�ϰ������ϲʿ�����¼

Americans don’t ride trains. At least that’s what I’m told by every American I meet.

They fly or drive from one state to the next, put off by the cost, delays and shabbiness of their poorly maintained railways. However, I spent a month traveling around the country with an Amtrak pass in 2015 and discovered that Americans absolutely do ride their trains. There is a glorious cast of characters with fascinating stories that regularly travel by rail. Some have fears of flying or are using railways for religious reasons. Some have had their driving licenses revoked while others just enjoy watching the scenery with “nowhere to be fast.”

At that time, the long-distance Silver Meteor route was out of service, so I returned late last year to experience the 27-hour ride that leaves Miami, Florida just after 8am and ends at New York City’s Moynihan Train Hall, the much-welcomed expansion of Penn Station that opened in 2021.

The night train passes through 31 stations. It barrels up Florida, before crossing into the states of Georgia, South Carolina and North Carolina, Virginia, DC, Maryland, Delaware, and Pennsylvania en route to New York. Due to logistical reasons, I boarded the train from Orlando Station, a historic stucco-faced building from the 1920s, filled with manual gumball machines and peg-letter boards showing the train times. On the platform, a Colombian lady named Maria grilled chili cheese dogs. The smell of frying onions drew in passengers carrying fleece blankets and train attendants who hopped down the steps.

Worried that my ticket had no coach or seat assignment, I soon discovered that they split passengers into two lines: solo travelers and those in groups. At the behest of an attendant with a clipboard, we had seats assigned from the front of the carriage according to our destination. Station names were handwritten on paper and then slotted above our seats. So far, so very old-fashioned. The train rolled out of the station at 1:30pm to the sound of clanging. It passed little Baptist churches with spiky white steeples and upmarket suburbs. As it picked up the pace, we passed lake after lake.

Departing Orlando

I surveyed the carriage. It had a huge aisle, wide seats and enough room to recline comfortably without annoying the person behind. There were two sockets, reading lights and ample space overhead for bags. The café car had eight tables on one side and four on the other. It was already full as we left Orlando. Passengers watched films and swigged from bottles of Corona and cans of Space Dust IPA. As we traveled through the city of Palatka, I bought an Angus cheeseburger for US$7.25. The radioactive American cheese hit the spot and I watched the softness of Spanish-moss-covered trees pass by.

However, for those on the other side of the café car, life is very different. Amtrak has recently upgraded the dining car on the Silver Meteor and added brand-new carriages too. Private rooms (two passengers Orlando–New York US$1627) and roomettes ($773) both include the lower and upper berths at night, plus access to a shower and all meals. Tickets are US$153 for coach class. Before the upgrade, every passenger had access to the dining car. However, the onboard manager told me that staffing problems had meant that only one chef and one server were now on duty. The dining car was closed to coach and Amtrak had lost out on 300 passengers who potentially wanted to eat.

As the onboard manager and I discussed who could afford the rooms (retirees, business travelers, tourists on an adventure), a father with a toddler interrupted us to say that flights from Jacksonville to Baltimore would have cost them US$1000. He had paid $400 for the train tickets but would consider a room next time.

Not known as a particularly scenic ride, the Silver Meteor nevertheless let passengers glimpse through the windows of picket-fenced houses and spot the blush-pink bodies of sandhill cranes as they picked through marshes and waterways where glossy lily pads winked in the sun. Like wizards’ beards, Spanish moss hung from oak trees, and cabbage palms lined the tracks, pineapple spikes aplenty. Swamps glistened at the base of jungle-like greenery, and as the sun slipped down the clouds, pink light warmed the horizon before we drew into Savannah at 7:30pm, where the entire carriage disembarked.

Stopping in Savannah

Smokers wandered about in slippers as I bumped my bag across the tracks and ventured into the spirited city. Charleston, just two hours along on the train, is the other popular stop on this route. Many passengers choose to break up their journey there, but I took the Georgian option and devoted three days to soul food, spooky boulevards and secondhand bookstores before reboarding the train. It was Monday night when I hopped back on the heavily delayed Silver Meteor. Now crowded, socked feet were slung over the armrests. The sweet smell of spilled Gatorade hung amongst the warm fug of bodies. For a moment I wished I was in a roomette, then I thought of the cost. I rolled out my blanket, pulled on an eye mask and reclined in my seat.

Aware of bright lights, jolts and braking, and the mumbles of late-night phone calls, I slept but woke at 7am as orange skies began to break on the approach to Washington. On the right-hand side of the train, passengers ducked down at the windows to catch the sun casting its glow across the Potomac River. For the final two hours, the train crossed endless rivers. Each one sparkled brighter than the last. There were fishing boats and liners on the water. Fall shades brightened the riverbanks. The fiery reds and flame-like yellows lit up the forests. We passed car cemeteries and billowing smoke. Inside the carriage, there was a harmony unique to trains. Passengers perched on each other’s armrests. They shared bags of Cheetos and talked about basketball or offered advice about girlfriends. They bought coffee for each other and twisted around in their seats. It was a camaraderie I wouldn’t have found on the other side of the café car.

As the train whooshed into a tunnel, an announcement said we were arriving in New York and any bags left behind would be sold on eBay. Amused until the end, I walked up the platform and arrived at the light-filled atrium of Moynihan Train Hall.

A single ticket from Orlando to New York costs $155 from.