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Arrivals: Travel Goals
When the plane takes off from American soil, I always release a big sigh. It finally sinks in that I am going on an adventure. This trip I was especially ready to release pre-trip tension. We flew through Atlanta on the day hurricane Helene hit Florida. The airport was pounded with steady rain and high winds in the surrounding airspace. Our flight was delayed by over three hours and I was pretty certain we would be stuck in a flooded city.
Equally appealing was flying out of an incoming hurricane zone. Hard to know what outcome to wish for in this scenario, but the flight was not cancelled. When we finally were allowed to board something was wrong with an aircraft door and we waited another 30 minutes for it to be fixed. All the while, the hurricane was inching closer and the rain was picking up. (Just in case you are wondering, these are perfect conditions for a person with travel anxiety to spiral. Luckily, I know a lot of self-regulation techniques so on the outside I look calms and collected.) I was sure we would never leave, but eventually 3.5 hours after our expected departure (around midnight), wheels left the tarmac. We ascended through really bumpy air. Everyone including flight attendants were required to remain seated until we were almost to Nova Scotia.
9 hours, a few movies, a nap, and two icky airplane meals later…we touched down in Milan. A quick walk across the airport through a fast moving customs line and we were in baggage claim. My suitcase was sopping wet! Perhaps they left it out in the rain on the tarmac for the three hours we waited for the plane. Hurricane Helene had far reaching effects.
Next, a walk back across the entire airport to the rental car office. It was really hot in the tiny office. The sales attendant moved at a snail’s pace. Since we had pre-reserved and pre-paid, we aren’t sure what took so long, nor are we sure why they wanted to double the cost for two drivers since we had requested two at booking. Not wanting to double our cost, my husband won designated driver status for the month. I was Italy with a handsome chauffeur, every girl’s dream!
The drive from Milan Malpensa airport to the town of Lesa took about an hour. We skirted the Ticino River until we reached the shores of Lake Maggiore. I was tired and just looked at the passing scenery. The road most of way was lined with houses and strip malls. As designated navigator, I had to anticipate the twists and turns that navigated us onto a new road. Meanwhile my husband was learning how to drive a stick shift (toy sized) car through round abouts, over speed bumps, and through traffic. Italian drivers are aggressive, love to speed, and have no problem creating their own lanes. Motorcycles pass all cars in the middle of the road. Gangs of bicyclists take over the right hand side of roads and frequently spread across the entire lane. Nevertheless, we arrived in one piece to be greeted by our host.
Our Italian house was quaint and already felt like home. With three bedrooms, a kitchen, living room, two baths, and a patio; we are living in Italian style. We got a quick tour and lessons on how to use the heating/cooling and how to separate trash. There are five different bins and a lot of local rules.
We deliberately chose a typical local house in a non-tourist neighborhood. While it will only be a month, we want to experience Italian living. Our host returns, quite concerned that we may have five people in the house at some point. He has only laid out towels for four. I think to myself that four towels will need to washed several times before our guests even arrive at the end of the month. I don’t understand the concern, but he fusses about having to provide another set of towels. In the guest room, one cabinet is secured with a bicycle style locking bolt around the closet handles. He used a key to unlock the closet and reluctantly handed a thin stack of bath towel, hand towel, and bidet (or what my sister in law calls the “booty”) towel to me for inspection. They are old and stiff. He indicated that we may have to pay extra for the use of the towels. I said okay and wished him a good day. There was no need for stress over a towel, and I was really wanting him to leave so I could unpack.
After he left, we did a quick inspection of our house. We each claimed closets and bathrooms, and everything was settled in short order. We needed to stay awake to fight jet lag. We also needed to get groceries. So we braved the Italian Supermercado. Pastry, Pasta, Wine…oh my. Cheese, pork, fresh veggies…all at prices that make me wonder what is wrong with America.
We had now been awake for much of the last 38 hours, and I was running out of steam. We make dinner (fresh pasta and bakery shop cannolis). I took a hot bath and put on my very damp sleep shirt (thanks to the hurricane soaked suitcase). We sat down to watch a movie and I promptly fell asleep on the couch. It was clearly time to call arrival day a success and finally go to bed.
Buona Sera!
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And So It Begins: Travel Goals
Travel is an intentional act to get out of your comfort zone and encounter new experiences. What makes it thrilling and satisfying is also what can make it stressful. While planning our latest adventure, I discovered the video feature of this platform. I have no desire to be an “influencer”, if I’m honest I don’t even understand the concept. But I do like to watch travel posts and I will happily look at anyone’s vacation photos. So for this trip, I will be posting a few videos and writing about our experiences.
To break the ice, let me introduce travel mode me…..at 6:00 am …..doing what I always do. I can’t sleep. I check and recheck our travel route, connecting flights, and airport maps. I can’t control the weather or airlines operations, but having a little knowledge of options if I need a plan a, b, or c is how my extreme type a personality copes with the total lack of control that comes with air travel. I have also decided just to share my travel day anxiety. It makes no sense and I can’t control it, but it doesn’t stop me.
When I get a text it is time to check in online, I still get a knot in my stomach. The process has gotten so much easier over the years, since the days of hand entering passport information only to be told there was a problem and check in couldn’t be completed online (that used to ensure no sleep). I had already uploaded my passport shortly after we purchased tickets, so with my trusty iPhone, I got us all checked in on the airline app within minutes. A few clicks while sitting in my car between meetings and we are good to go. Now I only have to worry about hurricane Helene staying away from our connecting airport (Atlanta), we should be on track for a good flight. Leave it to us to pick a route flying into a hurricane the day it makes landfall.
Throughout the night, we got weather alerts about the hurricane’s potential effects. Oddly the Atlanta airport does not have alerts for our travel date…only the day after. So we will not be changing our flights and hoping for the best. Yikes!
After a brief bit of confusion where my husband thought our flight was at 2:00 pm based on the original ticket and I knew it was at 1:00 because I obsessively check the updates, we made it to the airport without incident. Other than me assuming he was procrastinating on purpose to make a point, and he assuming that I wanted to leave an hour early, which we cleared up on the drive, we had no issues getting to the airport. The late start (for me), made me anxious, but we arrived with plenty of time to spare.
The big excitement occurred on the shuttle from the parking lot to the terminal. Our driver stopped to see if a man parked next to the fence needed help or to be picked up. He was parked sideways where there was clearly no spot. When the driver stopped to see if he needed help, the man came to the door of the shuttle and said, “I need to use the bathroom”. The shuttle driver politely told him there was not a bathroom in that area. The man replied, “I know, I am making one.” He then proceeded to pee on the fence. Who does that in a busy airport lot? Crazy times in America. It might be good that we are leaving the country.
