Westbrook is a quaint shoreline community snug on the banks of Long Island Sound between New London and New Haven, right next door to the better-known Old Saybrook. I didn’t know the classmate too well and was thrust back into the college mode of ride-negotiating and flexible travel plans, as the friend I was traveling with was his old friend. Nonetheless, the plan was appealing, and a nice way to glide into the unknown of a big college reunion. Having lived in California for many years, I do often crave that New England spirit and style.

We stopped for lunch in Old Saybrook at a famous haunt called Vanderbooke Bakery, known for its cookies. I, of course, ordered New England clam chowda!  Katherine Hepburn called this seaside town home and much of Main Street seemed like it hadn’t changed in a long time.

We shopped for the BBQ at a few local shops, including an incredibly well stocked liquor store (I always forget you can’t buy wine at supermarkets on much of the East Coast) and headed back to the adorably, un re-done cottage. I loved everything about it, the old-fashioned wall paper, the yellowing board games from another era, the bathroom off the back door of the kitchen, the wrap-around porch and hammock and the view of the Sound. The generations of memories were palpable.

We prepped our feast and took off for a walk on the beach. The house had been in my classmate’s family for years, he had spent summers there as a child and now brings his own kids. He was gracious to share it with me, such a tangential friend. Bunnies hopped on lawns and so many of my own childhood, New England memories were rekindled. There was something about the lushness, the smell of the Sound, the very different architecture and genuine poignancy about keeping things modest and authentic. The meal was delectable, the wine divine, the conversations flowed, and within three hours we all felt like old friends. We scrambled to make it to our college campus before check-in ended at 10 p.m. I felt completely ready for what was to come.

The day before the tragic earthquake in Haiti I was reading a heart warming story in The New York Times about another area of the world rising from the ashes. The Balkans, recovering from the unspeakable atrocities of the 1990s, had some good news to share. A train linking Sarajevo and Belgrade was now back on track after nearly 20 years.

The route, famous in the region, was once a literal link between Serbs, Croats and Bosnian Muslims in this part of the world that was once known as Yugoslavia. Yugoslavia had been famously knit together by Communism and Tito, but the cohesion couldn’t hold and the region exploded into war and chaos following Tito’s death and the fall of the Berlin Wall. The bridges were targeted in the bombings and were a major challenge to rebuild.

The train ride today is not a seamless journey, but one that requires two passport checks, rail equipment from four countries, and nearly eight hours for the 300 miles between cities. This journey, which covers a shorter distance than from San Francisco to Los Angeles or DC to Boston, has become a symbol of rebirth for many in the Balkans.

Folks on the maiden voyage recalled the party atmosphere, reminiscent of the Sarajevo Winter Olympics in 1984. Those games had been a high point for many, and a positive window into their world, just a few short years before the ethnic hatred exploded into war. The political tension is still high in the region, but with much of the infrastructure destroyed in the war from 1992 to 1995, a renaissance of this train route is cause for celebration.

In late 1991 I was planning a trip to Yugoslavia (my honeymoon to be exact) when the news from the Balkans was not good. A Croat colleague in France at the time warned me not to go, so instead my husband and I traveled to Hungary and Czechoslovakia. I hope to plan a trip sometime soon to Croatia, and I may just book a trip on the Balkan Hope train.

But for me the awe was for that giant shed of ironwork and glass, the silver rails, the growling iron beasts waiting for departure from the Milwaukee Road Depot on Washington Avenue in Minneapolis.

Looking back, I can see that the place was pretty mundane compared to the grand railway stations of the world. Even by American standards it wasn’t much, but I would only learn that later. At the time I thought traveling by train was the greatest adventure imaginable, and part of that wonder was due to the grand spaces where trains began and ended their journeys, where passengers boarded and disembarked.

Soon after, though, train travel went out of favor, the stations went derelict, many were torn down. The Milwaukee Road Depot closed in 1971, but at least it’s not gone. It’s been converted to a retail center with two hotels, restaurant, water park, and ice rink.

But train travel is making a comeback, and with it, some of those magical railway stations are being returned to their grandeur, none more so than London’s St. Pancras. In a recent essay in The New York Times, Simon Winchester takes a look at it and other stations around the world, capturing the essence of our romance with trains and creating the urge, in me anyway, to stroll through that space, making my way to a waiting train, for a journey, well, just about anywhere.

