Trains, Planes & Automobiles

[At left, a photo taken from the train down to San Diego.]
When I was a boy, I had a profound fascination with trains that even today I find difficult to explain. I remember loving the way my toy trains looked: a steam engine in front followed by a coal car, one or two passenger cars and the "caboose." (Isn't that a fun little word?) I loved the sounds they made: the chugga-chugga chugga-chugga of the engine, the conductor's whistle just prior to departure, the sound of the wheels flying over the tracks, clickity-clack, clickity-clack. I liked dressing up like a conductor, with my little cap, blue and white striped overalls and handkerchief tied around my neck.

I still enjoy trains, albeit not to the same extent, and not for the same reasons (though I do think I'd still look pretty good in those striped overalls and that little hat). Carbon emissions are reduced for all forms of mass transit, especially the electricity-operated AmTrak. One can sleep, read, or compose blog entries while on the train, none of which can be safely performed while driving a car. One can also eat, talk on the phone, or balance his checkbook on the train without endangering himself or fellow drivers. Best of all, as one surveys the land from his train window, it relinquishes its secrets to him. And given all these benefits, it's not surprising that I chose to travel via railroad for my little trip down to San Diego today to visit Brina and shop at Ruehl, a new over-priced store to which I was introduced in my recent trip to San Diego.

Things began to a less than idyllic start. Even taking the carpool lane on the 5 South, it took me over an hour to get to the AmTrak station in Irvine, meaning that as I ran into the ticket office, I saw my 8am train pulling out of the station. (Boo.) Fortunately, the wait for the next train was only slightly more than an hour.

After having embarked on the next available train, I wandered to the upper level of the car and located a seat on the western side, which would offer the best view of the ocean once the tracks were close enough. Things were looking up: a one hour ride with great weather, the chance to ogle the California coastline, and if the unthinkable should happen (my getting tired of the vista), I brought some reading material.

Then, suddenly, things were looking very down. The woman in front of me received a call on her cell phone. If you know me, you know that although I own a mobile phone of my own, I am a big stickler on phone etiquette, namely that in public places, phone conversations should be quiet and as laconic as possible. (Did you know in Japan, only text messaging is allowed on the phone? Aural conversations are strictly prohibited. What a country!) Anyway, not only was she loud, but her conversation was tortuously boring. Was this eavesdropping? No, because that would imply that I was the offender in this sad scenario, when in fact, I was a hapless victim being subjected to the insipid travesty she was trying so hard to pass off as a conversation. Moreover, when one is speaking loudly in a public place, she forfeits the right to site others for eavesdropping. [I did consider moving to one of several empty seats in other cars, but I: a) had already made myself quite comfortable; b) naively believed she would soon finish her chat; c) was afraid I might miss some wonderful sight from my window; and d) had no guarantee that people in the other cars weren't engaged in equally banal discussions on their mobile phones. Besides, I knew that the situation has potential for another fun rant on the blog.]

To my relief, after a few minutes that felt like half an eternity, she got up as the train was preparing to make a stop; it seemed that she was exiting. She had gathered her belongings, but forgot her jacket! It's her bachi the little Japanese voice inside my head screeched. ("Bachi" is a Japanese superstition in which bad things happen to someone as a minor karmic punishment for a minor offense.) I considered taking it to the conductor to be stowed in the lost-and-found. (I also considered rifling through her pockets to see what I could find.) I was prevented from both actions by a fear that her banality might be contagious.

To my horror, she returned after several minutes. Apparently she had only gone to the bathroom, or perhaps the cafeteria car, and took her things as insurance that no one would steal them (and based on my thieving impulse, perhaps she had made the right decision). I didn't think her previous dialogue could have been any more boring, but she proved me wrong. A second friend called her, and she repeated the whole dull, dull, dull "conversation" almost verbatim. It was like seeing a really great comedy for the second time, and the funny parts are even funnier because as you wait for them, the anticipation builds, and you can relive the best parts all over again. Except instead of a really great comedy, this was tragically depressing babble, and instead of "funny parts," there were tragically boring parts that induced a boredom so acute that it felt something more akin to pain.

As I sat there trying not to listen, but instead concentrate on how I would retell this story, I considered mirroring her redundancy in my own prose, to recreate for the reader the dread and revulsion I felt as she rambled on and on (and on and on and on...). Then I realized that unlike me in the train, my reader is not a captive audience, and would likely "alt-F4" their browser window.

Speaking of windows, look at the gorgeous photos I took of the view outside of mine! [See especially the photo at the bottom, of ocean and pier.] I was on the top of the double-decker car, on the right side going south, so it is the closest track to the ocean, sometimes not more than a few yards from the coast. For part of the ride I tried to to prepare this week's Sunday school lesson, but that was nearly impossible, given the absolute majesty of the scenes parading by outside. I can never resist looking out the window while on a train or bus, and my addiction to window-watching was not helped by the fact that the weather was fine, the sun was bright, but blinding, and the seaside was lovely.

Shopping was very good. From Ruehl I got two polos, a very heavy, gray hoodie with a fur-lined hood that should keep me very warm in China this winter. I also got two ties (one olive green, and one lavender with blue and yellow stripes) from Saks 5th Ave and Nordstrom.