Sunday 29 June – Boston, Massachusetts – The Freedom City

Breakfast starts at 8.00 am on weekends in this hostel, and we're down there straight away, as we're going to Old South Church, Boston – and the service starts at 9.00 am.

It's not too far to walk if we keep a brisk pace, and we arrive just in time. The church building is Victorian (1873); but we learn that the church itself is celebrating its 350^th anniversary in 2020 -it started in 1670, meeting in the Cedar Meeting House, then moved to the Old South Meeting House in 1730, which we visit later in the day, as it's on the “Boston Freedom Trail”. This old meeting house is a fascinating place, much bigger than John Wesley's chapel in Bristol (the world's first Methodist church), but very similar in style, with its box pews and high central pulpit, all built of wood, and quite minimalist – no ornate décor of carvings.

The church congregation is not Methodist, however – we are told that the closest equivalent in the UK would be the United Reformed Church.

We chose this church this morning because it isn't too far to walk to from the hostel, but also because we like what it said about itself on the internet – it's an inclusive church, welcoming everyone, no matter who they are. In fact the church is pro-actively welcoming to gay, lesbian, bisexual and trans-gender people. A leaflet I pick up at the church entrance reads as follows:

“Skeptic. Certain. Confident. Fearful. Gay. Straight. Bisexual. Married. Divorced. Single. Jesus didn't turn people away. Looking. Partnered. Female. Male. Trans. Saint. Sinner. A little of both. Immigrant. Native. Strong. Weak. Got-it-together, Lifelong screw-up. Long-time member, Just walked in the door, Parent. Child. Housed. Homeless. Believer. Questioner. Questioning believer. Doubter. Sports junkie. Tree Hugger. Geek. Cool kid. Loner. Rich. Poor. Just barely making it. Neither do we.”

There's also a big poster, advertising a series of meetings, which says in huge letters,

Gay.

Church.

Chillax.

Why we're out and proud.

A preaching series, Thursdays, 6 pm.

There are about 60 or 70 people at the 9.00am service, where the singing is accompanied by the piano. There's a choir, which meets half an hour before the service to practice an anthem. Anyone at all can just come along at 8.30 am and take part in the choir anthem for that day. (Those in the choir sit amongst the congregation,and just come out to the front of the church when it's time for the anthem).

There is more traditional, I would say more formal worship at 11.00 am (although it's the same minister doing the same sermon) and evening worship at 6 pm, which takes the form of a reflective service, led by different members of Old South Church.

Reg and I really enjoy this worship. There is a broad spectrum of ages – 20's, 30's, 40's, 50's, and much older people too. There's a few babies in the service, with their parents, and towards the end, more children join the service from their own classes.

This service is only 45 minutes long (although the sermon is 15 - 20 minutes of that). We learn that the hymns are only changed every 4 weeks; obviously, the sermon and bible reading change every week (there is only one bible reading – it's from Jeremiah, so no gospel reading this week), and the prayers and the choir anthem change week by week. The Lord's prayer is included in the service.

The service starts with the congregation singing “O for a thousand tongues to sing my great Redeemer's praise” - which I know. Then there's the welcome and announcements, followed by the sharing of the peace. Next, the bible text is read by a member of the congregation. After this the choir sing a beautiful version of Psalm 23, but unusually the Lord is referred to as “she” not “he”. This is followed by the sermon (called “reflection” in the service sheet).

The reflection, by an ordained woman minister in her 30's who did her training at Old South Church some years ago, is brilliant. She has a script, but the sermon is lively and relevant, with humour, and with a strong message for today. I like the way she delivers, in a non-antagonistic way, a challenging message about working for justice.

After the reflection the whole congregation gustily sing “Every time I feel the Spirit”, which I don't know, but it's easy to join in. If you can read music, the music for all the hymns is printed on the service sheet.

There are no prayers of adoration or confession; but we have prayers of intercession (prayers for ourselves and others) and then the congregation sing “Spirit of the Living God, fall afresh on me,” which I love. Then there's the offering; but I notice that when the basket is passed around, most people don't put any money in – is this because they pay by direct debit?

There's Holy Communion, but it's a very informal affair, which the minister calls “sip and dip”. She makes it clear that the wine is grape juice, and that there is gluten-free bread available. After taking communion, you are free to light a candle if you wish to, on a table at the back of the church, presumably to pray for someone; I do this.

This is all followed by The Lord's Prayer, and a closing hymn, “There's a sweet, sweet spirit in this place,” which I don't know, but it's another easy hymn to sing.

The service concludes with the blessing. Then there's refreshments – they even have green tea (as well as black tea and coffee) and “cookies”. Before this though, Reg and I talk to a couple of members of the congregation about the church. They tell us they have been an inclusive church since the 1600's when they broke away from the mainstream Protestant church in America. They were one of the first churches in America to a perform a gay marriage ceremony, which became legal in the USA in 2013.

The atmosphere in this church is warm and welcoming. It's important to note that there are many “straight” families in the congregation, who have chosen to belong to this church because they believe in inclusiveness. We are told that the church has over 600 members, 500 of whom attend regularly, at one or other of the services. We're told that the reason for the depleted congregation today is that it's holiday time … in fact some churches actually close for a few weeks in the summer in America, but this church doesn't.

An added interesting fact is that they are a rich church, partly because they owned 2 original copies of a very old (1640) “Bay Psalm” book, which was the first book to be printed in North America – published 20 years after the Pilgrim Fathers landed in America. Old South Church were directed by the powers-that-be to keep one copy of this precious book, but were allowed to sell the other; it sold for $14 million! What a shame our church can't find an old book like that in the cupboard!