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Skunked
Friday started out normally. I had laundry running and was packing for an upcoming trip. As I moved from room to room, I caught whiffs of an unusual odor. I kept working.
There was a heat wave, with temperatures reaching 100 and I wasn’t too keen on working outside in between my zoom calls and usual paperwork. Yard work was calling but I wasn’t answering . So instead, I decided to pack for a trip weeks away. Some call it avoidance…. I call it preparation.
With each trip to the closet the smell grew more pronounced. Finally, I realized that it smelled like marijuana of the variety that you encounter drifting out of cars or rolling off of jackets of people you pass on the street. Confused I walked to the opposite end of the house where my husband was dealing with household paperwork.
“Our bedroom smells like weed.” I announced. He looked up and said “well what have you been doing back there”. Very funny. After I finally convince him there is an issue he comes back to my closet and concludes, “yep, it smells like weed”.
Puzzled, we both search for the cause and come up empty. A little later, taking out the trash through the laundry room, we open the door to our garage and are knocked over by SKUNK. Not a little skunk, but full bore, eye watering, gagging SKUNK!
Not knowing where the skunk is and not being able to see under cars or behind the freezer, we quickly opened the garage door and went back inside. At least we knew where the smell was coming from. The garage shares an interior wall with our bedroom.
Later in the day my husband searched the garage and came up empty, thankfully. We hoped the skunk had wandered away, but the smell did not abate as it should. A few hours later he came in from the garage and announced that he had found the skunk. Pepe Le Pew appeared to be sleeping on the floor of our tool room which is attached to our garage. I imagine that the dark tool room with its cool concrete floor was appealing in the heat. Why the door was open is still a mystery, but there it was. A black and white stink bomb sprawled in my house.
We decided to leave the door open and hope he went away on his own instead of telling his friends and bringing them in for a house party. But, in the morning he hadn’t moved. He was poked and prodded (with a very long pole) but no movement. We had a dead skunk in our house.
My husband had to leave to work at a football game that had conveniently been rescheduled for that morning due to storms. It was just me and the skunk. (In fairness, he planned to deal with it when he returned). I couldn’t deal with the smell another minute. At least the storm ended the heat wave, because I suited up like I was the commander of a hazmat strike force. Long sleeves. Check. Long pants. Check. Hair and face covering. Check. Gloves. Check. Boots. Check.
I gathered triple layers of garbage bags and proceeded with caution to the tool room. The smell. The SMELL! I had to walk up and stand over the skunk to get to the shovels. I wasn’t convinced that it wasn’t going to spring up and run up my leg. Irrational fear, it was well and truly dead. I began to arrange the trash bags so that I could lift the skunk with two shovels into the bag.
It weighed so little, I was surprised. Into the bag it went with no issues. Triple knotted and secured in seconds. I walked down into our back yard to the middle of the wild flower garden carrying the bag and shovel and began to dig. I hoped the smell of lavender would help to counter skunk. Digging was harder work than I imagined because wildflowers have long, deep roots. Eventually he was in the ground. I did not stay to give a eulogy.
Next, the shovels and the tool room had to be dealt with. Even more unfortunate, the skunk had been ill before he died, whether from poison or heat. There were presents all over the concrete floor. Armed with the trusty shovel, I cleaned up the mess and then bleached the floor. Just straight bleach and a mop. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I left it to my husband to finish up with soap and water later.
After discarding my gloves and clothes in the trash and taking a long hot bath, I felt weirdly accomplished. I was triumphant over the terrible. I had faced the unknown with action. I had the agency of self determination. I realized that when faced with something unexpected and unpleasant, the worst part of the ordeal is the wringing of hands and the wondering of why this happened. There is a calmness in action and a peace in knowing you are doing the best thing you know how. I will remember that the next time I am skunked (hopefully only metaphorically).
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Stillness, Surgery, and Serenity
If you know me, you know I rarely sit still. Even when I am “watching” television, I am usually doing a word puzzle or craft project. When I am driving, I ponder and grapple with ideas. I like to be on the move mentally and physically.
So when my husband finally decides (after 10 years of avoidance) he needs full replacement hip surgery, I have mixed emotions. A new hip will hopefully mean less pain for him. I selfishly hope it will also mean greater willingness to accompany me on walking adventures. I am worried that something might go wrong and definitely didn’t want to see him in pain. I am excited that he will get to be more active. I dread the weeks of recovery. He says I am more anxious than he is.
As it turns out, for us at least, the process is relatively uneventful. The surgery center is amazing. He checked in and less than three hours later, the doctor is showing me a model of the new hip and explaining the procedure that has gone well. Three hours after the surgery he is up, walking up stairs, and headed home. A body part is fully replaced and we have him home in his own bed by sunset. It seems miraculous to watch him climb the stairs into the house without struggle.
The next few days are a blur of medication schedules. He has to get up and walk for 10 minutes every hour and do daily exercises. He has to be reminded not to cross his legs and to kick out his leg when he wants to sit or stand. Unlearning a lifetime of habits is hard work. So is caring for a person unlearning a lifetime of habits. Of course my discomfort is only empathetic, his is real.
Thank God our daughter is home to help look after her Dad. I originally told her she didn’t need to come. I am glad that she emptied the wound drain and removed the tubing from the incision the day after surgery. I apparently am not nurse material.
The only really tense moment come in the middle of the night two nights after surgery . His surgical spinal pain block finally wears off. He goes from no pain to substantial discomfort just like that. I couldn’t help but think of the birth of our first child. I was feeling no pain until my water broke. I went from zero to 10 just like that. He says I squeezed his face until he thought his jaw might break. As I am clutching his grasping hand while he comes to terms with the new level of pain, I can relate. Life’s patterns of pain and renewal are familiar.
One week in and we are both stir crazy. He has to get out of the house. I agree to a drive through restaurant for lunch and to park the car near the river. A low risk outing will do us both good. As luck would have it, there is a suitable bench a few steps from the car. Seeing my strong husband navigate a walker to a park bench is a little disconcerting, but life is full of challenges. The sun is shining and we are smiling.
Two weeks in and we drive a few hours to his brothers ‘getaway’ property. I fuss over using a walker in unfamiliar and uneven terrain. He fusses that a cane is sufficient. I am fearful that their lovely yet boisterous dog might accidentally cause injury. He dismisses my concerns. He is with his family and clearly enjoying the lack of routine…until I impose meds and exercise in his otherwise lovely day. He calls me the “general” (I demanded a promotion from drill sergeant) but he is clearly relieved when I insist we go. His first full day adventure fed the soul but taxed the body.
