18 December 2018

I'm on a 30-hour train ride


The last time I tried to sleep on an overnight train was more than ten years ago—September 2008, when Tuomas, Chris, and I booked a "private triple cabin" on the 23:35 from Milan to Paris. We thought taking the train would make it easier to carry Tuomas' collection from the show (in Italy) to the showroom (in France). LOL on us. Our room on the train was minuscule—probably the same size as the Viewliner Roomette I'm in right now, but with three bunk tiers instead of just the two, and only a communal toilet in the hall.

I woke up at 6:30 this morning. It's my first day of real vacation—I have the next week-ish off, including Christmas—and I hadn't planned anything because I've been traveling a lot: the Celebrity Edge launch a couple of weeks ago straight into Art Basel in Miami, then back in New York for just a couple of days before heading out to Aspen for EMP Winter House. I hate wasting vacation days, though, and I'd just done a mini-staycation ahead of Thanksgiving, so over the past week I've been casually looking around for something to do, maybe just for a few days. I looked at quick trips to Asia, Dubai, Aswan—all too expensive because I was booking flights so last-minute. There was one point where I was thisclose to boarding a cruise to Antarctica for New Year's—but that fell through at the last minute, it's OK, everything happens for a reason.

But this morning when I woke up, the first thought that popped into my head was: I've never been to New Orleans. Fast forward eight hours and I'm boarding the Amtrak Crescent for the 30-hour train ride from New York's Penn Station to New Orleans' Union Terminal. Right this minute, I'm about to head to sleep—this time I'll probably really sleep, not like the Milan-to-Paris journey ten years ago when I was younger and could stay up all night looking out the window into the dark as we sped through Switzerland. I love train travel, especially long-distance—the longest train trip I'd been on before this one was a 15-hour trip up the East Coast from Savannah to New York a few years back (the fashion publicist in charge of booking was horrified I wanted to take the train rather than fly and almost refused my request to travel by land). In college, my New York friends who couldn't drive (like me) and I would take the Amtrak Vermonter the seven hours up to White River Junction, back and forth during school breaks. I love how long train rides hold the promise of endless hours of possibility—of doing nothing at all or something potentially really productive (I have two books with me along with the latest issue of the New Yorker—I had a moment today when I thought I might want to bring my laptop so I could bang out a book proposal while on board).

OK, that's all for now. More from New Orleans to come.