If someone had told me, a year or so ago, that I was soon to become disturbingly comfortable with the idea of taking regular 14-hour train rides, I probably would have laughed in their faces and assured them that the 4.5 hour flight between San Francisco and Chicago was interminable, and that there was no way I'd grow accustomed to sitting on a train for the amount of time required to fly from Australia to the US, in order to travel a distance smaller than that of the state of Oregon.
Yet here I am, taking this trip for what will most likely be the last time. I'm actually rather pleased, if truth be told; while I normally wouldn't have bought myself an expensive train ticket, fortune smiled upon me through a large group of travellers also purchasing tickets for my train, and all that was left when I arrived was a second-class seat ... or a first-class sleeper berth.

For a while I was enamoured of the workaday second-class trip; I saw it as a way to familiarise myself with the reality of daily life here, to understand what life was like for the vast majority of the populace. And I suppose I did ... but I also got fleas, got propositioned (and 'inappropriately handled') by passengers and conductors alike, got trapped in irritating conversations with people who couldn't seem to understand that I'd much rather continue reading The Economist in peace and insisted upon talking to me through headphones and an open magazine, got looked up and down in the lewdest manner possible by drunken assholes who utilised the opportunity of the narrow passage to pinch my nipples or grab my ass as I tried to pass by, got kicked out of my seat, got suffocated by people who refused to open the windows in miserable choking heat, and got robbed by fellow passengers.
But now, first class. A little berth all to myself in a clean car with a bathroom that doesn't look like an outtake from Trainspotting, a bed that's arguably more comfortable than the one in my apartment (not a terribly impressive feat, but still), an unimpeded view of whatever I want to look at, and carmates who are pleasant, sober, and clean.

Call me a snob, but I never want to leave here.

I'm glad I didn't find myself in this situation sooner, or I'd imagine I would have gotten very used to it. Thinking back to all the unpleasant trips I've taken; cars that were always either stiflingly hot or bitterly cold, people boarding the train at three in the morning and rudely kicking or shoving your feet out of their way as you doze, being wedged into the corner of a seat because someone decided to sprawl along the length of it to sleep, standing in the passage at the open window in the dead of winter because your assigned seat is in a closed compartment with someone who hasn't been introduced to soap in what seems like a month. Dehydrating myself for 18-or-so hours so I don't have to even think about visiting those bathrooms. Arriving at my destination at 7am, haggard and exhausted from lack of sleep and water, staring down a wasted day of exhaustion and half-dozing.
I'd say I'm certainly over the romanticism I felt about second-class travel.
I could absolutely see travelling a good distance like this, though. Even though these compartments are spare by some 'first class' standards, there are two bunks, racks and hangers for baggage, a window that opens, a sink and mirror. The bathroom is clean and doesn't make you want to gag just thinking about it. The silence and the view, the pleasant carmates, complimentary water (!) and functioning outlets make this a thoroughly enjoyable prospect, so much so that I almost wish my trip was longer so that I had more time to take advantage of it. (It is true that it's not always this advatageous; I got lucky this time by virtue of there not being many first-class passengers, and not having a cabinmate. Riding in a cabin like this with the wrong person could easily be 14 hours of misery.)
The result of this is that I'm now looking forward to post-service travel even more, if such a sentiment is possible. A couple of fellow volunteers and I have the plan to ride the Trans-Siberian railway on our way home, and the more I think about it, the more I think I'd like to travel back to the west coast of the States and hop a train back to Chicago. Not having a schedule for Amtrak's chronic lateness to screw up, and riding from San Francisco to Chicago in a roomette for a couple of days, hanging out in the dining and observation cars chatting with fellow travellers, seems like a great way to meander my way back. I've done enough of these trips behind the wheel of a car; it would be nice to sit back and watch the scenery go by, with someone else at the helm.