Three weeks in and he is cleared to drive. We slowly reintroduce normal things like visits to church and the grocery store. I return to work obligations outside the house (thankfully I can usually accomplish much of my to list from home). He makes his first post-op doctor visit and gets a good report. He can stop using the cane unless he is tired or feels unstable (at least that is what he tells me). We go out for dinner and live music at a local winery to celebrate. In what may be a first, I am the one dropping him off at the door. Usually it is the other way around (at least when I wear high heels that make the climb up the rocky hill difficult).
Four weeks in and we visit with our children in Kansas City. We kill time in Parkville and walk the shops and restaurants. When he gets tired he sits and waits for me (he has long perfected this strategy). I smile at the familiarity. He even attempts a round of mini golf. I exult in my victory. He scoffs at my glee in beating “a crippled old man” (his words).
Five weeks in we go camping. I try to do the heavy lifting, but he is impatient and no longer quite as willing to follow chain of command. It is a different experience as I must hike and bike alone (he is doing great, but there is no need to push the envelope). He feels up to the cave tour. (We knew the walkways were paved and the spaces large as we have toured the cave before, but had forgotten how steep the inclines were in places. It is amazing what you don’t notice when you are able bodied.) He does great, but the walk is perhaps a little too long. So he finds a bench with another woman also rocking a cane, while their spouses make a longer climb into the last area of the cave. I take a picture of him sitting far below and feel love. Five weeks after surgery and he has conquered a cave.
I might have mentioned that I don’t much like sitting still. This summer has been slower. There have been no grand adventures, but lots of little ones. He will tell you he spent about as much time with books, tv, and puzzles as he cares to. I have mowed the lawn, washed dishes, sorted laundry, swept floors, developed training materials, taken zoom meetings and a thousand other tasks to occupy my time at home. The summer has been slow, but it has also been happy.
It is nice to know that when we are forced to slow down, that we can do so with humor, patience, and love. The surgery is symbolic. We age. We slow down. While we will not go quietly into that good night….we will go. All of us must. But in the pain, there was joy. In the uncertainty, there was prayer. There was family support. There was boredom and “we can make the best of it”entertainment. We found ways to create playful adventure in the midst of restrictive movement. They say aging is not for sissies. But then, this is one “Sissy” that aging hasn’t met yet. I don’t stay dormant long, and neither does he. We continue to do what we can, when we can, for as long as we can….prisoners of hope.
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Don’t Overstay Your Welcome: Travel Goals
I was always taught not to overstay your welcome. This colloquial saying communicates that you should always leave before your host tires of your presence. I generally like having company, but it is hard for people with different schedules and routines to coexist. In a campground, a diverse group of people are living in a small area. In a Missouri state park, you are allowed to stay fifteen days. For most guests that is a fine stay. Others join us only for a few days and we are sorry to see them go so soon. Other guests wear out their welcome long before they leave the park.
In my last post, “Give a Hoot”, I explained the challenges and perils of guests who litter and otherwise destroy the park environment. In this post, let’s discuss the top ten things that cause the park hosts to count the days until your departure.
1. Imagine that your idea of a good time is something everyone wants to share. Picture yourself on a sandbar along a river on a hot summer day. You have just settled into your lounge chair. Your feet dangle into the cool water while you enjoy a cold drink. A hawk circles in the sky. You breathe a relaxing sigh. At that exact moment, music erupts from behind you….so loud that it causes you to turn over your lawn chair. The music is a genre you dislike, full of obscenities and misogynistic comments. As you are picking yourself up out of the water and scraping off the sand, a large dog races by to catch a ball thrown into the water by its owner. You feel a tail in your face. You turn to try to figure out how to get away from the ear splitting noise. Meanwhile, the dog, now exiting the water, shakes off all over you and your snacks. At this point, you are trying to salvage your dignity and control your temper. You craft what you hope will be a gracious request that recognizes your new neighbor’s right to enjoy the outdoors while you assert your right to do the same. As you approach to make your case, your new sandbar co-occupant puffs his marijuana (now legal in Missouri) in your face and gives a friendly wave. He is here to enjoy the day and is oblivious to the chaos he has created for you. Odds are good you will be leaving the sandbar before he does, because you are now an unwilling participant in the new arrival’s beach party.
2. Assume that your dog is unlike all other dogs and therefore exempt from all rules. If you hear it once, you hear it again hundreds of times. “My dog is friendly. He won’t hurt anyone.” This usually comes after the off leash dog comes running at you while barking aggressively and exhibiting signs of stress. Owners roll their eyes when told that the dog must be on a leash…even if they have a cute little fence on their campsite. They don’t believe that when you put your dog on a 20 foot lead, it could run into the road and bite the unsuspecting person walking to the bathroom in the early morning (me, it bit me). They don’t know that when you zip your pit bulls into your tent and leave them alone, they could burst through the flimsy zipper to attack someone walking their dog (and then someone…me….has to sort out the mess). They don’t think that if you leave your dog outside the camper while you are at the river, they could chase an animal across the park and kill it in front of children playing in the playground. They don’t care that if you leave a dog alone in your camper, it may bark for 12 hours straight. Parks are crowded with people and animals. No matter what you think you know about your pet…please don’t put them in a stressful unfamiliar environment and expect that they will behave as they do at home. Don’t be upset at park hosts for reminding you of rules designed to keep you and your pets safe. And if the “could happen” turns into a “did happen”, please help the person (again …me) who was knocked down and bit by your dog instead of retreating into your camper to pretend that nothing happened.
3. Not observing quiet hours. At ten pm, the campground is officially in quiet hours. This ensures that individuals can go to sleep in peace. Fireside chats and quiet card games can still happen. Making s’mores and reading by lantern light is totally ok. However, eleven pm is not the time to start up your very loud motorcycle engine and drive through the campground. Midnight is not the time for a teenage birthday scavenger hunt. One am is not the best time for a dance party. Basically if you are looking to party all night, a state park campground is not for you. When the park host (who was probably awakened by your neighbor who had already unsuccessfully asked you to be quieter) has to come and remind you to be quiet, don’t be a jerk. That makes it worse. Also don’t offer them alcohol to look the other way. You have misread the situation.
4. Run through check points and ignore hosts. Online check in is an option and can speed up registration and check in. However, when you approach a park, if the booth is open you should stop. Hosts can save a lot of confusion at check in and offer friendly service including helping you quickly find your site, preventing you from setting up on the wrong site or on the wrong day, and making sure you are in the right park. You may know what you are doing, but the hosts don’t know your plans. When you run through a check point at full speed without acknowledging the host who is trying to get your attention you are certain to get a visit. The host needs to know your details to help the camp run smoothly. If you pretend to adjust your cap as the host is waving for you to stop, they are not fooled. We know you can still see us, and we assume you have no manners. Remember, overstaying your welcome upon arrival is not ideal.
