{I’m exploring rooms and room and roominess and various room-inations* during Lent 2024. Today, the cross between cozy and claustrophobic.” *Thanks, again, Jim T.}

A roomette. That’s what AMTRAK calls the cubby hole in which Joan and I spent three weeks one night. And again, on the return trip. All things considered, it was better than sleeping in coach. We had privacy and beds (of a sort) for the journey from Minneapolis to Whitefish, Montana and back. But, adding suitcases and backpacks to the already compact roomette made things just a little cramped.

Here’s how the AMTRAK website describes the space:

For customers seeking both privacy and savings in First Class, Roomettes feature two comfortable seats by day transformed to upper and lower beds by night. Each room includes a big picture window, newly upgraded bedding, pillows, towels and linens and access to a restroom and shower in your car.

A dedicated First Class attendant will provide turndown service, assist with meals and help with luggage. All customers in private rooms receive complimentary lounge access at major stations, priority boarding and complimentary meals onboard.

AMTRAK

The site also mentions, if you look for it, the dimensions of the cubicle: 6 1/2 feet by 3 1/2 feet. Uh-huh.

Our locomotive

OK, so it wasn’t that bad. During the day, snuggling up with our backpacks next to us, we faced one another across the crowded room(ette), with that large window providing a wonderful view of the passing terrain. We enjoyed not having to dodge other passengers weaving through the train’s aisles, or having to endure the aroma of the tuna fish sandwich emanating from the seat in front of us. We had our own space, and that was fine. Until we needed to go down the hall to the shared bathroom and shower. Or to change clothes for bed. In order to have enough room, one of us would have to stand outside the roomette in the aisle so the other could stretch into PJs and re-pack backpacks.

Then there was the mechanics of pulling down the upper bunk, climbing up the ladder, and fastening the protective net that kept the sleeper (Joan) from rolling out of bed if the train took a curve too fast. My six foot frame barely fit the length of the lower bed. I did wonder if the train should stop suddenly, I mean real suddenly, if my feet should be toward the front of the train…to keep my head from being jammed into my shoulders if…well, I worry too much.

Joan and all the room she has side to side in the roomette

The car’s attendent was really very friendly, extremely helpful and especially attentive, given our ages. I’m not sure we’d have had such a good experience those nights if it hadn’t been for his help.

When not watching the scenery roll by, we read, napped, and talked about the National Parks’ wonders we were headed to see. Again, the privacy was nice. And we learned as we walked through the train and passed by the real rooms (without the “ettes”) that thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s nicer home. Like the one Garrison Keillor was in just around the corner. He looked comfy in there, and yes, he was reading. Though we liked his roomy rail abode, we did not intrude. We knew he is an introvert (as I am) and 99% of celebrities don’t want to be bothered by well-meaning commoners. (I once said a very casual hello to Donald Sutherland in a Newport, VT eatery. He was not a happy man.) Keillor had no choice when it came to the dining car. No one gets a private table as the locomotive pulls us companions along the prairie’s home. (I’m smiling as I type that. So clever.)

G. Keillor. It’s the only pic I took of him, and he also respected my privacy

Joan still grins as she recounts what Keillor said to her as we all waited to deboard the train in his familiar Minneapolis station. He said…(wait for it)…”Go ahead.” A man of few words off air. He did appear at our limited glimpses though to be a good scout: courteous, kind, cheerful. Well, not that cheerful. And probably obedient, too, but we didn’t get a chance to see that side of him.

So, where IS the line between comfy and claustrophobic? I suppose it depends on how much time one spends in the smaller spaces of life. One night on the way west. One night on the way east. On AMTRAK. Sure beat flying! That airborne experience is definitely claustrophobic all the way.