The church do give some money to the national body of the church, “The United Church of Christ” , but not nearly as much in proportion as we do. The man we're talking to tells us that although they are using some of the $14,000,000 to renovate the church, they are intending to pay back as much as they can through donations.

Our overall impression of this church? We both feel it is a friendly, welcoming church, and Reg in particular is interested in its history. Massachusetts is well-known for being a liberal state; we love the fact that this church not only says it's inclusive of all types of people – but it truly is – and it's willing to advertise this fact in its literature. I appreciate that people reading this will hold different views on gay marriage (there's no doubt it's still a “hot potato” for discussion), but one thing is certain; Jesus never turned anyone away.

If we adhere strictly to what the bible says (1 Corinthians 14:34), why do we now let women speak in church? At this time, the Church of England, and the Methodist Church in England, are not allowed to conduct same sex marriages in church, because their governing bodies have not voted to allow this. Yet.

We decide to follow the “Boston Freedom Trail”, a walk around Boston which celebrates and honours people, buildings and places involved in the Boston fight for American Independence from British Law. Luckily, Bostonians are very friendly towards us Brits today - but friction between the Americans and their British rulers came to a head during the War of Independence (1775-1783); the Americans won, and they now celebrate this every 4 July on Independence Day (we'll be in New York later this week for these celebrations). We learn all about the Boston Massacre (1770) and the Boston Tea Party (1773).

We spot a bar/cafe called the “Hub Pub” and in fact it is very like an English pub. We have a lunch of fish and chips, one between us as the publican warns it will be a huge portion – and it is plenty for us both. Reg orders an American cider which he enjoys. We sit at the bar and engage in conversation with the publican and 2 Americans, while on the television screen above, Netherlands proceed to beat Mexico 2:1 in the World Cup.

We follow the Freedom Trail for a bit longer but are wilting; it's very hot. We walk back to the hostel for a rest, then finish the day at an Italian restaurant, with salad (Reg) and macaroni cheese (me) of which I can only eat half. Once again we chat to an African American sitting next to us, and to the lovely young waitress who wants to get into journalism, and who is far from her home – Miami, in Florida.

Sun 29 June – Boston Jerk Fest - “spice, fun and food” - and music!

We like our new hostel. It has the vital ingredients – clean bed, wifi, and hot showers. Also a full cooked breakfast is included – brilliant! - and there's laundry facilities for guest's use.

We sleep longer than usual because of our broken night's sleep – getting off the train at Boston at 1.30 am. We just scrape into the dining hall in time for breakfast – a few minutes after we get there, at precisely 10 am, the steel shutter on the serving counter is vigorously pulled down.

We start talking to a lovely man (probably a little older than us) called André who is a classical trombonist, as well as having worked in medicine, and having been, perhaps still is, a teacher of English Elocution. He's in Boston to meet some friends/clients, but lives in New York – and has offered to meet up with us for some sightseeing perhaps, and a meal, when we get to New York. Reg and André have a discussion about the history of America; André mentions that his wife was Chinese.

After a while I ask André how long ago he lost his wife; it was to lung cancer, only just over a year ago. He tells us they were together for 20 years, and we can tell from the conversation that he misses her terribly, but is getting on with life the best he can. André comes across as a very eloquent and distinguished man. He gives us his card so that we can contact him in New York. We see that he was formerly a bass trombonist in various orchestras including The Metropolitan Opera Orchestra of New York and Leopold Stokowski's American Symphony Orchestra (Carnegie Hall).

We've already decided that we won't be doing much today, after our long (and last overnight) train journey. We have 2 more train journeys to go; a relatively short day journey from Boston to New York on Tuesday; then, when we dock in Southampton, the journey from there to Bristol on 13 July. Our trip is nearing its end!

As I write the blog, a voice from nearby speaks over the tannoy, and the music of a live band (and a good one at that) filters through our window; loud enough for us to enjoy it, but not overpowering. We say that if it's still playing a bit later, we'll investigate.

We've arranged to skype Marianne, George and Arlie at 6.00 pm their time. It's lovely to see Arlie in front of the camera – he's changed so much since we went away! He's now learning to sit up! We're thrilled that they are going to come over to welcome us home when we get back – can't wait for a cuddle!

We have a quick chat with Elaine, who's gone to Surrey by train for a university friend's 30^th birthday. The music outside is still playing; we decide to investigate. We find that the event is the “Boston JerkFest – spice, fun and food!”

While waiting to go in (when we arrive there's a break in the two sessions of the event – the next session starts in a few minutes time at 4.00 pm) we start talking to 4 young people. One of the constant phrases we've heard on our travels is

“Ooooh, I love your accent! You're from England, right?”

and this is how these young people start talking to us. They've just left the first session of the event, which includes an optional extra price for rum-tasting, which we've decided not to go for – but these young people have, and the 2 young men are slightly the worse for wear, but extremely polite and genial with it.

“I love you English, you're so polite!” says one of the young girls, probably in her early 20's, “and you know how to treat your women, with respect.”

She then proceeds to engage in a long conversation with Reg (while the other 3 young people are telling me all the places we should visit while we're in Boston). The young woman explains to Reg that she's just finished with her abusive partner after a 2 year relationship. Then, she says to both of us,

“Have I done the right thing?”

One of the young men says to her, “You can't talk about things like this to these people – you've only just met them.”

