Peter, Paul and Mary sang the version I remember best, "...You can hear the whistle blow 100 miles..."
When I got "home" from my trip to India at 2 a.m. and stepped out of the car, I heard the train whistle floating through the night. A few hours earlier we were in the train, leaving Mussoorie -- again. I was in the sleeper car, middle berth, and I could feel the rocking motion in my sleep; the announcer's mechanically pleasant voice drifted through my dreams at each stop. We were woken by the coolies early in the morning surging through the carriage vigorously shaking our feet and asking if we want help with our luggage. Too early even for "CHAI-CHAI".
It's funny how a single note can take me around the world and back. I remember trips with my brothers and sisters on the "Nepal Party" going home from boarding school for the holidays. I can almost taste the mango juice dripping down my chin, and the Kwality ice cream cones. I hear the vendors clamoring for business on the platform. I smell the smoke from cooking fires as we chug through villages. I see images as though looking at photos: people I have met on train trips; tranquil sunrises and boisterous sunsets; a crush of bicycles, motorcycles, rickshaws, bullock carts, buses and lorries waiting at railroad crossings; a red-shirted coolie with a trunk on his head and a shoulder bag over each arm dodging through a crowded station to get to the right train.
In college, I used to ride Amtak's Empire Builder from Minneapolis to the West Coast. I would imagine I was in a covered wagon slowly covering the miles. That train dives into the Columbia River valley at sunrise: the memory of watching the colors change still sends thrills through my senses.
My family and I once went to a family reunion in Minnesota on the train. It's such a relaxed mode of travel, compared to flying. It gives you time to reflect.
When we lived in Upstate New York on the Erie Canal the sound of the train whistle reminded me that there is more to life than just what we can see here. There is cargo to carry from East to West and North to South and back again. There are people going places for different reasons. Progress is happening. (Now the locks on the Canal are mostly used for pleasure cruisers.) At 2 in the morning, the train whistle welcomes me home to Delaware.
When I got "home" from my trip to India at 2 a.m. and stepped out of the car, I heard the train whistle floating through the night. A few hours earlier we were in the train, leaving Mussoorie -- again. I was in the sleeper car, middle berth, and I could feel the rocking motion in my sleep; the announcer's mechanically pleasant voice drifted through my dreams at each stop. We were woken by the coolies early in the morning surging through the carriage vigorously shaking our feet and asking if we want help with our luggage. Too early even for "CHAI-CHAI".
It's funny how a single note can take me around the world and back. I remember trips with my brothers and sisters on the "Nepal Party" going home from boarding school for the holidays. I can almost taste the mango juice dripping down my chin, and the Kwality ice cream cones. I hear the vendors clamoring for business on the platform. I smell the smoke from cooking fires as we chug through villages. I see images as though looking at photos: people I have met on train trips; tranquil sunrises and boisterous sunsets; a crush of bicycles, motorcycles, rickshaws, bullock carts, buses and lorries waiting at railroad crossings; a red-shirted coolie with a trunk on his head and a shoulder bag over each arm dodging through a crowded station to get to the right train.
In college, I used to ride Amtak's Empire Builder from Minneapolis to the West Coast. I would imagine I was in a covered wagon slowly covering the miles. That train dives into the Columbia River valley at sunrise: the memory of watching the colors change still sends thrills through my senses.
My family and I once went to a family reunion in Minnesota on the train. It's such a relaxed mode of travel, compared to flying. It gives you time to reflect.
When we lived in Upstate New York on the Erie Canal the sound of the train whistle reminded me that there is more to life than just what we can see here. There is cargo to carry from East to West and North to South and back again. There are people going places for different reasons. Progress is happening. (Now the locks on the Canal are mostly used for pleasure cruisers.) At 2 in the morning, the train whistle welcomes me home to Delaware.
