or later, I'm going to need to eat. And use the bathroom.
posted at 01:03 PM on 01/15/04
by kat -
Category: Place
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