11 March 2008

SBA > NOL

My train chronicle, from Sunday leaving Santa Barbara, til Tuesday nearing New Orleans.

I.
On the train now, running parallel to my favorite stretch of the PCH. I’ve driven it a hundred times, but have never seen it by train. The scenery’s not much different, it’s just that I’m not driving, as is usually the case.

Long week, this past. Finished working my temp job a week and a half ago, then went to Death Valley with Chris for a long weekend. 4 good days in the desert was enough to steel me to prepare for the move. A few weeks ago, someone suggested taking the train to NO, and at first blush it seemed completely implausible. As time wore on, however, the idea grew on me, and I started realizing I could make it happen. My ticket cost $138 with my AAA discount- that’s 3 days by train, Sunday morning at 9:30 until Tuesday at 4pm.

II.
Somewhere in the desert now. I met my neighbors, who are lovely, and who help break the trip up a bit. Jerry, from Tucson, seems to know everything about the train, and is an excellent ambassador for the Amtrak brand.

Feeling better after a snooze this afternoon. The week has been stressful and wearing. It’s good to sit back with my feet up and nothing to do.

The trouble with being on the train is never being sure of your exact location. We came upon such a beautiful valley, but I have no clue where it might be located on a map. I only know that it’s somewhere between Ontario and Palm Springs.

Nearing Palm Springs we’ve come upon fields of power-generating turbines.

My neighbors suggests that the fruits and veggies I’m carrying with me for snacks explains my attractive figure. I muse that living in southern California for too long warps a person’s good sense of body image.

I’m getting excited to make a new start. So much attention has gone to getting ready for the move, I’ve not thought much about arriving, and what comes next. But, here’s what I decided a few days ago whilst being gripped by the assumed futility of purging, organizing and packing my way-too-many belongings: deal with it as it comes. Now, I realize I already mentioned this idea, by way of AA reference in an earlier post. But the idea struck a note at exactly the right moment when I could apply it, right when I was feeling debilitated by the magnitude of the task at hand, as well as the myriad tasks to come, and once having applied the philosophy, I carried on, rather than turning unproductive circles, wondering where to begin. Not the most original idea, per se, but it’s been helpful in being prepared, on time, to get on the train and go.

III.
The sun just went down, and it’s a soft twilight over Palm Springs. I've tried to stare out the window for as long as possible, leaving until later the reading and other busy-ness that distracts from the lack of view out the dark window. The sunset is beautifully pastel, soft, with white fading to pink fading to blue.

IV.
It’s my first morning waking up on the train, and I actually feel like I slept pretty well. My seat mate disembarked in Tucson early this morning, leaving his seat for me to stretch out on. The seats are surprisingly comfortable, with a decent amount of leg room. I may treat myself to dinner this evening in the dining car, though I have quite enough food to sustain myself for the next day and a half.

I spent last night reading a travel guides about New Orleans. It strikes me, even just being on the train and seeing the people headed in the same direction, how very different a place I’m going to. It’s funny, I loved California when I got there, was always sort of in awe of it. I don’t know how or why or even when I got over it, because it was never a very forceful, obvious sense of not liking the place anymore. Maybe it was money, or wardrobe, or being brunette, or being more shapely than your average Cali girl, or living in a place as bucolic as Santa Barbara. It may have been all of it, or nothing. It seems I always felt just a bit out of place. It was beautiful, but I don’t think the stress was worth the beauty. A friend, who also travels, and is moving away from California, suggested that we’d been to far more beautiful places, where one can actually afford to live; that we knew there was more out there in the world to sequester ourselves in a place like California.

Other things, too. Like feeling isolated. Like not knowing very many people my age. Like feeling a bit old and ugly in a town like SB. Like worrying about money every spare minute. Like working my ass off for dodgy small-business owners. Like feeling stuck.

But good things, too. Like my boy, Chris, and friends Ale & Dada, Eric, & Claudia, Ruth & Sam, Deckhand Aaron, and the random people who’d come out of the woodwork just when I thought there wasn’t anyone authentic left to meet. Like driving home from work along the PCH as the sun sets. Like sitting on the beach, watching surfers in the afternoon. Like afternoon hikes. Like 80 degrees in February. Like riding my bike everywhere. Like seeing the Channel Islands in the distance. Like dolphins on the bow. Like sunrises on my way to school. Like all my stinky boys and my instructors.

Like having accomplished what I went there to do.

V.
Yesterday was 100% desert, but today I find myself in the swamp. My first sight out the window was of trees and swampy trenches along the side of the tracks, immediately followed a huge expanse of water on both sides, which turned out to be Lake Houston. It’s grey and cloudy here, which reminds me that other parts of the world have weather, unlike Santa Barbara. It looks like it just rained here perhaps, the trees have little green buds on them, There are puddles in the fields. It’s a good thing, I think. It was weird living in a place where the weather conditions never coincided with the season. For example, summer in SB was foggy, and kind of dismal; autumn was sunny and beautiful; winter was cooler, with rain sometimes, but also with 80-degree days; spring was… I’m not even sure. There was also a lot of sun, maybe a little too much sun. It’s exhausting when there’s so much sun, like you never have a reason to lay on the couch and read a book, or you always feel guilty about sitting around watching TV, because, even when the weather is bad, it’s never so bad that you’re forced to stay indoors (except for the 3 days a year when it rains). I don’t think I’ve made a very good argument here, but then again, I’ve only just woken up.

VI.
The train is quiet today. Only about 5 hours left to go now, as we are supposed to arrive in New Orleans on time. Per usual, I start to get a little uptight about the details and logistics of arriving: how to deal with all my luggage, will Rob be there to pick me up, will there be carts to move all my stuff around, etc.

I am getting a bit nervous, I guess. But then, I’m thinking too far ahead. If I focus on what’s happening only within the next few hours, I feel ok. If I think about the rest of the week, I get a knot in my stomach. Et voila, I’ll just focus on what’s happening now. There are fields and trees and lots of water around. When passing the water-filled trenches beside the tracks, I see disturbance at the surface, as if a fish has just nipped at an insect, or a gator has just submerged.

VII.
Passing through southern Louisiana now. Next stop is New Iberia, a town that is familiar to me because some of the diving companies are based here. It’s sort of the end of the world, mostly industrial, with trailer homes up on blocks scattered about. I kind of like these funny little towns.

I’m almost ready to be done with the train. The toilets are getting a bit funky at this point. I don’t think everyone knows how to locate the flush button (think of the toilets on airplanes).

For some reason, I’m finding a lot of solace in being back in the same time zone as friends and family. Strange I should find comfort in that, though it seems very strange not to have to recalculate the time at the location I’m calling.

VIII.
Getting very, very close now. Feeling nervous about arriving, but also excited. New Orleans is a city I’ve been to, that I even speculated would be fun to live in for a while. Something about its history interests me, I’m curious to explore the place, excited to start over again, to see how what I can find here.

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