5. Running your motorized boats at full speed through family swimming and floating areas. Yes, we know you have a new toy and want to show it off. It is probable that you are racing upstream to increase the trim and get your engine higher off the gravel riverbed. This however, does not change the fact that small children are playing in the narrow channel that you are racing through. Floaters are caught in the narrows at the mercy of the current. You could kill someone with your need to speed. Do us a favor and find a lake or a more remote location. Better yet, buy an echo friendly kayak. Because when you ground your brand new million horsepower boy toy in the mud because you were doing water donuts trying to spray kayakers (who are hugging the far bank to avoid you); I am not coming to your rescue. And you probably won’t want to talk to the ranger either. He has tickets and the number for the water patrol.
6. Tying everything imaginable to the trees. I love, love, love my hammock. I have a double wide that was an awesome retirement gift. I also have tree protecting hammock straps that are extra wide. Please remember the trees when you camp. Small rope cuts into the bark and repeated use eventually will leave the tree vulnerable to disease. So if you want to bring your hammock or your portable Olympic ninja warrior course (yes, it is a thing)… make sure you have wide tree friendly straps. If you need to dry your tent and you only have a nylon rope, tie off to the lantern pole and the picnic table. And for those of you that need to hear this….if a sapling has a protective plastic sleeve and bends down to the ground with the weight of your wet swim clothes…it is not a suitable anchor for your clothesline (which is generally not allowed anyway).
7. Flip signs to confuse the staff and to assure empty spots. It is hard to imagine the hubris of an individual who pulls into a spot and thinks “the first thing we should do is flip the signs on either side of our campsite to occupied. That way people won’t know the sites are available and we won’t have neighbors.” And yet, it happens…a lot. It is easier to understand 11 year olds on bikes who are flipping signs with abandon, thinking they are pulling the greatest heist in park history. The truth of both scenarios is that they increase the work of park staff and cause general confusion for walk in campers. It takes about an hour each morning to change all the campsite signs (vacant or occupied) to reflect the days arrivals and departures. The signs help hosts and guests visually verify who is coming and going as well as which sites need to be cleaned. Don’t be a jerk. Leave the sign flipping to the professionals.
8. Lighting up the site like Las Vegas. Ok, I have to confess this is a personal pet peeve. If your campground looks like the Las Vegas strip, you may need to do some self reflection. Do you need palm trees, American flag cut outs, bucket lights, rope lights, and string lights on all night long? Of course small lights can and should be used if you are outside and need to see in order to socialize. But if the glow from your campsite can be seen from outer space, perhaps you are pushing the limits of energy use and good neighbor etiquette. Newer rvs also have a host of lights outside, inside, and even under the camper. It seems to be a weird inverse relationship between the people who do not venture outside at night and their need for bright outdoor lights. Pro tip number one- if you are not coming outside …..do not turn on your outdoor lights. Your neighbor is likely trying to enjoy a campfire and your blue under rv lights that are making your patio glow is also blinding her. Pro tip number two- your bucket light with your name on it might as well be a spotlight shining into your neighbors tent. (At least they will be easily able to identify who to complain to the camp host about as they lay awake under the bright light.) Pro tip number three- your outdoor lights will not deter the raccoons or a bear. They could care less about a porch light if you have food. However the birds and nocturnal small animals will have a much harder time navigating and finding food. If you are inside or asleep, do everyone a favor and turn out your lights. If we wanted to vacation on the Vegas strip, we would have booked a ticket.
9. Engage in prohibited Motorsports. Unless you are at a park specifically designated for atvs, leave them at home. Side by sides, golf carts, homemade go carts…all can be great fun. None are allowed in state parks. Even if it is street legal, it must be driven by someone with a driver’s license. Parks are not the place for underage drivers to practice. It isn’t that park hosts don’t like you. It is about safety for everyone. So if you wouldn’t take your baby for a ride on your motorbike at home, please don’t try it at the park. Same goes for kid’s standing in the back of moving trucks, hanging out of open van doors, riding on handlebars of electric bikes and any other potentially life threatening joy ride. If you choose to endanger life and limb do it at home, that kind of recklessness is unwelcome in the park.
10. Repeatedly park in the grass. Nothing is a bigger headache to park hosts than trying to keep guest vehicles off of the lawns and out of the foliage. If it is muddy, it is an even bigger ordeal. I appreciate when guests have attempted vehicular jenga to get five vehicles (guests are allowed two) to have a tire on the pavement. But for all that is good, please respect the intent to keep the weight of your vehicles from making ruts and killing off any hope of grass. If you have four kids and every teenager must bring their own car, just park a few in overflow parking. If there are designated parking spots, use them instead of driving four feet forward into the meadow. If all the beach parking is full, do not pull your 4 wheel drive over the bushes to park in the woods. Do not park in the grass median or in the wildflower meadow. Do not park half in grass and half in the road in order to block traffic so you can bbq next to your car. Just don’t. There is adequate parking at shower houses, picnic, and group areas. You can walk the short distance to your destination. You won’t die. I promise.
But the surest way to outstay your welcome….so important that it is in a category of its own…is to be belligerent when you are kindly reminded of park rules. If hosts request cooperation, don’t curse, throw things or otherwise have a temper tantrum. It won’t help to engage in “whataboutism” sharing all the ways you think your neighbor breaks the rules. Hosts will also kindly deal with them if there is a rule violation. We don’t care if you got away with it before, we won’t be bothered when you demand to talk to our boss. In fact, we will gladly hand you off to a ranger. They can ask you to leave, because at that point you have definitely worn out your welcome.
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Give a Hoot: Travel Goals
Encounters in nature are calming and peaceful. Sayings like ‘leave only footprints, take only pictures and kill nothing but time’, remind us that our wild spaces should be protected. Every outdoor enthusiast seems to understand the gift and works hard to protect and preserve natural spaces. Unfortunately, there are others that are not so in tune with the natural surroundings.
Working as a campground host has been eye opening. We have encountered individuals who revel in the outdoors and find ways to enjoy natural spaces while helping to care for the park. They keep a tidy camp and help protect the shared spaces at the playground, shower house, trails, caves, and riverside. You can easily identify former scouts by the way they clean a campsite. Many hikers respect the trail and carry out litter they find along the way. Often, guests who understand sustainable practices are helpful in cleaning up the mess left by others.
