SEATTLE — Shortly before the pandemic, I decided to check off a much-anticipated adventure from my to-do list: I boarded an overnight train from New York to Savannah. I booked a small cabin with a bed and a private bathroom (the category is called a “roomette”) on Amtrak’s Silver Meteor. I had fantasies of chugging down the East Coast, watching the gorgeous scenery drift by, and letting the engine’s hum lull me to sleep.
The reality was quite different. My roomette resembled a prison cell. It was likely last renovated when Bill Clinton played his saxophone on “The Arsenio Hall Show.” The private bathroom was actually a stainless steel toilet located about a foot from a seat that folded down to form a bed. There was no wall or partition between the seat and the toilet. The toilet was just . . . there. All I could think about was how many layers of fecal mist must have accumulated on the upholstery in the quarter century or so since the banged-up cabin was last renovated.
My overall experience that night on the Silver Meteor was so thoroughly unpleasant — from the accommodations to the service — that I decided it would be unfair to write a review based on that one trip. The dining car on the Meteor had ceased serving seated meals with white tablecloths about a month before my trip, stripping the last of the romance from rail travel (this was pre-pandemic). Instead, meals were heated in foil containers and handed out. This was not the Orient Express I had dreamed of. It was more like the Orange Is the New Black Express.
So last month, I gave Amtrak another shot. I boarded the much more grandiose-sounding Empire Builder, which runs from Seattle to Chicago. My journey was a 36-hour trek spanning 1,600 miles across Washington, Montana (through Glacier National Park), North Dakota, and Minnesota. The route ultimately ends in Chicago, but I decided St. Paul would be a good stopping point in the event of more fecal-misted misery.
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Once again, I booked a roomette, but this time it lacked an in-room toilet and sink, for which I was grateful. Instead, the car where my cabin was located had multiple public bathrooms. Two of the bathrooms also contained showers. My cabin, which cost $850, was designed to accommodate two people. The fare included all meals, and, even better, the dining car was a throwback with waitstaff, white tablecloths, and fresh flowers.
I’m happy to report that the Empire Builder experience was infinitely better than the Silver Meteor prison cell. A large part of that had to do with the scenery and the service, but what remained frustrating is that Amtrak continues to squander an opportunity to build its sleeper car product into something special. When I mentioned to friends that I would be taking a train across the West and through a national park, they immediately thought of posh European overnight trains. Amtrak is not posh, nor does it need to be, but with a few updates and tweaks, it could be pretty wonderful.
Amtrak offers two categories of private cabins: rooms, and the smaller roomettes. The dimensions of my roomette (according to Amtrak’s website) were about 4 feet wide by 7 feet long. The ceiling height was tall enough that there was room for a bunkbed above the two chairs that fold down into a twin bed. If you’re doing anything beyond sitting and watching the scenery roll by, it’s a tight space, but it’s completely private. You can close the door and draw the curtains on the windows that face the corridor, letting you chat, work, or daydream in peace.
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The room was clean but dated. I found one power outlet, no USB outlets, and some barebones amenities such as reading lights, climate control, two bottles of water, and small bits of storage (you can check bags, so you don’t have them cluttering your room). Amtrak could easily maximize space by approaching the room like a business-class airplane seat (think JetBlue’s Mint class). This part of the train is considered first-class. Improving the lighting, updating the cabin, and reconfiguring the layout would truly make them first-class instead of simply serviceable. There is no Internet on the train, which was fine for me but not helpful for those who needed to stay connected.
I boarded the Empire Builder in Seattle at King Street Station. The process was smooth, much smoother than boarding a flight, and I quickly settled into my cabin. It was a dreamy departure. The train went north before heading east, so I was treated to sunset over Puget Sound. Room and roomette categories have a cabin attendant who turns down your room at night and makes up the bed. Given that I was solo I had my choice of where to sleep, so I choose the lower level. I was slightly afraid of rolling out of the bunk.
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My first-class car attendant was a trainee named Isiah, and he was the most polite and patient person I’ve ever met on a train. He always greeted me with a smile and a courteous “How are you today, Mr. Muther?” He even laughed at my corny “Mr. Muther is my father’s name” joke.
But before bed it was dinnertime! I headed to the dining car, ready for some stimulating conversation over a delicious dinner. That wasn’t exactly what happened. I couldn’t determine if the couple seated across from me were mother and son or husband and wife. The more I tried to engage them, the quieter they became. Clearly they had hoped for their own booth as they looked everywhere but at me. Did I have spinach in my teeth?
Meanwhile, dinner arrived. I started with raspberry and brie empanadas. But the pastry was so tough that when I tried to cut into it, I couldn’t get my fork and knife to penetrate the impossible crust. On my third try the empanada slipped away from my utensils, sailed off the plate, and onto the floor. I hastily went to the next course, which was panko-crusted chicken. Much like the empanada it was too dry, but I ate quickly and skipped dessert so the husband-wife/mother-son across from me could enjoy their meal without me.
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My first night of sleep on the train was tough, although not as tough as the brie empanadas. The whistle blew often but the bed was surprisingly comfortable and the quality of the linens was better than expected. Dinner, sleep, all of it was a lead-up to the main event, which was a morning viewing of Glacier National Park from the observation car. I rushed through breakfast and reached the observation car by 7:20 a.m. while the train was in Whitefish, Mont. The observation car was still empty, but I was determined to get a good seat.
All Amtrak sins were erased as the sun rose and the snowcapped mountains of the national park came into view. Coming through the park in late October meant that the larch trees were putting on a show with blazing yellow needles (it’s a conifer that isn’t an evergreen). Unfortunately, the sun rose into clouds and promptly disappeared, but it didn’t matter. For the next three hours, I sat at attention as we rolled through the rugged terrain.
It’s not often we get an excuse to just sit and appreciate nature as it changes around us, so I took advantage of every moment. Eventually, the mountains faded and the landscape went completely flat. Our surroundings were an omnipresent shade of khaki and the landscape consisted of bleak scrub.
It was time to try out the shower.
Aside from taking several minutes to heat up, water pressure was good. The shower was roomy but barebones. I brought a bag of shampoo and soap pilfered from hotels because I suspected the products might be subpar on the train, and I was right. There were small, thin bars of individually wrapped soaps from a brand called Boardwalk. I didn’t want to smell like a pier, so I opted to use my own.
Lunch was a big improvement over the previous evening’s dinner. I ordered a mixed green salad with goat cheese. Every other vegetable on the train seemed to be waxed beans, so I was grateful for the reprieve. I went back to my cabin and watched the flat Montana landscape. There were corpses of houses and swaths of deserted cars and buses. But mostly there was nothing, and there was an odd beauty in the monotony.
Dinner was once again lackluster (rigatoni bolognese, with waxed beans), but I sidestepped being seated with the previous night’s mother-son/wife-husband and instead sat with a couple in their 70s who frequently take the train. They poo-pooed all of my gripes as minor compared to the benefits of rail travel.
“Don’t complain about the food!,” Casandra Lynn of Tacoma snapped at me playfully. “Do they feed you anything warm on an airplane? No! Can you take a shower on a plane? No! Do you have a bed on a plane? No! How about these views?”
I was afraid to tell her that the answer was “yes” to several of her questions, but she did have a point. Amtrak, and the Empire Builder, does have its drawbacks, and I stand by my review. But despite those shortcomings, it’s also an opportunity to see the country from a unique perspective. Perhaps that’s worth the pain of wrestling with stale empanadas and putting up with off-brand soap.
Christopher Muther can be reached at christopher.muther@globe.com. Follow him @Chris_Muther and Instagram @chris_muther.