A Roomette?

{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.

 

Confession: Our Pleasure Room

{If you are just now finding your way here, what took you so long? Since Lent 2024 began, I’ve been writing each day about “room(s).”}

Many people, occasions, and places in my life have given me — and are still giving me— pleasure. Mostly, pure pleasure. Sometimes though, as is the case I cite today, guilty pleasure.

I’ve been thinking about rooms for this Lenten series. Or, just the idea of room itself. As in room for roaming, or room for growth, or…more on that later this week. For now, a room in which Joan and I find great pleasure. It’s not cheap to be there. It is not at all good stewardship of the earth, and that’s why this is a confession. A confession with no intent to repent. But that room is an escape room…at sea.

We took our first cruise to Alaska when I was still a pastor. We’d never had the time nor money before that trip, but somehow we managed to board the Royal Caribbean “Vision of the Seas” and travel far away from of our Ithaca neighborhood. Just as I was thinking that some members of our former Vermont congregation might think this was an inappropriate and unnecessary journey, excessively beyond what a pastor should be able to afford — well, we discovered that quite by coincidence one of our church farm families would be on the very same ship at the very same time. Maybe some would think the daily presence of church folk from a previous church on the cruise would cramp our style (style? what style?), but we truly enjoyed bumping into the Rowells on that ship, and sharing our adventures.

This is larger than our usual cabin;
it must have been on sale

After our initial cruise, and after retirement, we discovered other ships and faraway places, and we found that many of those opportunities were quite within our budget. I know: cruises sound so luxurious, so expensive, so, um, “upper crust.” [Your lesson of the day: the upper crust was that part of the loaf that was placed before the most honored guest, thus the aristocracy.] But if one were to spend a week in a nicer hotel in a large city, eat all three meals “out,” and look for some entertainment or enlightenment each day, the cruise is a far better value. Sometimes we find one that is around $200 a day, including great meals (even snacks), a show each night, lectures during the day, and that room referred to above, the one that gives us pleasure. The stateroom. Or, cabin. (So odd to use that word. Usually I think of a cabin as some primitive abode in the woods.)

Travel was rare when I was a kid. Dad had a good job, but with six kids and his own reluctance to go very far from home, our vacation time was spent at Cape Cod (Mom’s childhood vacations were on the Cape), or just at home. Joan and I, with resources limited by modest church salaries, didn’t exactly see the USA in our Chevrolet (or the Pontiac or Toyota). We were able to travel by car, though, so our two children could get some idea that life existed beyond our Richmond suburbs. But still…I never imagined that I would see England, Russia, Hawaii, or the Azores. Or, cruise the Caribbean with both kids’ families to celebrate our combined anniversaries.

Veranda view crossing the Atlantic

That room. The cabin. Small, basic, and with a shower that would keep me from gaining 10 more pounds (in other words, not much room to move around in there!). We almost always get a room with a veranda or balcony, and spend hours out there reading and watching the sea roll by. The idea of just stopping, staying put…listening to the waves and the wind… looking out at the horizon and watching the sun set. Yes, it is a luxury; I admit it. I also admit that it gives me great pleasure.

We don’t do the chocolate or champagne fountain midnight thing. We don’t eat between meals. We don’t do room service. We eschew the art auctions. We do like eating by ourselves at some meals, and we like meeting interesting people from around the world at shared tables. We enjoy the port lectures and take a few affordable excursions. (On the Jazz Cruise, we ignored the ports. People would ask where that cruise was stopping and we’d admit we didn’t really care; it was the music we were after.)

So, yes. Great pleasure. And no little guilt. First there’s the whole idea of splurging on oneself. Is there a justification for that? Perhaps. I know there’s a rationale. (See above about vacationing for a week in a large US city.) We do have a respect for our religious stewardship commitments, tithing for example to serve others. Yet, in our retirement years, we are indeed treating, serving ourselves too.

But the other confession we make is that we know these huge ships are an environmental threat. The fuel, the trash, the ecological footprint. The cruise companies boast about their environmental stewardship, but like any other corporation, they are good at PR and not-so-good at transparency. This isn’t the place for me to write an essay comparing modes of vacation travel, researching jumbo jets vs. cruise ships of various sizes vs. a coast-to-coast AMTRAK trek. I’m merely writing about rooms here. But it’s Lent, so yeah, there’s that confession that we could do better. Like stay home and watch videos of scenic places. But the videos we enjoy most are the ones I’ve edited from our many journeys to see the world’s wonders.

I shudder to think what our cruise schedule might be like if we lived near a port city like Miami or Long Beach. Some of those last minute cruises are almost cheaper than staying home. Oh, and have you heard about people who sell their homes and move onto cruise ships permanently? A nice room, entertainment, fine meals, even healthcare, to say nothing of the views. Not for me, thanks.

The funny thing is…I can’t swim. You’d think sailing for days without seeing land would be spooky for me. But there’s something about the wild seas and far horizons that speaks to me of creation’s wondrous width and length and height and depths. Well…let’s not talk about depths.