Travel: Lessons From The City Of New Orleans

Trains are great for short-distance runs or for relaxed sightseeing on longer trips, but if you need to get far away fast, take a plane. So goes the common wisdom. But there are times when the train wins on both counts, as I discovered one recent Friday when my 16-year-old daughter Joanna and I were scheduled to fly from New York City to Chicago and, that night, board the legendary City of New Orleans. Our goal was to sample some of the best of the American train experience from the Windy City to the Mississippi Delta. But snow closed the airport. Postponing the Chicago-New Orleans run to Saturday night, we nabbed the last two seats on Amtrak's Lake Shore Limited, leaving Penn Station at 4:30, while hundreds of snowbound air passengers were left milling around LaGuardia Airport. Lesson No. 1: Trains are reliable.

We slept through 14 snow-blanketed stops in New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio and Indiana before pulling into Union Station, Chicago, at about noon. We checked our bags and embarked on a whirlwind tour of the city, returning for the 8 p.m. departure on the City of New Orleans. The lounge and platforms hummed with Saturday-night festivity. Many folks, en route to New Orleans for vacation, had taken to the rails just for fun.

"Now, be careful," warned our redcap, Chester, as he carried our suitcases to our second-story sleeper on the silver superliner. "Your bathroom has two buttons--one to flush, one to turn on the shower." Sure enough, our deluxe bedroom had a private "bathroom" with a shower right over the toilet and a drain on the floor! Hmmm. Our compartment also included a long sofa-like seat (which converted to a double bed) with a view out the window and a chair across the way. There was also a berth near the ceiling, accessible by ladder, to be pulled down later. However eccentric its facilities, the "room" offered more space and privacy than the "standard" compartment--with its fold-down sink and unenclosed toilet--that we had shared on the train from New York. Lesson No. 2: Trains are not hotels.

"Welcome to the City of N'Awlins," drawled a voice over the intercom. The friendliness and folksiness of this welcome was echoed by the many staff members shepherding us, including "King George," our king-size personal attendant; Stephan, our waiter; and Frank Carswell, a service attendant, who was persuaded by co-workers to sing for us at dinner (this also served to promote his upcoming CD).

As trains do, the City of New Orleans slipped with cat-like stealth out of Union Station and glided past Chicago's night skyline. Barely under way, we were summoned to the dining car and ensconced in a cushy booth with white linen tablecloth and fresh flowers opposite Gloria and Gary Pothast, a couple from Duluth, Minn. Stephan, between bantering and chuckling, confided that his favorite on the menu was the blackened catfish (prepared fresh in the galley below, unlike the reheated frozen food we had eaten on the Lake Shore Limited). While not up to the best of New Orleans cuisine, it was real Cajun cooking. Lesson No. 3: Train food usually beats plane food.