The original model, the zero-kei (zero-series), was called the “dream superexpress.” The symbol of the nation’s recovery, the train attracted many fans and holds a special place in many Trainspotter’s hearts. The lighter and faster bullet trains today, carry millions of passengers and tourists around the island nation. The latest N700-series travels at nearly 200 MPH. There is a new line in the works; the maglev line will transport passengers from Tokyo to central Nagoya at more than 300 MPH! This train is expected to be in service by 2025.

When I think of all that has happened of late, there is very little that seems positive. Perhaps, though, there are a few things to cheer.  High gas prices have made staycations popular and trips closer to home a necessity.  Folks are driving less, car-pooling and looking with fresh eyes at Public Transportation, something we have sorely neglected in this country.

Train travel, a staple of my youth and commonplace in Europe and other parts of the world, is having a bit of a renaissance according to a recent New York Times article. Amtrak ridership is up 11% this year alone and the trend is increasing.  California has a Proposition 1A—a High Speed Rail Bond Measure on the ballot today, hoping to fund a high speed rail service from San Francisco to Los Angeles. The goal is to create a two-hour train trip, a journey both locals and visitors to the Golden State would likely use.  The French, Germans and Japanese do it, why can’t we? Politics aside, it would be great to get people across the country back into rail travel.  It can be fun, efficient, and even luxurious. On the East Coast the NY- DC route competes with congested air travel and certainly in the New England Corridor, train travel is often the way to go. But what about the rest of the country?

I still remember my grandpa Milo (I was the eldest and called him “Bampa” because I couldn’t say grandpa and it stuck), who was a bit of a train buff, taking me to the station to watch the trains and he always put a penny on the tracks to flatten for me. What a quaint memory, but certainly fond.  I’d like my kids to experience train travel, not as a novelty but as a mode of transportation: a serious option in the 21st century.

It had been a long time since I’d taken a train trip in the U.S. The last one I remember had to have been at least 25 years ago, from Seattle to Minneapolis. But these days Amtrak is getting a serious look as an option for travelers in withdrawal from sky-high airline ticket prices and the staggering cost of filling the gas tank. Then I read Catherine Watson’s story in the San Francisco Chronicle about riding Amtrak from Minnesota to New Mexico and I began to get the itch myself.

When I mentioned our annual summer visit to Grandma’s house in Minnesota at the dinner table, my 10-year-old daughter said she wanted to take the train. Huh? Was she channeling me? I love trains, but my two daughters’ experience with railways is in Europe, not the U.S., unless you count the Caltrain commuter train from San Francisco down the peninsula to San Jose. No, they wanted to sleep on the train, something we’d never done in France or Switzerland, and that dinner conversation was full of earnest requests. How could I say no?

Well, Amtrak’s scheduling said no. To get to Minneapolis meant spending a night in Chicago to catch the connection to the Twin Cities. Going the other way, north toward Seattle and then east to Minnesota, meant a 10-hour bus connection from somewhere in Oregon to somewhere in Washington to catch up with the Empire Builder that would have left Seattle long before our arrival on the Coast Starlight. A 10-hour bus ride when you want a train journey? Are you kidding?

But we found a compromise. Friends have a place in the town of Leavenworth in the Washington Cascades, a place we try to visit whenever possible. How about a train to Seattle, then pick up a rental car to Leavenworth? So that’s what we did. And I must say, being greeted by our steward Miriam with complimentary champagne (sparkling cider for the girls) was the right way to start. Sleeping in two roomettes (the family sleepers were booked) was a big thrill for the girls. Rising to the view of Mt. Shasta as we curled around it for half an hour was a bigger thrill for me. Klamath Lake in the dining car put the perfect spin on our breakfast as we watched flocks of white pelicans preen, the low sun light up the reeds in iridescent green, the calm waters spread out to the horizon like a mirage.

The hardest part was getting off the train. The girls wanted to spend another night in the roomette, but we had a rental car to find. And unfortunately, that’s where traveling by train has its limits. Our 10:30 p.m. arrival in Seattle meant we had to take a taxi to the airport to rent a car. So we did, and arrived time-worn but safe and sound in Leavenworth, where our friends had left the light on for us and the door open.