We tell her we don't mind, and that she most definitely has done the right thing by ending the abusive relationship, because she's worth a lot more than that, and one day she'll meet someone who will love and respect her. However, we have to put her right on one thing; domestic violence happens in the UK too; and we have our share of lovely and not-so-lovely people, just like America does.

We say our goodbyes, and go into the Jerkfest. There are stalls selling wonderful Jamaican food; Reg has jerkchicken, and I have jerkpork, with a rice and bean mixture, and it's one of the most delicious meals we've had in America. It helps that we haven't eaten since breakfast!

We sit at a table with a woman in her 30's, and 2 men in their 40's. The two men are gay and one of them tells me that they are getting married in August. We get talking about gay marriage and the church. At first when I mention the church, a closed expression clouds the face of one of the men.

“We're atheists.” he says. He goes onto explain how the attitude of some churches has led to violent persecution of gay and lesbian people in America. I talk to him about the mega-church we visited, and about our own church in England, where some years ago the young people campaigned against violence towards gay men and lesbians. At this the closed expression vanishes and the man explains some of the abuse he and his partner have suffered.

“I read the British press,” he says. “It's so much better in your country.”

We still have a way to go, but do you know, I believe it is, and I'm proud of that.

We talk about the long hours Americans work, and the short or non-existent holidays for many people – there's no law in America apparently that says workers must have a minimum amount of holiday. The woman tells us that she works at least 50 hours every week, and in fact the firm encourages long hours; if you stay late, they pay for your evening meal at work; if really late, they pay for your transport home. The woman says her sister works much longer hours than she does, and has never learned to cook, as she has all her meals at work, and rarely takes any time off at all. Neither the woman, nor her sister, have families.

Tiredness has caught up with us; we make our way back to the hostel. Reg relaxes on the bed with his tablet, while I go down to the laundry with our huge pile of washing.

Friday 27 June – Better late than never!

We both feel better this morning after at least some sleep on the moving train. We are travelling from Chicago (which we loved) to Boston; we're due to arrive in Boston at 9.30 pm this evening, but we know that the train will almost certainly be some hours late; it was 2½ hours late leaving Chicago, due to “technical difficulties”. We open our cabin curtains to lush green countryside and farmland – so different from the arid Western states of USA where they are in the midst of a serious drought.

The elderly couple who sit opposite us at breakfast (lol! We know we are no spring chickens!) don't talk to each other at all; in fact the woman smiles but says very little except “how wonderful!” when the husband asks about our journey and we tell them about all the places we've visited. The husband says that he didn't sleep at all on the train.

“Were you on the top bunk?” I ask.

“Yes, my wife is disabled.”

“That must have been difficult for you to climb up there,” I say, thinking, “I know I wouldn't have found it very easy”.

“Yes, it wasn't easy,” he replies.

Also, he would of course have had to climb down and then back up again if, like us, he needed the loo in the night. I guess there are advantages to having the James-Bond toilet that doubles as a step up to the top bunk, and the fold-away washbasin in your cabin. This couple are going to Vermont to visit their daughter and their grandchildren.

After breakfast I write the blog in Open Office, to copy and paste into the Blogger when we get to our hostel in 2.30 pm. Unlike other trains we've been on, the car assistant doesn't come around individually to the sleeping car passengers to ask us what sitting we would like for lunch; we can just go when we like within the time period. We think this a bit strange, as wouldn't that mean that everyone might come to lunch at once and there wouldn't be enough room in the dining car?

This is exactly what happens. We go for lunch at 1.15 pm, and there's quite a queue outside the dining car. We read our kindle (me) tablet (Reg) while queuing in the slimline train corridor, every so often having to breathe in as passengers leaving the dining car squeeze past us.

When we do eventually get seated, there is no real choice of menu left for lunch; this is an extremely crowded train and they are running out of food supplies. It's either Angus beefburger or veggie burger; we have the Angus beefburger. It comes with salad and icecream (or icecream afterwards). Beefburgers are usually very good in America. Very often the menu states that they are made with top quality “Angus” beef. Nevertheless, we are trying not to have too much fast food, but it is difficult!

We have a lovely young couple sitting opposite us at lunchtime, and by a fluke the same couple are opposite us at dinner; so we have the chance to get to know them a little bit. If they are reading this, the young woman with the beautiful eyes and long dark hair is Jasmine, but we're so sorry, we've forgotten the name of your partner, the good-looking young man with the slicked back hair and candid (blue?) eyes. We tell them about our “star-spangled-journey”, and our Bristol to Singapore journey 2 years ago. We give them our blog address. This couple have done quite a bit of travelling themselves – Jasmine is a potter and they met in Mexico, when she was working there and her partner was travelling.

Up until now they've lived in Vancouver, Canada, while he completed his Masters Degree in Philosophy. They've now sold up in Vancouver and are moving to Boston, where Jasmine's partner is going to do his PhD in philosophy. They have ALL their worldly goods with them on the train (several large suitcases of checked-in luggage). They sold up most of their possessions before moving, but will still need a large taxi when we arrive in Boston to transport them and their luggage to their B&B! They are confident that they will be able to find rented accommodation in Boston over the next couple of weeks – I feel that is such a positive attitude and involves a real step of faith!

We have a really interesting discussion about religion and philosophy, and I tell them about the mega-church we visited last Sunday in Albuquerque. Jasmine's partner is just finishing reading a book (a novel) which he thinks I would enjoy; he says he'll pass it on to me before the end of the journey. We really engage with this couple and at the end of the journey Reg's passes them our email address, should they want to get in touch. Jasmine and your partner – we would love you to email us, and contact us if you ever come to England again!

