Wednesday, 21 May - Goodbye, Virginia!

Our hostess Ubon has rustled up a Thai breakfast for us – she tells us it's free - “I figured you two were quite adventurous.” The breakfast is orange juice, plus an omelette with a filling of cheese, ham and broccoli, accompanied by noodles with a special sauce – delicious! Ubon has also prepared “sticky rice and mango” for afters – we can't eat it all, but it's very nice indeed. We've been well looked after at the Ubon Thai Restaurant and Inn. Not only did Dan, Ubon's American husband, take Reg to collect our hire car, he has offered to go with Reg to return the car. Ubon tells us that Dan will take us to the station at lunchtime, and that we can have the use of our room until then, as they don't have any new guests coming in.

We've enjoyed our time in Virginia, but are ready to move on. At 1.30pm we have a 1 hour train journey from Staunton back to Charlottesville, where this evening we will catch the train to New Orleans. Dan drives us to through “sleepy Staunton” to the ancient station which thankfully, though in the open air, has a covered station platform with plenty of seats, as it's really hot today. This part of the platform is separated from the railway line by metal fencing and a gate; we've found that unlike in England, but similar to China, you can't just get on the train when it arrives; a guard has to let you through.

We get talking to a weathered-skin man who is sitting next to us in the station. He's smoking a hand-rolled cigarette, has the name “Elmo” written in marker pen on his cap, and is wearing a t-shirt with the words “Freedom is not free – 2008” on the front. When I later ask him he says in a rich Virginian drawl that he's in his 50's, though he looks at least 10 years older. Next to him is an old black rucksack, bulging at the seams, with various (full) plastic bags tied to it. He shows us all the cans and various other food items he is carrying, which, he says, have been given to him by the local church foodbanks.

Almo tells us something of his story. He says he left home at 14, as his stepfather didn't want him there, and has lived on the streets for most of his life since then, apart from 2 years when he was in the army, serving in Kuwait, and now; he now has a rented room. He received a broken collarbone in Kuwait, which still looks slightly askew.

He tells us that he goes to church on Sundays, where everyone knows and cares about him. He says he gets his food from the local churches (“there's many, many churches around here”) and from “dumpster diving” - taking the waste food which is past it's sell-by date from the trash bins behind the supermarkets. A familiar story in the UK.

“Did you hear about the quarry accident years ago? They were mining in the quarry, when it filled with water. 239 men were drowned. There's catfish in the quarry now – they've got mouths like whales. They's as big as that there car, they'd swallow you whole, like that man in the bible with the whale. I know my bible.”

“How did the catfish get in the quarry?” I ask.

“Dropped by birds, most likely. I could take you there and show you them, but you got a train to catch.”

Elmo goes on to tell us that he was married once, “but I ain't seen my wife since 2004.” He has a Mum, who lives a long way away, and a sister, but his sister doesn't want anything to do with him, and he can't get to see his Mum.

“Everyone in Staunton knows me,” he says, “but I only know about 5 people who I would call real friends.”

Elmo tells us he suffers from ill-health and on prompting, explains some of his ailments. We get the impression nevertheless that he is a survivor, and fairly at peace with the world.

“How much are cigarettes in England?” he asks. “They're $5 a packet here. I buy this tobacco for $7 and it lasts me 2 months.”

Finally he says he has to be on his way, as he has a bus to catch; interestingly, he doesn't ask us for money, but I give him a couple of dollars in loose change. Later, I say to Reg,

“ He says he spends a lot of time here in the station. Does he just enjoy chatting to people, or does he do it in the hope of people offering him money?”

Either way, Elmo has lived what some people would regard as a wasted life, underpinned by difficult relationships, and quite possibly blighted by addictions; but he's definitely not caught in the rat-race, nor is he part of the “always wanting more” culture. And he's certainly not the rich man, who led Jesus to say to his disciples, “It's easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than it is for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God”.  (Matthew 19:24).

Passenger trains only pass through Staunton 3 times a week. Another passenger informs us that, according to the Amtrak website, our train will be at least 2 hours late. This prompts me to pop to the sandwich bar across the road to get us some lunch; in there the staff tell me philosophically that the trains from Staunton are almost always late.

When we finally reach Charlottesville, we still have time to leave our luggage at the station and pop into the “downtown mall” for a drink, where Reg has a long discussion with the young waiter, Lucas, about English beer.

Our sleeper train to New Orleans is on time; a train guard takes us and our luggage in a “golf buggy” along the length of the platform, and in through a gate, to where the sleeping cabins in the train are situated.

Our cabin, a “Viewliner economy room” is miniscule, compared to those we've encountered on east European and Asian trains. It's about 5ft wide by 6ft long by 10ft high, and there really isn't room to swing a cat. Everything doubles up as something else, and folds away; there is though a toilet and washbasin (with hot running water). The toilet seat doubles as the first step to the top bunk, which is elevated out of the way during the day; the bottom bunk turns into 2 seats. There's a lovely big window, and curtains for privacy. My purple suitcase and Reg's large soft wheelie bag have to fit into a rack just below the ceiling. They have to be hoisted up onto the top bunk, to enable Reg to manoeuvre them onto the high shelf. It's a tight squeeze – thank goodness we kept to the Amtrak recommended luggage measurements, because there's definitely no room at all for large luggage down below.

The train guard fetches us 2 cups of boiling water so that we can make ourselves some tea. She returns at 10.30 pm and deftly transforms the day seats into a lower bunk.

Reg climbs onto the toilet seat, then onto the shelf below the fold-away washbasin (all a bit like a James Bond film) and settles himself into the top bunk.  The gentle rocking of the train soon sends us to sleep.