Educationally Speaking -- gay geiser-sandoval

As many of you spent the week after Christmas preparing to see the

world end, our family was off seeing the world. Actually, just a part of

it, but when you go by train, it looks much different from the cloud bank

seen from the air. We left from the Fullerton train station, which

doesn’t have the old Hollywood movie feel of Union Station.

Unlike airports, where you go through metal detectors and check in an

hour ahead of time, you just show up and get on the train. The standard

luggage includes at least one large black garbage bag with who knows what

inside. Coach passengers don’t even get peanuts, so many had brought

food.

If you have a short family, you can get a family sleeper car, where two

of the four beds are four feet, nine inches in length. None of my family

wanted to have their legs cut off, so we got two sleeper cars. The

attendant at the station said it was a little tight for much luggage in

the sleeper car. He wasn’t kidding. The size of the sleeper car was akin

to two storage bins on an airplane. The only thing is, I might have felt

safer in the storage bin.

Upon boarding, we went to the dining car for dinner. It was quite nice,

with fresh flowers and real dishes. We could look out the windows and see

all of the holiday decorations as we made our way to San Bernardino. The

lounge car was aglow with windows on the roof, which let in the stars, as

we meandered through the desert.

The coach cars had a knowledgeable group of passengers. They had taken

seats away from the noisy and cold doors, and were wrapped up in sleeping

bags and blankets, snoozing away before 9 p.m. They knew what we didn’t.

The train trip gets rougher as the train picks up speed and makes its way

across America.

By midnight, I decided we were on the longest version of Space Mountain

ever. The flashing lights of passing trains and towns commingled with the

noise of the whistle and the clicketyclack of the track. Added to this

were the unexpected lurches and jerks. More than one person walking in

the dining car ended up in somebody’s soup.

Bedtime found the sleeper car converted into two berths, one on top of

the other. In front of the berths, there was just enough room for one

person to stand up and still have the door closed. I would tell you to

imagine a prison cell, but you would imagine way too much room. I was

worried it was a violation of the 8th Amendment to make us spend the

night in there.

It was a trick to get on the top bunk. Once you were there, there were

two straps and a halter that you were to use to keep from falling out of

the bed. However, I couldn’t figure out where in the world you hooked the

straps. First my husband was above, and left the straps dangling. One

almost took me out, when it swung in the dark at full force. On the

return trip, I decided it couldn’t be that bad, and got up on top.

The good news is, in the morning, we saw the sights of Arizona and New

Mexico essentially as they had looked for the last 1,000 years. A Native

American boarded the train to explain the sights and to tell us about the

culture. It had snowed the day before, and the landscape suggested the

“Great Baker in the Sky” had dusted the place with powdered sugar. There

was magic in the air as we got out on solid land and headed to Sandoval

County, N.M.

Santa Fe was great. We visited six museums in one day. We got thoroughly

educated in the areas of art, folk art, Native Americans, history and

culture. We ate at some great restaurants, but they all had the chile

warning. They only serve food with hot chile, which they will not remove,

nor will they take your complaints about it being too hot. So there! One

restaurant even defined the word jillillillo, pronounced he-yee-yee-o, as

meaning the sound you make when you eat chile that is too hot.

Gambling is obviously seen as the panacea for each Indian Pueblo, so that

casinos dot the desert and mountains of New Mexico. So do explosives. As

we made our way to the Anasazi ruins at Bandalier National Monument, we

skirted the National Laboratory at Los Alamos, which is run by the

University of California. Miles and miles of barbed wire fence warned of

the danger of explosives. The ruins are quite impressive and made us

appreciate the large sizes of our residential rooms. The train company

obviously went to visit these ruins to determine what size to make their

sleeper cars. The Bradbury Museum, in Los Alamos, is a must-see.

Finally, I’d like to suggest city officials from Costa Mesa visit the

sports complex in White Rock. There were at least eight playing fields

for soccer and baseball, all with the deadest-looking grass I’ve ever

seen. They were all open for play. My husband, who is from New Mexico,

said the grass was dormant. All I know is that maybe Californians are a

little too fussy about their playing fields.

* GAY GEISER-SANDOVAL is a Costa Mesa resident. Her column runs Mondays.

She can be reached by e-mail at GGSesq@aol.com .