Campers come from all walks of life. They come solo and in large family groups. They bring all manner of equipment. Some have almost none, while others bring everything one would find in a large house. Plenty of guests sleep directly under the stars in make shift bedding in order to enjoy the tranquility of a night sky. However we also get campers who seemingly hate being outdoors. They pull in to their site and never come out of their rolling fortress. They light up the outside of their rig like Las Vegas, drowning out the campfire glow of their neighbors and disrupting the nocturnal patterns of the local wildlife. They play televisions and radios at top volume using both indoor and outdoor speakers ensuring that though other campers rarely see them…..we all know they are near. They run washers and dryers. They use leaf blowers. I suppose they enjoy a sterile camping environment where dirt, smoke, bugs, animals, and plants are kept to a minimum and where all the comforts of home are at their fingertips. While I don’t personally understand why you would go to the woods only to recreate the exact environment you have at home, to each their own. Other than the light and noise pollution….you hardly know they are in the park as they are rarely outdoors.
To me, the campers that cause the most concern in a campground are those that seemingly think only of themselves. Whether they are novice campers and don’t know camping etiquette or are just generally self centered, this category of campers creates 90% of campground work and 95% of environmental damage. They are why campground rules are invented. Unfortunately, this group often believes that rules don’t apply to them. Examples range from the seemingly harmless gathering of flowers and rocks, to the egregious and deliberate destruction of habitat.
Children frequently gather wildflowers and rocks. It seems like a pretty harmless encounter with nature. I myself love to gather wildflowers on our own property. As a child, I loved going on nature walks on the farm. My grandfather would take me foraging in the forest and it made me feel alive. The joy of discovery and the lure of natural beauty is intoxicating. The problem with specimen collecting in public parks is that hundreds of visitors come each day. If every visitor gathered a bouquet there would be none left to enjoy. So look, smell and admire… but don’t gather. The birds, deer and other critters depend on the vegetation.
Being close to a river, the park has lot of rocks for skipping and stacking along the gravel bars that hug the shore. The naturalists advise against stacking rocks in the river as it displaces the natural environment for crawfish and other river dwellers. But it is hard to deny a child a smooth river rock to add to their collection. It is also hard to understand the volume of rocks we find in the campground. They are left stacked on tables, in fire pits, in the showers, and in the grass at the campsites. These piles sometimes look like full scale excavations. Even small piles have to be picked up and removed back to the river so that park mowers don’t break blades and tent campers don’t end up sleeping on rocks.
Adults also can’t resist the urge to forage. Usually the prize to be found is firewood. I admit that the first thing I do in a campsite is scour the ground for sticks, which I gather in a small bucket to use for fire starter. Campers are allowed collect wood in the mowed areas of the park. Small sticks and branches can be removed from any mowed areas. Guests are prohibited from going into the wooded areas and gathering logs and felled trees. Naturalists tell us that these rotting logs are very important to the ecosystem as they shelter a variety of woodland creatures.
Never the less, almost every morning we encounter a campsite where someone has entered the woods and drug back a log the size of a small bicycle. It probably seems like a logical idea. The tree is already dead, it is just laying there, and firewood is expensive. It doesn’t hurt anything, right? Unless of course, you count the path of destruction where the “firewood” was pushed out of the woods, killing plants, leaving ruts, and a trail of broken branches. Because the wood is not chopped and often not dry, it does not easily burn. When guests leave, the log is often left in the fire pit, charred. A 50 pound log laying half in and half out of the fire pit, covered in char ensures that whoever has to remove it will be covered in black soot. Nothing says “thank you campground volunteers” like being left with a monster piece of wood that has to be wrestled onto the golf cart and hauled down a long gravel road to the ash pit.
At least I understand the logic of foraging downed wood. What I will never understand is people that bring hatchets (and yes, we even had a guy bring a chain saw to use secretly in the middle of the night) to harvest limbs from live trees or even to fell the entire tree. This wood is too green to burn, so users cover it in lighter fluid. Because the leaves and limbs are still attached, there is often a huge blaze and a strong smell. The fire flares quickly and then goes out leaving…. you guessed it….. charred limbs and lots of smelly ash. Because the Paul Bunyan wannabes don’t take time to chop their limbs; the ash, leaves, and twigs are scattered all over the campsite. Not only have they illegally destroyed the forest, they have created a lengthy clean up at the campsite. I encountered a pile of limbs (8x8x4) covering the fire pit. It took multiple trips to the ash dump to get the site clean.
As I was spending the hour cleaning up after the great chain saw massacre, I thought of Woodsy the Owl. If you aren’t old enough to remember Woodsy, he was a giant owl mascot of the National Park Service. His catch phrase was “give a hoot…don’t pollute”. Woodsy would be appalled at the “I will harvest my own wood by chopping down anything I think will burn” people and the “it isn’t really trash if I throw it in the fire pit and cover it with ash and limbs” people. Apparently if you throw trash in the fire pit and cover it with ash, wood, and limbs it is not necessary to throw anything away. Out of sight. Out of mind.
Keep in mind that the park has over 10 large dumpsters conveniently located at the ends of each and every camping loop and at the common areas and parking lots. Never the less, each weekend, I find a few fire pits mounded with limbs and after I get done lifting, breaking, and loading the limbs into a manageable shape for transport….I find a buried treasure of trash. The trash has to be separated and lifted out of the fire pit, before the ash can be removed. This is dirty and unnecessary work.
Smokers leave dozens of cigarette butts in the grass and in the pits. Where there are butts, there is always cellophane wrap lingering nearby. The party crown leaves beer cans, soda cans, jello shot containers, liquor bottles, smores sticks, bottle caps, broken glass. We find rotten vegetables, chicken parts, dog feces, underwear, and dirty socks. It is a real treat to find these items covered in ash at the bottom of a fire pit. But hey, it isn’t trash if it is covered in a pit, right? Throw up in your lawn chair? Just leave it in the fire pit with a limb on top….who will notice? Too far to walk to the bath room, just take a squat over the fire pit…. if I put a charred log that is too heavy to move over it, no one will know … right? I wish I were making up these scenarios…but alas. Sometimes people do make a partial effort. They bag their trash and leave it hanging on the utility pole instead of taking it to the dumpster. The raccoons think that is a great idea…the volunteers aren’t quite as happy, but it sure beats digging trash out of a fire pit.
Speaking of animals and the strange behavior of people hiding trash or abandoning trash instead of just putting it in the dumpster…. Perhaps the most puzzling behavior is the numerous dog owners that take the time to use a doggie bag to clean up after their little fur ball only to throw the nicely bagged doggie doo into the woods or along the side of the road. Is it better to have plastic bags of dog poop all over the riverbanks and roadsides? Does a plastic bag of poop scream please throw me in the woods or in the firepit? I don’t get it.
