but I related to him. These questions of family, home, and grief set the tone for my entire journey. There is perhaps no mode of American transportation more fit to understand the interior lives of others than train travel, where the opportunities for eavesdropping and meaningful conversation are near endless. In LA’s Union Station, I overheard a woman with sextuplets and a set of twins quoting Bible verses and loudly telling her husband all the reasons she’d decided to file for divorce. A man told me he was an expert on alternative modes of transportation, having once taken his bike from San Francisco to Denver at age 13. Train people often bare the grimy intimacies of their lives to fellow passengers. Other times, they’re audacious, glamorous liars. Being lied to like that is its own form of intimacy. I headed south to San Diego on the Pacific Surfliner, the scent of saltwater permeating the train alongside ocean cliffs. The Surfliner is Amtrak’s most beautiful and elegant route, with complimentary snacks and rosé in business class. But its breathtaking proximity to the ocean is also its downfall. This is where I hit my first snag of the journey. A section of track recently fell into the ocean due to erosion, obliterating service and stranding countless train folk. Another win for car culture.
LEFT Amtrak’s Pacific Surfliner runs between San Diego and Santa Barbara, with ocean views and plenty of conversation, if desired. And the author, authoring, while enroute. ABOVE Santa Barbara is only a train ride away. BELOW LA’s Union Station, alive with train people who “often bare the grimy intimacies of their lives to fellow passengers.”
“Sometimes, train people are audacious, glamorous liars . Being lied to like that is its own form of intimacy.”
135 SAN DIEGO MAGAZINE
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