Just 3,645 km from Chicago to Los Angeles… Credit: Lucca Movaldi
Oh, come on – just 3,645 km from Chicago to Los Angeles, roughly 43 hours on the Southwest Chief, barreling across states, watching plains stretch into mountains, deserts melt into skies… and still asking, “Are we there yet?” Yes – almost the last chapter of my series from Málaga to California, with zero planes.
Saying goodbye never really ends on a train. You leave tracks behind – literal ones – and somehow you’re always looking for more.
As a child, I sensed a train long before it appeared. The ground tickled my feet, the plants trembled, and I was convinced I had a railway radar.
From Chicago to Los Angeles, there are around twenty stops, but none offer a real pause. Hop off for a quick break or souvenir, and the train will cheerfully leave you behind. Some towns run alongside old Route 66, so if you want to “get your kicks,” move fast – otherwise your luggage will reach L.A. before you do.
Travel options include coach or the sleeper roomette. The roomette has two bunks and is tiny. You may end up sleeping with your feet sticking out the window – a convenient way to catch the breeze at 80 km/h. Bathrooms and showers are communal, and the showers? Tiny. I had to soap up outside the stall just to twist, slide, and rinse. Drop the soap? Contortion challenge: shimmy, lunge, twist – victory. On a moving train, every sway turns the shower into slapstick. Shampoo bottles become missiles aimed at your toes. Once, the curtain spun like a magician’s trick. By the end, I wasn’t just clean – I was a performer in Cirque du Soleil.
Then there’s the queue – people staring like tiny judges. I became a prestidigitator of hygiene: now you see me sliding in… now you don’t. Now I’m rinsed… now I’m out.
Train travel isn’t just a journey – it’s sport, comedy, and flexibility rolled into one. And honestly, Lucca, this is your fault – for a few bucks more, I could’ve booked a roomette with a mini-shower even smaller than this. But we were heading into the Wild West, so I manned up.
The train has a dining car and a Sightseer Lounge. The dining car is nostalgia – white tablecloths, china, and a chef. I had one of the best steaks of my life somewhere over Kansas. Dining on a moving train is a skill: cut steak without nicking your neighbor, keep a martini from spilling… good luck.
The Sightseer Lounge offers nearly 360-degree views. Mountains, deserts, and skies drift by like slow-motion cinema.
After nine days traveling, the magic hits: snowy plains give way to adobe-colored mountains. You fall asleep chasing the sun, letting sunsets close your eyelids. Traveling at its finest – surrendering to the rails.
To be continued…