Metropolitan Lounge in Chicago is a waiting room for those with sleeping car tickets, aka First Class—coach passengers have to be content with the larger, open noisy lobby with long lines for the rest rooms.
Supposedly there is wi-fi available, but it is down. A small knot is gathered around a large screen tv to get the latest details about the Bin Laden killing. I'm interested to learn if it was a murder, an execution or an act of war.
On the blocks long walk along the tracks we followed a group of of Amish, four black swathed women, three of them carrying babies, three men and one boy dressed in black shoes, black pants and shirt and jackets, straw hats. The boy seemed fascinated with the big engines and the crowd of people, but managed to keep up. The group’s luggage was not black, which surprised me for some reason, just battered Thrift-store pale blue. The babies were mini-versions in black shawls and bonnets. My fingers itched to take their photos but I managed to refrain. The Amish go to such trouble to be indistinguishable individually while deliberately dressing to stand out from America and this century.There are a few Asians in the lounge, two black women. Jesse is sneaking photos of me. Waiting here in the Metropolitan Lounge is the most boring part of the trip so far. There is no illusion of motion, although my head is a tad dizzy—not enough minutes to acquire land legs yet while we wait for the "All Aboard!"