The idea of a fire must just cause a primal need, because brain cells seem to go out the window with the prospect of making fire. On one site, I noticed that the campers had dug up the lawn and created a giant hole between tents that they had filled with wood and cardboard. This, despite the fact that there were two large fire pits already on the site. As I was requesting that they refill the hole and that they use only the designated fire pits, I wondered what their reaction would be if I showed up at their house and dug a giant hole in their yard and filled it with wood and trash.
So if you find yourself in the wild or in a campground, be like Woodsy. Respect your surroundings. Respect your neighbors. Pack out your trash. Use the provided receptacles. Be mindful of the wildlife. Give a hoot….don’t pollute. Your fellow campers and the campground volunteers will be grateful.
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Can You Help?: Travel Goals
When we signed up to be a campground host, I wasn’t fully aware that part of the job would be managing crisis. I should have expected it, but mostly I thought about cheerfully sharing camping stories and answering guest questions. I guess it is a good thing that I have decades of prior experience as a public school administrator. I am adaptable, able to interact with individuals from all walks of life, and ready to handle the unexpected. Incidents range from the mundane to critical. We evaluate each situation as it comes and determine an appropriate response. Fortunately, there are paid employees who handle anything serious. After all, we are just here for the fun of it.
If the screaming next door is because our neighbors decided to store all their food on the ground in plastic tubs and the raccoons are having a late night picnic at their campsite, we sit tight, have a chuckle and consider it a valuable lesson learned. If an early morning visit to our site is because a camper traveling cross country has a flat tire on their motor home, I immediately put down my coffee and find our compressor to help get the couple back on the road.
Sometimes the situations are humorous. I followed a man driving in circles in the campground. He just kept driving his camper in and out of loops. When I finally was able to flag him to a stop, in order to assess if he was lost, disoriented, or was searching for something; he said, “everything’s fine ma’am. I’m just no good at parking the trailer so when I mess it up, I drive a loop to get up the nerve to try it again.”
Sometimes suspicious behavior is puzzling. A camper approached me and said, “someone needs to investigate site x.” She refused to say more. I drove to the site and didn’t see anything unusual except that they had parked and not paid. I sent a ranger who told them they had to pay, but he said he didn’t see anything unusual either. The man was working in the camper at a desk and appeared to be on a conference call and alone. When he left the park, he paid my husband for the stay. The man said he didn’t know his address and that he was traveling with a child. No one had enough pieces of the puzzle to get a clear picture. Was it nothing? Something? We will never know.
Occasionally there is actual crisis. As I was doing the morning rounds in the golf cart, a woman came running over to me and waving her arms. There had been a dog attack in the park. Even though the park has a 10 foot leash law and dogs are to be kept under physical control by owners at all times, people always assume their pet is the exception. (In fact, I was knocked down and bit by a German shepherd in this park a few years ago. The owner thought a 20 foot leash would give the dog more freedom….a story for another day.)
By the time I arrived on the scene, the man was sitting in his truck. He was bleeding from his legs and arms. His clothes were grass stained and had bloody holes. He was shaking and trying to use his phone. I did a quick assessment, asking if he was injured. He said he thought he was alright and didn’t know if he had been bitten. I asked if he would like me to check his arms for puncture wounds or provide bandages. He said he didn’t have time to worry about that. He needed to get his dog to the vet. It was then that I noticed a small dog bleeding all over the back seat of his truck.
As I helped to locate a veterinary clinic (the closest vets were not taking appointments even for emergencies) and trying to determine if he was well enough to drive, the man told me that he had been taking an early morning walk with his dog in another section of the park. Two pit bulls broke through the side of a tent and attacked his dog. The dog owner was able to get control of one dog, and the man wrestled the other to get him to let go of his small dog. The man’s injuries came from diving onto the pit bull and struggling on the ground. Thankfully he did not receive a bite. The man’s dog ended up in a pet surgery in St. Louis. The man was devastated.
The rangers checked in with the pit bull owners who were in shock. They were sure that a) their dogs wouldn’t hurt a fly and b)they were contained in the tent. All parties involved had their trip cut short. I wish dog owners understood that their pet is often stressed and confused at being in an unfamiliar environment. They will always require extra attention and restraint, especially if the park is at capacity.
Last night, just as I was shutting down the check station, an ambulance and police vehicle pulled into the park. We followed the lights and found a man lying in the grass. His leg was being held in the air by a fellow camper. Individuals with swimsuits stood in a circle. Other campers, beer in hand came to watch. If this had been at a school, I would have immediately cleared the area, but I don’t have that kind of authority here. A golf cart and a badge only get you so far.
The man had been floating the river, and decided to jump from the bluff without checking the depth of the water. He had done the same jump numerous times in the past, but the recent flooding has changed the river course. What had been a deep pool was now shallow. He lost the skin off of his foot to the bone, and suffered serious injury. Knowing the campground was the last opportunity for help for a long while, his sister and girlfriend helped drag him up a steep riverbank into the campground. The campsite the stumbled upon just happened to belong to an off duty first responder. Providence. First aid was started, 911 activated.
The patient was transported to the hospital. His significant other rode along. This left his sister, alone in the dark, in her swimsuit. I offered to take her to the check station so she could call the rest of her group. She said she didn’t know the numbers and her phone was with them. They had continued on float , as it was dark and they had quite a way to go. She called her phone and no one answered. I offered to drive her to their pull out spot, thinking we would easily arrive before her floating buddies. So we took off through the woods, down a highway, and then a long dirt road. It was just us and dozens of deer and raccoons. We got there in good time, but there was no truck. Her friends were gone. We had not passed them in the park.
What next? She asked if I could take her to the nearest hospital where she could at least regroup with her injured brother. I was happy to help. The last I saw of her was a tired, wet, barefoot, and bikini clad body walking in the doors of the emergency room with thanks on her lips and uncertainties in her eyes.
I was, however, most affected by a much simpler call for help. All week, I had interacted with a young couple camping in a yurt. The woman was polite and called herself a hippie. She dressed in flowy dresses and carried a chubby barefoot baby on her hip. She cooked over the fire. He played with the baby. A few days in, they asked if they could move campsites to the one next to ours since it was shady and it got too hot in the tent for the baby in the full sun.
At this point, I began to wonder if they were living in the tent full time, but they seemed happy. Lots of people are full time campers. But one morning, she came sobbing into our campsite. Big ugly crocodile tears coming so hard that I could not understand her words, accompanied her shaking hands and shoulders. Her boyfriend explained that she had gone to shower and lost her engagement ring. It was a family heirloom and had belonged to his grandmother. She remembered taking it off and putting it in her shower bag before washing herself and the baby. When she got back to the campsite, it was not in the bag. Someone else was in the shower room when she went back to check.
