It's Monday, and Amtrak Train 1333 is full of riders returning home after a long weekend. In front of me, spread across three rows of seats, a sunburnt family of five talk about their visit to the Chicago Field Museum. The woman next to me, Ellen, is returning to St. Paul after visiting family in Chicago. We chat about our respective trips before we both take out computers to do some remote work.
I love that I can be productive on the train in ways I’ve never been able to on a plane. There’s space to spread out, the tray tables are conveniently adjustable, and while the Wi-Fi can be spotty I do get service most of the time. A couple hours into the ride, I mention this to Ellen as the two of us take a break from our screens, and she agrees.
“The seats are comfy, I can get up and stretch, I’m able to get my work done. It’s nice,” she says.
Every time I’ve taken the Borealis, I’ve had moments like this. Maybe the vintage vibe of train travel makes other vintage activities, like talking with strangers, more accessible. Or maybe it’s just easier to talk without plane air pressure clogging everyone’s ears.
Regardless of what inspires the strangely social atmosphere, I’m glad for the small talk. It feels nice to tell Ellen that my trip felt too short and nice when she tells me that her trip is ending at the right time. “My plants are probably getting thirsty,” she says. I put a reminder in my phone to water my plant when I get back to St. Paul.
I’m heading back to St. Paul after spending the weekend with my parents in Chicago. This is my seventh time riding the full distance of the Borealis line.
You might remember this Racket article, written shortly after the line opened in 2024, about Keith's five-day trip up and down the then-new train line, spending time at stops along the way. Two-plus years later, the trip I’m taking is less notable. I’m not getting off at any stops, and I’ve done this exact journey several times before.
Still, I love every Borealis ride. I love that I don’t have to go through a security line or check any bags. I love that I don’t feel cramped and stressed the whole time. I love that I can get where I need to go for less than $50 if I book far enough in advance. Mostly, I love the little moments that make each trip different.
And I'm far from alone: Since May 2024, the Borealis has carried more than 416,000 passengers, surpassing expectations.
By 2 p.m., the train is quiet. The tracks audibly rattle and the horn toots intermittently, but this is almost tranquil background noise. After several hours of settling in, passengers are napping, reading, working, watching movies, or looking at their phones. On a walk to the cafe car, the most exciting activity I witness is a subdued game of Uno.
The cafe car is my favorite part of the travel experience. It’s on the first level of the train, downstairs from most of the seating. Even though walking on a train is a shaky experience, I only buy one item at a time so I have an excuse to pop by later. The food is not amazing, especially since they stopped selling my beloved deluxe stromboli, but it’s the best place to mingle with fellow riders.
On a trip last year, a man wearing a fringed suede jacket changed my life in the cafe line by telling me I needed to listen to Cat Stevens’s wonderful Tea for the Tillerman as soon as I got back to my seat. I’ve also witnessed a Borealis cafe car erupt in song when several passengers decided to get drunk during a 90-minute stand-still delay caused by a storm. (The cafe eventually cut off alcohol service that day.)
On this trip, my favorite interaction is with the lead service attendant behind the cafe counter, an animated woman named Snowden. As my bagged cheeseburger is heating up, she tells me she’s been working on Amtrak trains for 15 years. I mention that I’m writing about the Borealis and she says that when there’s less of a line she can tell me anything I want to know about the train—a great excuse to visit again later.
Later, Snowden explains what it’s like to work for Amtrak. She tells me that there are different kinds of train workers; she works for On Board Services or OBS, but conductors and engineers are T&E workers.
"A lot of people get [conductors and engineers] confused. They’re like, ‘Why isn’t the conductor driving?’ Well he better be conducting. Conductors conduct, engineers drive,” Snowden explains.
To make sure I get everything right, she pulls out a strip of receipt paper to write down her name and the names of the departments.
“It’s definitely an adventurous career, because it’s not just a job, it’s a lifestyle. You know, I keep that luggage packed,” she says, pointing to a stack of bags next to the cafe counter.
In some ways, though, working on a train is like working any customer service job. Midway through our conversation, a passenger walks into the car with no shoes or socks, and Snowden has to tell her that Amtrak has a rule against going barefoot in the cafe.
Snowden likes working on the Borealis. It’s a single-day journey so she gets breaks from the sound and motion of the train, and she likes looking out the windows when they cross the Mississippi River.
“Really anytime we pass water, that’s my favorite," she says.
When the line gets long again, I go back to my seat. As much as I love the Borealis and train travel in general, it’s still travel. I get work done. I get a slight headache. I spill some water on my bag. Ellen jokes that the spill will at least be a bit of action for my article.
Before I know it, the conductor announces that we’ve left Red Wing, the last stop before the St. Paul. I go down to the cafe car for a final time and wait in line while Snowden and a conductor chat with a passenger about his YouTube page. Snowden gets out a notebook full of quickly jotted names and details and writes down the channel name. Before I leave, she asks to check the spelling of “Racket” before writing it down in her notebook as well.
For the last 30 minutes of my trip, I watch farmland, small towns, various bodies of water, and, eventually, the cities whirl by the windows. We’ve arrive at the Union Depot, right on time (this does not always happen, in my experience), and I’m back on solid ground.
While I walk toward the pickup area, a woman next to me exclaims “I’ve successfully completed my first train journey!”
Her name is Lilian, and she plans to take the Borealis many more times.
“Unless I’ve got to get somewhere fast, no reason to take a plane again,” she tells me.
I emphatically agree.
