Before we push out of Washington, DC, I just need to add this visual: the evening before, Jenny had resurrected a box of paper dolls we used to play with an we spent some time boring Laner to tears entertaining Laner with our stories of the past and how we used to play with these things. This morning I found this, so now, thanks to the miracle of the Internet, I can bore you to tears entertain you, too:

Sadly, the next morning it was time to leave DC and Jenny. I was a little worried that if I said ‘eggs’ in relationship to breakfast Mrs. C would have been up at 4 am making something exotic with the word ‘florentine’ or ‘carbonara’ in the name, so when she asked, I said, ‘bagels!’ Which we also happen to adore, so this worked out very well.

Once again we were driven to the Metro, this time with instructions on how to change trains and get to Union Station. We hugged goodbye, and I am ever grateful that I was able to find my old friend again.

This trip was not only fun, it was educational. I think I did at least six things I had never done before, which is good for adding new wrinkles to the brain. I had never ridden Amtrak before, so this was truly a first. Every time we told anyone we were riding Amtrak up the coast every single person said, “That sounds really cool.”

And it was.

Imagine traveling without having to be strip searched first. Imagine boarding any old car you feel like boarding. Imagine being in a car with just ten other people, so there’s room to stretch out. Imagine a big, comfortable seat (and I am not referring to my butt.) Imagine being greeted by a friendly conductor (is that right? Are they still called ‘conductors’?) who scans your ticket and looks happy. Imagine using wi-fi without paying $15. (I wish I had imagined that last one the first trip. Because you really can do it, if you’re smart enough to look at the little sticker on the window.)

Imagine a lawyer taking the seat in front of you, despite there being empty seats as far as the eye can see, and immediately hopping on her cell phone and saying snotty, condescending things like “Now I’m going to stop and repeat myself, and this time you will listen to what I’m saying” to whomever is listening who obviously has self-esteem issues because they keep talking to this Cranky Sue even though it’s a free country and you really don’t have to put up with crap like that.

It took about two hours to get to Philadelphia and the 30th Street Station. It’s important to note that we weren’t at Penn Station, which is what I kept calling it. Penn Station is in NYC, which makes no sense to me, but there you have it. It makes no never mind, though, because 30th Street Station is way cooler looking than Penn:

This was the one leg of the trip where I had arranged for a car rental, and of course Enterprise doesn’t have an office at the station. The Traveler’s Aid lady didn’t aid us very much; she just said that there were four other car rental agencies in the station, that’s all she knew, and good luck with that. Calling Enterprise didn’t help; their computer system was down and no one would talk to me for an hour, at least.

So it’s here that I want to give a shout out to National car rentals: I asked one of their reps if he could tell me where Enterprise was located, and he said, “Oh, they’ll come pick you up!” When he heard their computer system was down, he picked up the phone, called his competitor, and had them come down and get us. Thank you, Man Whose Name I Didn’t Catch.

Not to be outdone, the Enterprise team minded our luggage while we walked to their recommended restaurant, The White Dog Cafe. I had the Lancaster Pork Roll and Egg Sandwich, and Lane had the Crab B.L.O., and we looked out at this:

We walked back, picked up the car, and drove up to Plymouth Meeting and an absolutely gorgeous Marriott hotel. Hit the Benihana happy sushi hour with a very unhappy, stressed out food server but ate a lot of raw fish for not very much cash.

Before we cashed in for the night, I google-mapped the next day’s destination: my hometown, Broomall. We were only nineteen minutes away.

© E. Stocking Evans 2012