Her fiancee was convinced that the person in the room after her had stolen the ring. I went to the shower house and asked maintenance to lift the drain covers. After a thorough check, no ring. I came back to let her know. The fiancee was driving the park in search of the last person to use the shower house.
She was still crying. Her body was hunched into a protective ball. She looked so vulnerable. I asked if she needed a hug. She clung to me like she had never been hugged; like her life depended on the hug. She cried and we hugged. She cried some more. And then a floodgate of words. She loved him. She loved her baby. She had a bad case of post partum. She had medical complications from the delivery. They were living in the tent as they were between jobs, but he had just gotten a good job and things were finally on the right track. She was afraid she had messed everything up and that he would leave her because she lost the ring. His family would hate her. She had ruined the only thing she ever wanted, a stable family.
I looked her in the eye and told her she hadn’t done anything wrong. Misplacing the ring while trying to wash a baby in a campground shower house was an accident. If her man would leave her over that, then, he was not the one. She said…. I know, but I didn’t know my dad, my mom well…I want my child to have family. I love him. We are going to do this right and now I messed it all up. The ring represented her lifelong wish….a stable family.
She hugged me some more while I tried to speak wisdom and blessings by telling her how I had observed her being a good mom all week and by reminding her of her self worth as a strong woman. She reacted like a parched plant taking in water. I noticed an ugly bruise on her arm and asked her if she was safe. She said yes, he is a good man. I believed her.
When she calmed down, I had her tell me the steps she took at the shower house and after returning to her car. I suggested that it was likely that the ring was in the backseat of the car, jostled by moving diapers and blankets and towels. I told her I had lost three different weddings rings. She smiled. She looked hopeful.
About an hour later, she returned flashing a pretty handmade ring and a glorious smile. It had been in the car all along. She thanked me and invited me to the wedding. She came back several times offering to cook us dinner or buy us groceries. I told her that was unnecessary but incredibly thoughtful to offer. Sometimes, I reminded her, we just help each other because it is the right thing to do. She came back to talk a few times before they left the camp and once at the end for one more hug. A beautiful soul trying to find the light.
Can you help? Three simple words. If it is within my power, the answer is almost always yes. We are given so many opportunities to help, to make a small difference. I didn’t expect so many needs at the campground. But anywhere people are being peoply, they will need help. Hopefully if I am in need at a campground, the person looking back at me from the check station will respond “how can I best help?”
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Campground Host: Travel Goals
This month, instead of a grand overseas adventure, we decided to see what it would be like to serve as a campground host in a Missouri State Park. I love to camp and I love the woods, but will I still be in love at the end of the month?
My morning ritual is to make coffee over a small fire. My 30+ year old pot makes the best morning elixir. I drink it slowly and listen to the birds as the sun comes up. People generally don’t start stirring until 7:30 or 8:00, so I get plenty of time for quiet contemplation.
We work three or four days each week and the duties are generally light. We make rounds in a golf cart, gently reminding campers of campground rules and answering questions (see related post GIVE A HOOT). We provide assistance during emergencies (see related post (CAN YOU HELP?). We also facilitate guest check in and check out (see related post DON’T WEAR OUT YOUR WELCOME). This includes changing occupancy signs and making sure the site is clean and ready for the next guest. The reward for this “volunteer” position is a free full hook up site for the duration of the month.
Many of our fellow volunteers are full time RVers. They travel the U.S., going from one hosting gig to the next. One couple we serve with never comes out of their rig unless they are on duty. This seems especially strange, as I camp to be outdoors….but to each their own. Maybe if my camper was also my house, I would feel differently.
The vast majority of campers are friendly and fun. We swap stories and make suggestions for recreational activities. Children’s eyes light up when you share fun cards with an animal track scavenger hunt or information about nearby caves and swimming holes. They enter joyfully and leave silently. They leave no trace of their excursion except some ash in the fire pits.
But there are notable exceptions, especially on the weekends. The group of high impact guests come in one of three categories. The most lovable, bless their hearts, are the “I have never camped before….have no idea what to do…..and am totally unaware of campground norms” guests. It is hard to get upset about cleaning out a fire pit full of brand new wood, left charred and still in its bundle; when it is clear the camper put in the whole stack, lit paper under it, and hoped for the best. When it predictably fails to light, they leave it, having spent $7.00 for nothing. The next morning as I clean out their abandoned site, I have a chuckle and help myself to a nice bundle of free wood.
The next group, the entitled hedonists, are much harder to love. These guests usually travel in a herd and only care about whether they are having a good time. They are loud and destructive. They don’t need to take out their trash, they can just fill the fire pit or leave it lay in the grass. Quiet hours don’t apply. Their tents can sprawl onto their neighbors site, their cars can be parked in someone else’s drive while they drink on a sandbar. They don’t care that someone is unable to set up because their things are scattered across multiple sites they didn’t pay for. They litter and destroy property. The peacefulness of the park is disturbed until they are gone. They don’t think rules apply to them and they never like being reminded of them. Thankfully, they usually only make an appearance on the weekend. They are here to party and the quiet weekday life in a campground has no appeal for this group.
The last group is harder to define. I call them, only the lonely. Age five to eighty five, this group just wants to talk. They ask endless questions and share too much personal information. Most days this is not a bother. Some days it is entertaining. However, when there are ten rigs lined up and the same camper is asking for information you have already shared with them numerous times, you have to take a deep breath and find a polite way to move them along.
Except for the mosquitoes and the infrequent unruly guests, I am happy with this adventure. I can live in my little corner of paradise, taking a nap in my hammock or kayaking the river. A few days a week, we do our assignments and the time passes pleasantly. The park staff is friendly, appreciative, and supportive. As a travel goal, I am glad we tried it. I would definitely consider doing it again. If you don’t mind a thin coating of ash from the fire pits, it is fun to be the old lady with the golf cart.
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And Still The River Rolls
But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream!
Amos 5:28
Today, I am standing on a bank of a river contemplating life. The river is peaceful and in the early morning light the only thing stirring is deer. It would be easy to forget every care . I am thankful to for the tranquility.
But this morning I am contemplating the unexplainable. After a very high profile trial, the country that I love is more divided than ever. I followed the proceedings and felt assurance that the legal system works. Rule of law is more than a concept in America.
However, many others near and dear to me are talking about “sham” trials. They compare a man convicted of felonies, with numerous other charges pending, and several prior unfavorable court rulings to Jesus. They don’t refute the crimes per se, but engage in endless what aboutisms. Yes, he did it…..but what about her…..what about him. He is our leader right or wrong.