During our journey I've caught up on a little correspondence, again in Open Office, to be copied and pasted into Hotmail when we arrive at our hotel.

Dinner is even less choice than lunch was; we have to have it in the cafe, rather than the dining car, as the train was split into 2 trains at Albany, part-way through the journey. We are by now running 4 hours late; we can't start dinner until the train has split; the part of the train with the dining car (and much of the food, it seems) is heading for New York. We head for the café car for our dinner at about 8.45 pm.

I've mentioned that passengers who book cabins in the sleeping cars get meals included in their ticket. In fact sleeping car passengers are very much prioritised on Amtrak; it's like travelling first class on British trains. In fact, it feels uncomfortable, walking through several carriages of non-sleeping car passengers, to get to the restaurant car at lunchtime, and the café car at teatime. Here you have the families and individuals who make themselves as comfortable as they can in the reclining seats of the (very comfortable actually) day-travelling sections of the train. You walk passed people wrapped up in blankets with just a head showing, and you manoeuvre around legs and feet sticking out across the aisle. It just doesn't seem right somehow, that we're marching down the carriage aisle for a hot meal, and they aren't. They are able to buy meals in the café if they want; but at the moment it is closed to them, as the café are serving us, the priority sleeping-car passengers. The waitress keeps shooing day-passengers out of the café.

“I'm sorry, the cafe's shut at the moment. Didn't you hear my annoucement? Please leave the cafe car, thank you.” (The passenger views all the sleeping-car passengers enjoying their meal – the bits and bobs of food that are left on this journey, anyway.)

“When will you be open again?” enquires the passenger, tentatively. This larger-than-life buxom African American cook/waitress is not someone to be meddled with.

“I dunno when it'll be open again!” she says in frustration. It's been a very long shift. “I'll let you know over the tannoy, alright?”

The passenger slinks away, obediently. This process is repeated several times during our meal, as various hungry passengers observe us being fed.

“I ain't had nothing to eat meself yet,” says the cook/waitress. “Ais bin on the go the whole time.”

She shares a joke with us though; she is obviously the life and soul of the Amtrak café.

As we settle down to sleep for an unexpected part-of-a-second-night's sleep in the bunk beds, I think about those passengers who are having to cope with children in the day carriages, for a second unexpected night on the train.

Reg and I are both sound asleep when the voice comes over the tannoy.

“2 minutes everyone! The train will be pulling in to Boston station in 2 minutes!'

It's 1.30 am; the train is 4 hours late. Outside the station, we're relieved to see a line of waiting taxis. Soon we're at our hostel, but it takes us quite a while to get back to sleep in yet another different bed.

Thursday 26 June – A misty cycle ride

I wake up early, and write the blog; we have breakfast and check out of the hostel, leaving all our luggage in the hostel storage room until this evening, when we'll catch the 9.30 pm train from Chicago to Boston.

Our plan is to go to the Sky Deck, on top of the Sears Tower (now called the Willis Tower, because the Willis Group lease a portion of its space), which at 1451 feet high, is still the tallest building in the Western Hemisphere (but now is only the 8^th tallest free-standing structure in the world). Chicago is famous for its mists which rise up from the cold waters of Lake Michigan and cling to the tops of Chicago's skyscrapers, of which there are many – a huge proliferation in Chicago's “North Side”. People refer to Chicago's North and South Sides, which are separated by the Chicago River, running through the city (although the Loop, Chicago's central business area, is referred to as being wholly in the North side). The North Side is the prosperous area, where you'll find the commercial sector – banking, insurance, businesses, shops and up-market apartments. The South side, we are told, includes the poorer areas of Chicago. However, Wikipedia tells us that much of the South side is a prosperous area, and tells us that people with a wide range of incomes and from many ethnic groups live there.

We look up at the Sear's Building; it's a little misty up at the top, but we've already bought our tickets for the Sky Deck, and this is our last day in Chicago, so we decide to go for it.

Travelling at an amazing speed for a lift, the “elevator” takes us to the Skydeck, 1,353 feet up on the 103^rd floor, in about 60 seconds. On a clear day, you can apparently see over the plains of Illinois, across Lake Michigan to Indiana, Michigan and Winsconsin. Today the lift attendant tells us that visibility is only 3 miles, because of the mists. However, we are pleasantly surprised when we get up there to find that we can at least see a great deal of Chicago from the tower. What astounds me is the number of skyscrapers, and how close they are to one another.

You can stand, or sit, on one of several entirely glass balconies protruding from the building; despite my fear of heights, Reg encourages me to stand on one (he's already done it and I've photographed him) so that he can take my photo. I gingerly step on to the glass, being careful not to look down! A lovely young American lad called Charlie offers to take a photo of both of us on the glass; Reg immediately sits down on the glass and I kneel beside him. Scary!

By the time we leave the tower I'm already feeling tired; we stop at a cafe for lunch and a rest. Not for too long though; we have promised ourselves that we will cycle along the Lakeside Trail, which follows the shore of Lake Michigan; the total distance there and back is about 18 miles, and it's very flat – as is Chicago itself, having been built on a plain. We find the bike hire place (recommended to us by our hostel) near Navy Pier, at the Lakeside; we are told we can hire the bikes for $20 each for a day because of the firm's link with the hostel. Even though it's now afternoon, this is such a reasonable rate. It's also the first time we've been given spare inner tubes, tyre lever tool and a pump. Reg comments that the bikes we've been given are well-maintained and in first class condition.

