This summer marks a renewed sense of hope and inspiration as more people hit the road—and the rails—after a long, isolating pandemic year.
The morning air was cool as I took the train into New York City, the tracks tracing the east bank of the Hudson River. I watched the sun burn off the mist hovering above the water, revealing the Catskills to the west, their peaks slowly materializing like a painted backdrop. It was beautiful. It was peaceful. And most importantly, it felt familiar.
But this trip was different. Over the past year, my travels had been few and far between. For much of the pandemic, I found myself confined to the Berkshires, imagining distant places I yearned to visit: Dublin, San Francisco, Ann Arbor, Venice, Taos, Boulder, even Hong Kong—somewhere I’ve never been but dream of exploring. But now, as restrictions ease and life begins to return to a semblance of normalcy, people are traveling again, even if it’s just to visit family. It feels like we’re finally getting our freedom back.
I’ve never lived through a time when I couldn’t travel. My passport is always current, a symbol of my belief that I can go anywhere in the world if the urge strikes me. But my first love has always been rail travel. I grew up riding trolley cars in Philadelphia, took the train from Detroit to Ann Arbor, commuted on Metro-North from New Haven to Manhattan, and rode subways in New York. My travels expanded with Eurail passes in Europe, and now, I’m back on this familiar Amtrak line along the Hudson, returning to the city I call home.
As a young traveler, I often had my mother on edge. I hitchhiked across North America without a postcard or phone call home. I traveled in third-class buses across South America, with chickens and goats, because the more comfortable classes were at risk of being robbed, and I couldn’t afford the fare. Third-class buses were often unreliable, breaking down or plunging off cliffs.
I once tried to hike across the island of Hispaniola, from Haiti to the Dominican Republic. I even worked aboard ore boats on the Great Lakes. At the time, I thought myself a capable young man, but looking back, I realize that what probably kept me safe on many occasions were my mother’s prayers—a constant, protective force, I believe still guiding me from above.
When my train pulled into the new Moynihan Train Hall, I marveled at its design, a blend of modern architecture and classic American train station features, including a vaulted glass ceiling and expansive concourse. Before the pandemic, Penn Station, which the hall replaces, was the busiest transportation hub in the Western Hemisphere. When I last passed through, it felt like a ghost town. But today, as I walk through Moynihan, I’m surrounded by people—commuters, tourists, adventurers, all rolling their suitcases and consulting Google Maps. Travelers, once again on the move.
Is there anything more hopeful than travel? The thrill of discovering new places, the comfort of revisiting familiar ones, and the freedom it gives to explore. If you’re planning a trip this summer, my best wishes—and my prayers—go with you. And even if your travels are only in your mind or in your heart, that counts too. I’d love to hear where you’re going—email me and share your journey.
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