I can’t make it make sense. So, I stand by the river and I think about justice flowing like a river and a never ending stream of righteousness. To quote d’Touqueville, “America is great because America is good.” If we no longer believe in the rule of law; if party, power, or allegiance to one man is more important than our foundational civic principles….I don’t know where that leaves us.
Like many Americans, I am unsure how we got here. As a historian and social scientist, I can point to moments in time when political strategies changed. I can point to the rise of Christian Nationalism and the co-mingling of politics and religion. I can speak to the record of policy changes and economic peaks and troughs. But I can’t pinpoint the moment that party and partisan ideology became more important than country and democratic ideals.
I stand here and watch the water flow. How did who is right become more important than what is right? When did policy debate start becoming personal attacks on the very essence of identity? I have always been suspicious of identity politics. These exclusive alliances insist that individuals concur with the group stance in order to keep status within the group. To be a good (fill in the blank), you must think and vote in a certain way or you are suddenly the enemy. Policy disagreements turn quickly into personal exclusion.
The great “othering” occurs when humans decide that only their “clan” has the truth. Only they are good. Only they are smart. Only they have the answers. The “others” are evil, lazy, stupid, etc. Truth warriors pick up the mantel against the lies of the others. As a historian, I know this kind of thinking leads to discord and decline. It has long been a tactic to grab and hold power. In the short term it allows those who are willing to exploit these base tendencies immense power. In the long term, it always separates, divides, and stunts the growth of nations. In most extreme cases there is violence, bloodshed, and genocide.
Othering stems from lack of empathy. Empathy is the ability to experience another person’s condition from their perspective. It is the desire to understand others and take an active interest in their concerns. Empathy demands that we look at multiple perspectives. Empathy induces intellectual humility, the understanding that there is always more to learn. It helps understand that there is more than one point of view, more than one solution to a problem, more than one viable policy choice. It suggests that the best approach is often complex and may be contingent on changing circumstance.
Hyper partisanship is often the opposite. It requires allegiance and conformity. It casts all other ideas as inferior or evil. It suggests that only the party faithful have valid perspective and life experience. This kind of thinking is always dangerous. It is hubris writ large, and should have no place in a democratic society.
These are heavy thoughts on a lovely day. I am only one woman, who cherishes her friends, family, and country. I am saddened by the divisions. Historical patterns tell me that we will ride this wave of partisan identity until either we reach ruin or until good people rise up to reunify and work together through differences. It will require us to value and work toward the common good. The choice is ours. Meaningful personal connections or partisan walls. So let the river roll. Let justice come. Let righteousness rain down upon us. Let me remember that issues are always more complex than a single viewpoint and people are always more important than platforms. May I understand that each person must live by their own conscience. Let me be intellectually humble and boldly empathetic. Let me live like the change I hope to see in the world. Let it begin with me.
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Train Travel in America: Travel Goals
All over the world, we travel on trains. Generally speaking, we find trains relaxing, efficient and easy to navigate. In fact, I am an advocate for expanding train services. They provide valuable public transport and reduce car and air traffic pollution. Safe, affordable, and environmentally friendly transportation should be a national priority in my book.
Having said that, it had been years since I had actually taken a passenger train in the USA. This is partially because there aren’t many trains running where I live, and also because public transportation isn’t great in the cities I could easily get to. But recently, our youngest child moved to Chicago, giving us an accessible destination as well as a good excuse to travel. (Like we need one.)
Our trip got off to a slightly rocky start. The long term Amtrak parking had easy entry and was securely gated. As we exited to catch the train, we realized the ticket machine that dispensed cards to allow return into the lot was broken. I’m still not sure how we will get in to retrieve our car. Hopefully we can get help. We will solve that problem on the return. Travel is always an adventure.
The St.Louis station is old, small, clean, and has limited seating. Unlike every train station I have ever been in, there is no board informing passengers of train schedules and status. We encountered foreign tourists who were struggling to understand and were looking for a standard information board. They were also surprised at the lack of information. I tried to use google to track our train. My ticket had a train number, but google only listed trains by name. Turns out we were on the Lincoln Service, but that was not obvious. My husband had some luck on the Amtrak site.
To make it even more chaotic, a train scheduled ahead of hours was delayed by 7 hours and those passengers filled the small waiting area. The delayed train was also heading to Chicago. It had been in an accident and wasn’t ready to board. Our train was also delayed by one hour, due to freight train traffic; however we left the station first. It was hard to walk past people also trying to get to Chicago, knowing they had been waiting hours.
The Kansas City train arrived about the time we were ready to board. Lines were a bit chaotic. Passengers were frustrated without clear direction and no information boards. The announcements were hard to hear and workers were clearly concerned about making sure passengers arrived on the correct train. Apparently, St. Louis station is used to only one train at a time. Three in station simultaneously almost short circuited the entire operation. Our train was called by number, but we were not told a platform number. We followed the herd and hoped for the best. (Did I mention that a standard schedule board could have prevented to entire debacle?)
Although there were escalators coming up into the station, the only way down to the platform was by the stairs. I have to imagine there was an elevator somewhere, but people struggled to lug their bags downward to the train. I was glad I only carried a small backpack.
Once on the platform, the Conductors separated us into cars based on final destination. Within minutes we were pulling away from the station. Once on board, I was pleasantly surprised. The cars were clean, spacious and comfortable. The seats were very large, and we even had a good size table. Each seat had power outlets and the car had free WiFi. It was a perfect set up for commuters, with usable work space.
Large windows let me watch the world go by in comfort. The experience was lovely, like a fun road trip in which someone else did the driving. I could stand when I wanted, and even take a stroll. The bathrooms at the end of each car were large and clean. There was even a snack bar with drinks, candy, sandwiches, fruit, and even cheese trays.
Compared the cost of airfare or even gasoline, the fare was a bargain. America trains are definitely more expensive than similar trips elsewhere in the world, but still a good value. The trains were late, which rarely happens in Europe, and unfortunately seems to be common in the USA. The significantly delayed train had hit a car that tried to beat it at a closed crossing (not Amtrak’s fault). Our train was delayed when a freight train was given track priority. American needs tracks dedicated to high speed passenger trains. As long as trains must share dual purpose tracks you should expect some delays. Our country, like other modern nations, should prioritize and invest in high quality public transport (just as they invested in interstate highways in the last century).
My verdict? Despite the challenges, I will definitely be riding again. The hassles were significantly less than navigating an airport. The lack of clear signage was annoying should have been an easy fix, however Amtrak employees did a decent job trying to compensate via general announcements. The boarding process was smooth and the conductors were friendly. The cars were immaculate. The seats were spacious (gigantic when compared to an airline seat). And ….there is something romantic about watching the world go by from a train window. Affordable, available train travel an American travel goal.
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Prisoner of Hopes 