It's glorious to be back on a bike; we enjoy it so much! It's surprisingly cool near the Lake, and we need to don our long-sleeved tops; the mist increases along the shoreline and inland as we cycle along – but we can still see a lot and it's a really picturesque ride.

There are beaches along the way, and lots of people are enjoying relaxing on the sand, swimming or playing games. We stop at a beach hut and Reg asks for tea; the African American attendant is so friendly but, sorry, he only has coffee! If we had our teabags with us he would willingly boil us up some water, he says. (Our tea bags, which we carry everywhere, are in our backpack back at the cycle hire place – this time we have the tablet with us in the little handlebar cycle bags!!)

“You're from England? That's real cool. Do you know, I like tea. I'm not fond of coffee. I think I'm gonna get them to stock some teabags here, so's I can make tea.”

The young man tells us all about living in Chicago, until he is called away by another customer.

“ It's been so nice meeting you guys,” he adds. “Have a good rest of your trip!”

As we make our way back along the trail to “downtown” Chicago, we comment to each other that the mist is increasing; we're so glad we went up the tower in the morning, as we doubt we would've seen anything much now. Besides, we probably wouldn't have felt like facing all the queues and security checks for the Tower, after our cycle ride.

We stop again, on our way back, just a mile or so from the bike hire place, and I spot a small shack on the trail side. The blackboard menu outside says it sells green tea! Hey! Most cafes in America sell green tea, but you don't expect to find it in a beach hut. I order an ice-cream and Reg has green tea. I think I recognise the hut-lady's accent.

“Where's your accent from?” I ask her.

“Poland!” she replies. It turns out that she comes from Wroclaw, a beautiful Polish city we visited on our long trip from Bristol to Singapore, 2 years ago. We have a long chat; Reg tells her that he is half-Polish, and we tell her the amazing love story of Reg's Polish Mum and British Dad, who met in East Africa after Kazia was released from a Russian labour camp; she couldn't speak English, Reg's Dad Bob couldn't speak Polish. But love overcomes all obstacles, and they communicated in Swahili. Bob then sent his demob money to Kazia to bring her to England. And the rest, as they say, is history.

After returning the bikes, we take the bus back to our hostel; we have a light dinner in our nearby favourite little cafe with the good wifi and lovely French baguettes, which they serve with delicious home-made soups. I'm not feeling so special as it's been a long day and perhaps, too, the tiredness accumulates.

We collect our luggage and say goodbye and thankyou to the hostel receptionist; a taxi takes us to Union Station by 8.30 pm – the train to Boston is due in at 9.30 pm. The waiting room is packed with people, including 4 nuns and a group of about 16 Amish people. These are communities of Christians who live modestly, mainly off the land, and who shun commercialism, technology, mod cons and the consumerism way of life. They don't use cars; they also dress in a very old-fashioned, oldey-worldy Dickensian way. We've seen quite a Amish people on our travels, always at the train station, or on the train.

The women are wearing plain long dresses and bonnets (even the babies have bonnets), and the men wear loose trousers, braces and boater straw hats; all the men have beards. They are attracting a lot of attention through their strange dress. I notice that one of the Amish has on his (without-wheels) suitcase – a label saying “STOP LOOKING AT ME.” Much as I admire the Amish's Christian humility, my first thought about the label is that if they are going to dress in a manner reflecting the 1800's, people are going to be intrigued by their dress code.

A voice comes over the waiting room speaker system. Surprise, surprise, there's a technical fault on the train and it's delayed. It finally draws up at the station at about midnight. I'm “hanging”, but that's nothing compared to how difficult it must be for the families around, having to cope with small children.

This time it's a really long walk to our sleeping car; the platform just goes on and on, along the length of the train. Finally, relief – we're on the train!

Our compact sleeping car this time is a “viewliner” , like the very first sleeping car we had on the train from New York to Washington DC. Unlike the “superliner roomette”, which we're now used to, where the toilet is situated down the corridor, it has the toilet in the cabin, and the James-Bond wash basin that folds up into the wall of the cabin, the water flowing away as it does so. To the outsider the “viewliner” probably seems the better option, and there's no doubt that there's slightly more room in it when the beds are folded away during the day, and you don't have to go down the corridor in the night to the toilet. When the beds are down, though, the toilet seat doubles as one of the steps up to the bed, and the only floor space in the cabin is a 12” x 12” space in front of the toilet. If one of you is using the toilet when the beds are down, the other has to either be on the top bunk (unless they want a ringside view on the bottom bunk) or has to stand outside the cabin. Also, you are supposed to put all your luggage in a rack just below the ceiling; to do this you need to stand on a ledge above the toilet. It's really difficult to lift large heavy suitcases up to this ledge, even supposing they fit when you manage it.

The train guard offers to put my large purple suitcase in the guard's van, as she can see we are having difficulty fitting all our luggage in the ceiling rack. By this time it's 30 minutes past midnight and I am exhausted and Reg says, niggly. I'm even nigglier as I struggle to get changed into my nightclothes, standing on a penny. Also, the clock will be going forward an hour during the night, when we change states. So it's actually (new time) nearly 2.00 pm by the time we turn out the lights in our cabin, the delayed train making a disappointing ending to a lovely day. But we still enjoy travelling by train – and this is our penultimate train journey!

