Riding the Rails—Again

I had gathered my camera, extra batteries and memory cards, my journal and pencils, along with a bottle of water and a light weight jacket. I also tucked some snacks; nuts, dried fruit, and a chocolate bar or two into my day pack. My walnut shell was tucked safely in my pocket next to my heart. I was eager to explore The Island of the Temple People, and although I had no idea what to expect, I did know was that those had been ashore and had already returned to the ship were changed somehow. They exuded a feeling of well being and of love for their fellow human beings.

When I stepped from the tender onto the dock, I saw the train for the Grotto was waiting. The carriages were open to the fresh air and were sea shell shaped. The locomotive was so clean and shiny it mirrored the images around it. It puffed white steam into the air. I could tell immediately that it was not powered by coal, neither was it a wood burner. Whatever powered it was clean and green. I took my seat at the rear of the last carriage where I could see the length of the train in front of me. The seats were full, though I did not see any of my shipmates. The passengers were mostly women. They were attired in dresses the color of rainbows. Most wore their hair long. Their exited chattering was like music to my ears.

There was no sound as the train began to move forward, no huffing or puffing, no smell of soot, nor were there any of those nasty little particles that stung and burned the eyes. It was as if, one moment we were stationary, then in the blink of an eye, we were moving forward. There was no clickety clack of the rails. The green meadows on either side of the tracks were dotted with wild flowers of every conceivable color. Butterflies. Honey bees, and hummingbirds flitted from blossom to blossom while the larger birds soared lazily above. A small stream bubbled musically over the rocks. Children squealed with delight as they paddled about in the clear water. This is what it could be like, I thought, if we didn’t have the noise and pollution that plagued our modern world. If these, The Temple People evolve as we have done, I hope they learn from our mistakes. On second thoughts, maybe they have evolved so much further that we have.

I leaned back in my seat and allowed the pleasant rocking motion of the train to lull me into an even more dream-like state of mind.

Suddenly I was in another time. I found myself alighting from another ship, one that was tied to the dock near Ellis Island in New York Harbour. It was 1950, and that morning I had stood on the deck and gazed upon the Statue of Liberty as we sailed by it. I was fresh from Wales, a little afraid, very naïve, but as excited as a kid on Christmas morning.

I don’t really recall how long it took, but it seemed forever as I was processed through the gloomy halls of Ellis Island. I thought about the thousands who had been through here before me and wondered how they felt, the uncertainty of whether they would be rejected and returned to the land of origin. Unlike so many of them, I wasn’t running from anything. I loved my homeland. I had after all spent all my life until this point in Wales. I had played, walked, been schooled, and been nurtured by, to use the title of Tom Jones’ popular ballard, The Green Green Grass of Home. If I were not accepted I would be returning to the open arms of friends and family in post war, but still rather austere Britain.

* * *

Having escaped the gloomy halls of Ellis Island, I stood with luggage on the streets of New York. I was alone and lonely and was questioning my wisdom. The feeling didn’t last long though. An American couple I had met on board ship had arranged to meet me and show me some of the sights. Mostly I remember being on Broadway and seeing the lights…they were like nothing I had seen before.

My train for California was scheduled to leave the next morning so I didn’t have a lot of time to take in the sights of New York. Besides, I was eager to be on my way.

The next morning I arrived at the station and hiked the platform to find my seat on board the New York Central. I had ridden the train many times in Wales, but my goodness, I had never seen a train this long. It seemed that I hiked miles, all the time carrying my luggage…no wheelie bags in those days, and I was saving my money so didn’t want to hire a porter. Besides, I really didn’t have that much stuff.

I was traveling coach, and was completely mesmerized watching the scenery passing by my window. I sat up day and night; afraid to close my eyes least I miss something.

* * *

I had to change trains in Chicago and had a several hour layover. There was a fair going on, and it was there I ate my first piece of Southern Fried Chicken. I remember feeling quite embarrassed for the diners around me who seemed to have no table manners whatsoever. They just picked up the chicken with their fingers and ate it that way. How awful! It didn’t take me long though to find out how difficult it was to eat fried chicken with a knife and fork. Soon I threw my table manners to the wind and joined everyone else, eating with my fingers.

Later that day I boarded the San Francisco Limited for the rest of my journey. Once again, I traveled coach and rarely slept.

One thing I remember to clearly is that when the train stopped for an hour or so in Green River, Wyoming, I stepped outside. It was dusty and hot. So hot! It was my first experience with dry heat. When I stepped down from the air conditioned coach it was like stepping into an oven. Needless to say, I didn’t stay outside for long.

The rest of my journey westward was uneventful except for the fact that my mind was being filled to overflowing with fleeting images. I don’t remember a whole lot about my fellow passengers except that they were for the most part friendly. There were a lot of service men on board and they tended to get a little rowdy, but that didn’t bother me overly much.

The San Francisco Limited ends its journey in Oakland where those bound for San Francisco, must board the ferry to reach the City by the Golden Gate.

* * *

My day dreaming came to an end when our magical train pulled up near a waterfall. A sign pointed the way to the grotto. I had heard about the grotto. It was said to bathe in its waters would purify the soul and release one’s inert creativity. And I needed a boost in that direction; in fact I need a kick in the pants. I had been neglecting my muse for too long, allowing other things, unimportant bits and pieces to eat away at my creativity time.

I stepped down from the train, eager to visit the grotto.

Vi Jones

©January 18, 2009