We’ve rented something called a “Spaceship“—essentially a Toyota minivan that’s been converted into a bright orange campervan. Our car is now our castle. This is a new approach to car camping for us—actually sleeping in the vehicle, but it’s one that New Zealand is uniquely set up to accommodate. With the numerous “campgrounds” and holiday parks, we have access to toilets and showers, cooking facilities, and even internet for around $16-22 per person per night, pretty much everywhere.
After three weeks of living itinerantly as we traveled across the country, our 28-day stay on the Cap Cleveland was going to be the longest we’d be “in one place”, so we were anxious to see what the “owner’s cabin” accommodations were like.
The room is about 12 feet wide by 15 feet deep, all carpeted, with a single curtained window at one end (it would be an insult to call it a porthole). The view out is straight ahead, and when we boarded, it was not blocked by containers (though they were still loading the ship). There’s a double-bed in the corner with drawers underneath, a couch, a coffee table, a desk with a nice chair, a small fridge, a TV with a DVD player, a bookshelf, an armoire with drawers, and a bathroom with shower, toilet, sink, and medicine cabinet.
All this and it didn’t feel cramped, which immediately put us at ease. The only downside, so far, is that the AC broke on the ship on its way to Philadelphia. They tried to get a replacement part there, but it was the wrong one. We’re in Savannah as I write this (Friday), and HOPING that they get it fixed.
View from the doorView from the couch (as Stephanie opens the bathroom door)The window
Since Monday was a holiday, we called our Philadelphia boat contact on Friday from DC. Was the Cap Cleveland still leaving on September 7th? Yes, he said, the boat was slated to arrive that morning and would depart that night. He said we should show up at 6pm, but of course call Tuesday morning to confirm.
So we enjoyed a lovely Labor Day weekend with my cousin Chris, his wife Fran, and their two children Emma and Luke in New Jersey (they live across the river from Philly). I met Emma just a few weeks after she was born, shortly before I moved to California (five years ago). Here I was once again intersecting with them at another major juncture in my life. It’s funny how that happens.
Emma and Justin on laptops
Tuesday morning I called to confirm the boat details, and spoke with someone who said we should show up “at lunch” instead. Ohhhk. Change of plans, but it actually worked out pretty well. I was able to get a much needed haircut at a local barber, then we packed our bags, sent Emma off to her afternoon preschool, and Fran drove us over to the Philadelphia marine terminal. Here’s a neat satellite image of the area with what might have been the Cap Cleveland being loaded with containers.
The overnight slow-train from Nice to Paris was 10 hours. San Antonio to New Orleans: 16. New Orleans to Washington, DC? 26 hours straight! We woke up at 6 on Thursday morning, got to the train station by 6:30, and were moving across the landscape at 7:05. Neither of us slept well the night before so we were a little out of it. Luckily our compartment was a tad more spacious than the one on the Sunset Limited, with an elevator bunk for more head room, windows for the top bunk, and our very own toilet and fold-up sink in the room!
Amtrak Station in New Orleans
The hours actually passed pretty quickly. We had our first on-train breakfast: Stephanie had scrambled eggs and I had french toast. We sat across from a nice couple from Lafayette and chatted about catching gators, good food, and their French-speaking Cajun grandparents. We had lunch with a nice older couple from Anniston, AL who couldn’t wait to get back to the comforts of home after a week in New Orleans—Steph had a burger, I had a salad. And we had dinner with a woman who never said a word to us—I had a stuffed pasta, but ended up eating half of Stephanie’s broiled catfish and rice instead.
Lake Pontchartrain
We went to bed around the Georgia-South Carolina border, hoping the wrath of Hurricane Earl would stay off-shore (it did), and we woke up on Friday just before Alexandria, VA. We were still putting our bags back together when the train pulled into Washington DC’s Union Station. It would continue on to Philadelphia and New York, but we were getting off there, staying at a second-cousin’s vacant apartment for two days to do a little sightseeing.
The train ride was uneventful. The sleeping compartment was small, which freaked Stephanie out at first, but she adjusted. We did our best at getting some sleep, which was interesting given the frequent sounding of the horn at crossings and the surprisingly bumpy ride. Imagine a 16 hour flight where you’re constantly jostled by turbulence. Was the night train we took in France this rough? I can’t remember.
Earplugs and benedryl helped some, such that we “slept” right through breakfast. We made it to lunch though, and were pleasantly surprised to discover that meals were included in the price of the sleeper compartments. The romance of the dining car somewhat compensated for our lack of deep sleep.
It was here that I finally realized why all travel guides advise you to take the train instead of flying. We were seated facing two other travelers who had just gotten their meals. The woman was talking on her cell phone about real estate, and the man barely acknowledged our arrival, focusing instead on his pork and gravy served over rice.
I found the fact that we were seated with strangers jarring at first, and I shifted my gaze towards Stephanie. But once our food arrived and the woman finished her call, I made my first attempts at engaging them in a little small talk. They had gotten on the train in Los Angeles (at its origin), and were taking it all the way to New Orleans (the terminus). 46 hours in all, with our mutual destination only 2 hours away. They admitted they were a little stir crazy. They looked it.
I realized we’d have many more opportunities for interactions like this one, not just on our upcoming train ride from New Orleans to DC, but over the next several months as well. Even though many would seem rote or fleeting, these moments would comprise most of our social contact, so it would pay to get used to it—and get good at it.
We arrived in New Orleans an hour early! When does that ever happen? Though it was raining as we approached the station, by the time we got off the train it had stopped. We caught a cab to our hotel in the French Quarter, Place D’Armes, and then made a beeline for Cafe du Monde.