Wednesday 26 June – Chicago – A city to write home about

There's a recent song, with the words “I love this city” in the chorus - I think it's about Detroit actually, but we would definitely apply it to Chicago. Reg only booked Chicago on a last minute whim, as we were going to Boston and the train stops here on the way. We're glad he did! We think of all the cities we've visited, we probably like this one the best, although San Francisco has to be a close contender. Why do we like it so much?

It's clean, and vibrant, and has the beautiful lake shoreline; the weather is pleasantly warm, not “oven” temperature; we've met some great people here, and not just in the hostel; and we really like the hostel as a place to stay.

Chicago is renowned for its interesting architecture, for being the centre of the American railroad freight system, and for being a city, which when faced with disaster (the great Chicago fire in 1871 practically wiped out the city), gets up, dusts itself off, and starts again. It's also a city which fights for justice, and for what it wants and doesn't want, and I guess we like that about it too.

This morning, after breakfast, we join others in the hostel for a free walking tour of some parts of the city. Our guide, Tom Judge, is definitely older than Reg and I but almost certainly a lot fitter than I am - he enjoys canoeing, which must require a reasonable level of agility. In his working life Tom was the editor of a railway publication, and his father, brothers and cousins all have a long history of working for the railways (so at the end of our tour, Reg and I have a good discussion with Tom about Amtrak trains). Tom reiterates what others have told us; that because the majority of the train track in America is owned by the freight train companies (a lot of which are Canadian), freight trains get priority on the tracks. So often the passenger trains are kept waiting, to let a freight train through. Which is fine if you are passengers like us, not in a hurry; but if you have a connection to catch, it can be a problem (although Amtrak do their best to hold up connecting trains – which I guess only exacerbates the problem, really).

Back to the walking tour. Tom has a fairly large backpack with him and says he has in it several spare hats, sunglasses, umbrellas and sunscreen, if anyone should be short of anything. I think this is a lovely, caring touch, and a few people do take advantage of his hats and umbrellas along the way, as it becomes really warm.

Tom tells us about Chicago's famous “L” trains (elevated train system, which I've mentioned in an earlier blogpost); the first train ran in 1892.

Tom explains quite a lot about the history of the city, and in particular the varied architecture, which ranges from interesting old buildings (though all are post-”the Great Fire”) to much newer ones. But first Tom tells us about the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. It started in a barn of the O'Leary family home; the media reported it as being caused by a cow kicking over a lantern, but years later a journalist confessed that he'd made that up to make the story more interesting. Other speculation was that gamblers were using the barn and they started it, but the cause has never been proven.

The fire burned for 36 hours and covered an area of 4 miles by ¾ mile; some people jumped into Lake Michigan, which borders the city, to save themselves. 18,000 buildings were destroyed, and 100,000 people, one third of the total population of Chicago, were made homeless. Several factors exacerbated the fire; the fact that most of the city was built of wood, the city was in a drought at the time, and burning timber destroyed the main water hydrant in the city, leaving firefighters powerless to fight the fire. Winds took burning timbers across the Lake to the other side of the city. Prisoners had to be set free from the jail so that they wouldn't perish. Between 200 – 300 people died in the fire. Interestingly, the Chicago Fire Academy now has their headquarters on the exact spot of the source of the fire.

America thought that the fire would be the end of Chicago, but the people were determined to rebuild their city, and they were helped greatly by outside investors who recognised that Chicago still had a great future as the most important town in mid-west America. A positive aftermath of the fire was that the city was rebuilt in a very ordered way. Chicago had grown up as a higgeldy-piggeldy boom town; the fire gave planners and architects the opportunity to re-plan the city – and not to use wood building materials.

This led to some very different and innovative commercial buildings being erected in the heart of the city; young architects flocked to the city for the opportunity to make a name for themselves, and Chicago gained a reputation for having very forward-looking architecture. Reg comments that it reminds him very much of the innovative architecture we saw in Singapore. America's first skyscraper was built in Chicago, the 10-storey “Home Insurance Building”, constructed in 1884.

For some time Chicago boasted the tallest building in the world, the Seers Tower (now officially the Willis building, but everyone still calls it by its former name). It's 442 metres high (1451 feet), with a pinnacle, or broadcasting antennae, on the top which isn't included in the official height. For anyone interested, the tallest building in the world is the Burj Khalifa in Dubai, at 829.8 metres (2722 feet) high.

Chicago's second tallest structure, the Hancock Building, has a restaurant at the top; because tall buildings have to allow for “sway”, the wine has to be kept at a lower level, so that good wines won't be ruined by the movement of the building, For those of you who know how I love to report on toilet facilities (f.a.o. Kirsty) – the ladies' restrooms in the Hancock building sky-restaurant have been voted the 2^nd best in America – with floor to ceiling windows in them.

The “Crane Communications” building is one of the most innovative; tall and thin, it's roof is a flat, slanting diamond shape. (Architects have voted it the building they would most like to pull down, but I Iike it). There's another building with a gold roof shaped like the cork of a champagne bottle; the architect, who designed and built it during the prohibition (of alcohol) 1920 – 1933, had a wicked sense of humour. Interestingly, most of the skyscraper buildings are owned, as might be expected, by insurance companies and banks.

The Metropolitan Correctional Centre ( a remand prison) stands tall and thin, with 6” wide slit windows. Tom tells us that it's reputed that the wives and girlfriends of the prisoners give “x-rated entertainment” from the parking lot opposite.

