The trick to getting here is to not begin by asking anyone in the stations. Regardless of which one you're at, the people who work there are usually one moment, one key phrase or an off-center look away from snapping. I've tried to keep transactions light, brief, and simple, but at the same time I can see how I might blend into an unthankful population. All I have to do is sit in the wrong coach car, and I immediately know what they have to deal with.
Oh…hang on…free soft serve ice cream right after breakfast. Can't write now. I'll be with you in just a few lines.
Sunday, January 6th, 2008
11:21am MST
The view outside my window perpetually reflects the question "How did I get here?" Right now, I'm sitting in my little roomette with a cup of coffee next to me, typing away at my laptop and watching New Mexico roll by. We are about an hour away from Las Vegas, NM, and a little less than a full day away from Los Angeles. We should be arriving at Union Station at 8:15am tomorrow morning. In total, I will have logged 8,381 miles by train on this vacation (not including the local train I took with Monica and my parents for dinner in downtown Miami). That's four days there, four days back, with sights and experiences throughout the whole vacation that have changed my life. Truly.
Let me quickly recap the Chicago experience and what led me here since then. Right after a conversation with my waitress (mind you, the restaurant was busy and she had other customers, but she had time for everyone) and then a chat with the hostess, I walked away from the restaurant shaking my head. Everyone in there felt like family. Where in Los Angeles is there a place like that? Anywhere, not just restaurants, even in peoples' homes – is there a place like that? The work family cut the umbilical cord and set me free. The theater family is mostly the same. I digress.
I left the restaurant and entered the old Union Station, which is now both used as a waiting area and preserved as a historical place. This was the place where Elliott Ness fought the mob and had the famed shootout with Al Capone. I walked across the Chicago River from there and hopped on a little red bus for a two hour tour through all of the city's sights and attractions. I was pretty much the same wide-eyed camera hungry person I was in Washington D.C. I roamed a freezing Washington with a heavy backpack and layers of clothing, a camera bag slung to my side and a map in hand. I absolutely – and I don't know how to stress the absoluteness of this – made the most of my time there with the seven or so hours I had to roam I saw:
The White House
the Vietnam Memorial again (I bought one more bracelet from the vets nearby and said a little prayer for John Pagel's buddies and all of the vets whose families we've met over the years)
The Lincoln Memorial (I sat on the steps and looked out at the pool, embracing the moment as if I would forever more see myself on the back of the five dollar bill)
The Korean War Memorial (I said a little prayer for Tom Aki's father)
The Air and Space Museum (which also had exhibits from the museum of American History, which is closed for renovations. I was in the presence of….)
The Library of Congress (a building that awed me with both its contents and architecture)
The National Archives (I stood two feet away from the foundation for our whole country, the original set of rules in existence)
All of this, I did on foot. If you look at the map of the area, you'd see I did a lot of walking. Before I did all this, however, I didn't want to repeat the zoo of my Miami to D.C. trip, which was noisy and eventful, complete with a bad cover band playing classic rock five rows behind me and a crazy woman going through peoples' belongings. I got a sleeper to Chicago and assumed that the trip from there to LA would be easier. As soon as I got on the car in Chicago, things started going a little crazy in the car, all the way to Kansas City. It was one thing or another, and I asked about any available sleepers. Amazingly, one became available, and as I sit here now, I'm in my own little cabin writing away, pausing only to sip coffee or snap a picture outside my window. Since Miami I have taken 464 photos. That is considering that the whole time, I've been very conscious of seeing everything with my own eyes first, and then the camera captures the moment after.
In one year, I have seen some amazing things, and what I find most curious is that I could have merely chosen not to. It makes me think…and it makes me thankful. If I didn't write, if I didn't love photography, if I didn't appreciate everything I've seen, I wouldn't be able to tell the story. That, after all, is what I do.
472 photos now. It happens just like that.
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