Tom relates a lot more about the city than I can report here; he explains how Chicago is a transportation hub of America, and is one of the top 5 container-handling cities in the world, because of its freight-rail links.

Chicago is renowned for its music and music festivals, particularly jazz and blues music; a wide roadway near the lake called Columbus drive is often closed for special events. Since 1930, Chicago has had a long history of free concerts in the park.

With all these features, plus it's proliferation of theatres, music venues, and museums, including it's wonderful Art Institute, the beautiful lakeside, good transportation links and warm summers, Chicago is definitely a brilliant city to visit, and to live in. Once again, we wish we had more time here.

At the end of the walking tour we are tired. We have lunch in a the lovely coffee shop near our hostel; we have tickets to go to the top of Seers Tower, but we walk towards it and see that the lake mists are covering the top of it, so there won't be a view of the city. We realise we need some chill out time, so go back to the hostel for a sleep.

Later in the afternoon, we spend time talking to 2 young Italian women doctors who've come to Chicago for a conference; and later, we have a long conversation with a young Swiss lad called Jonus, who's been to language school in the USA to improve his English,

and who is now travelling through some of America before he returns home to Switzerland.

We pop out for a late pizza, then sleep! Tomorrow we leave Chicago, so have to check out of our hostel in the morning, but our train to Boston is not until 9.30 pm; we hope to go to the top of Seers tower, and to cycle along the side of Lake Michigan – which Chicagoans call simply “the Lake”.

Tuesday 24 June – Chicago, Illinois – First Impressions

At breakfast we get talking to a 66 year old man called Nick who is wheelchair bound – up until 3 years ago he was fighting fit, very sporty, with a private plane pilot's licence. - then it was discovered he has a muscle wasting illness similar to motor neurone disease. This trip is really a chance for him to make the most of what time he has left; he's due to return to England in August. He comes from Oxford; he has no family in England however, apart from a sister he's not close to. He would like to settle in Vancouver, Canada, but can't afford the money it would cost him for private health insurance/care, especially in view of his deteriorating health. This emphasises how important it is to follow your dream, if you can, while you can! (Especially for us oldies – we don't know what lies around the corner).

So far, we love Chicago! It's clean, and airy, and the temperature's just right – quite a lot cooler than Las Vegas, but still warm enough not to need a cardigan or fleece.

We decide to visit the Art Institute of Chicago as a priority, just a couple of blocks away from our hostel, on Michigan Avenue. On the way there we find a lovely coffee shop and bakery with wifi! We're always pleased to find a café with nice cakes and pastries – it doesn't happen that often. The pastries are delicious. We also stop at an art gallery owned by a Romanian artist specifically to exhibit his own paintings. We think he must be very successful to be able to afford such a prestigious gallery in the heart of Chicago, just down the road from the Art Institute. We talk to him for a long time, and he shows us photos of Romania on his computer. He's interested that we've been there but says we haven't seen the real, beautiful Romania. The capital Bucharest certainly looks lovely.

We intend to spend just a couple of hours in the Art Institute of Chicago, but end up being there for about 5 hours and we've only really touched the tip of the iceberg. It's fortunate that both of us are passionate about paintings, especially those done by the “Old Masters” - though we do like some modern art too. There are wonderful paintings here by Renoir, Monet, El Greco, Van Gough, to name but a few; and sculptures by Auguste Rodin. One of the most famous paintings in the gallery is a huge painting, George Seurat's A Sunday on La Grande Jatte – 1884. If you'd mentioned the name of that painting before I'd seen it, I wouldn't have had a clue which one it was – but when I see it I recognise it as being a famous painting I've seen before, in books and on notecards.

We lunch in the Art Institute café, enjoying the chance to sit for a while; why is looking at art so tiring? We want to see as much as we can, as we won't have time to come back. There are displays of furniture and porcelain, much of which comes from England and is 200 – 400 years old, but in immaculate condition.

There is an new exhibition at the Art Institute, showing the Surrealist paintings of Magritte, 1926 – 1938. The paintings show ordinary objects in out-of-the-ordinary situations. Some of the paintings are quite disturbing, not my cup of tea really, but interesting.

By the time we've seen the Magritte exhibition we are really tired, and decide to call it a day. It's now about 5.00 pm; it's actually nice to leave the air-conditioned gallery and enjoy the warm evening sunshine. We decide to stroll down to the lakeside; Chicago is built by the side of Lake Michigan. It's the largest fully American lake (some of the lakes cross the Canadian border), at 307 miles long, and 118 miles wide. It's average depth is 279 feet, and maximum depth is 923 feet.

20 miles of Lake Michigan's shoreline are within the city of Chicago. It's lovely to sit by the lake and watch the small sailing boats (of which there are many) bobbing on their moorings alongside the shoreline. There's a sort of promenade which borders the lake, and several runners and joggers and cyclists are taking advantage of this traffic-free path to enjoy the evening sunshine.

We talk to an African American who is sitting on a bench, with his cycle next to him. He tells us he's lived in Chicago since 1991, and loves it here; his home is actually 9 miles away, but he can cycle there all the way on this promenade, which extends for over 20 miles. He gives us some ideas of what to do in Chicago, if we have the time!

We walk wearily back towards our hostel, passing huge fountains on the way. There is no water shortage in Chicago; they get a lot more rain, and Lake Michigan supplies all the city's water needs. In some cities the fountains are turned off due to the drought many areas of America are experiencing.

We have some difficulty finding a restaurant close to the hostel. Eventually we find one, and it's packed; either it's very good, or there's no-where else close by to eat! The food is

not too bad, but we feel overpriced, and the service from our particular waitress much poorer than what we're used to in the USA! Reg says we'll only tip her 10% on this occasion!

When we emerge from the restaurant the ground is wet – it's been raining. Back in our hostel room, we have a cuppa, using our trusty little kettle. Reg plays with his tablet, but I'm out like a light.

Monday 23 June – A longer-than-we-thought train journey

We're on the train; we've been travelling since yesterday lunchtime, and are due to arrive in Chicago, Illinois, at about 3.30 pm this afternoon. I say “about” as with Amtrak you never know! The train was an hour late leaving Albuquerque so it's bound to be late arriving at Chicago.

We've both slept fitfully on the train; the bunks are quite comfortable, but the movement of the train tends to make us drift in and out of sleep. In the morning, I'm actually able this time to work out how to use the shower on the train and it's quite a good one. I feel really refreshed! Reg stays in bed as long as possible before breakfast and says he'll shower afterwards – he's feeling really tired!

The scenery has changed dramatically overnight, and is starting to look a lot greener. We're out of the desert and into an area which has a lot more rain. In fact I see that it has been raining last night– the first rain we've seen since Charlottesville in May, which we well remember because we got caught in a thunderstorm on our bikes!

Our sleeper cabin is downstairs in the train, (most Amtrak trains are double-decker, as is this one). This is quite handy as the showers are located downstairs, and so are the luggage racks for big suitcases. That means our suitcases are almost right next to us, and I'm able to pop along and get some clean underwear out of my case.

We have to go upstairs to the dining car for breakfast. The meals have been excellent on Amtrak, and the service is good too, especially on this particular train. Meals come as part of the package if you're booked into a “sleeping car”. You have to wait at the end of the dining carriage to be seated – the tables are for 4 people, and you always share a table with 2 others if you are a couple, as space is limited.

Breakfast is a choice between a full American breakfast – scrambled eggs, though, not fried, as this could be difficult to do on a rocking train – pancakes, or continental breakfast. Reg and I choose continental, which is yoghurt, sliced grapefruit and sliced oranges, fruit juice, cereal (porridge for Reg), croissant with butter and jam, and tea or coffee. No wonder we are putting on weight on this trip (at least we're sure we are, but fortunately haven't had the opportunity to weigh ourselves).

I save the yoghurt and sliced orange for later. This waiter is particularly good as he comes around with jugs of fruit juice asking passengers if they would like some more – we haven't had that before. He wasn't happy earlier though when Reg popped along to the dining car to put our names down for the breakfast sitting, and wasn't wearing his shoes. Reg got a telling off because “your socks could get caught in the moving plates between the carriages – or you might just stumble with the movement of the train and hurt your foot.”

The waiter refused to put our names on the breakfast list and made Reg go back and get his shoes on first! R-e-g!! (Mind you, we both wandered about in our socks on previous train journeys, but here the dining car attendants are really strict)!  They do have a point actually – we always wear our shoes now, when moving between carriages.

Our waiter is actually ultra-polite, bless him. Every time I say thankyou, he replies quickly as a bullet, “You're wel-come” in a lilting voice. He's a sweetie really.

We feel we've got the tipping process on Amtrak trains sussed now, through watching other (American) passengers, some of whom don't tip at all (as the meals are included in the train journey for sleeper car passengers) and some of whom leave 2 or 3 dollars at each table sitting. We do the latter. Tipping at cafes and restaurants is a different matter; a minimum of 15% is expected. The service though is usually, but not always, much better than what you sometimes get in a restaurant or pub in the UK.

As the day wears on the train passes through countryside with green grass and field after field of corn – is this America's “corn belt”? We also pass through several towns with neat wooden houses; as you would expect, this area is much more highly populated than the desert regions. I'm not looking at the scenery much though, as I'm writing my sermon for my next church service on 10 August. This is so that it won't be on my mind when I come back to the UK. It's only a draft version but I'm very happy when by about 4.00 pm, I've finished it. The sermon is based on Matthew 14: 22 – 33, when, during a storm, the disciples see Jesus walking on the water, and they think they're seeing a ghost; but Jesus reassures them that it's him, and Peter is so happy to see Jesus that he walks on the water to meet his Lord – but then Peter starts sinking! And Jesus has to save him. I've been reading a book by John Ortberg based on this bible pasage - “If you want to walk on water, you've got to get out of the boat”. An absolutely brilliant book, which talks a lot about fear, which stops us doing things. A very motivational book, which takes into account that we are all flawed human beings, with our faults and limitations. I loved it.

When we eventually pull into Chicago station, the train is 4 hours late arriving, due to there being a fault in the train's computer system apparently, which meant it had to travel at a slower speed than usual. I don't know - the excuses Amtrak will come up with for being late!

We're dog tired and wearily pull/glide our suitcases, our 3 backpacks, and the briefcase bag with all the papers in it (the luggage is growing because of gifts we've bought, etc ….) along the platform. We gratefully grab a taxi and soon arrive at the Hostel International Chicago! It's an extremely modern building, and we're on the 6^th floor. We have a private double bedroom but shared bathroom. There's also a small shared kitchen with a fridge.

We can see the Chicago “L” train line (the nickname for “elevated train system”) which runs high up in the air, just across the road from us, plus we have a view of some of the buildings in “downtown” Chicago. Our hostel is right in the centre of the city; tomorrow we will go exploring!  (Reg says this last sentence is reminiscent of Enid Blyton!)