I do not remember how old I was when I read Murder on the Orient Express, but I remember clearly that the book has convinced me to want to work from as large as homicide detective specializing in trains. Do not bother me that much that people are all too rarely killed in the carriages of the British Rail *: so, between my other work as captain of Everton and Brazil (I was already studying the thorny issue of nationality) and how successful writer of novels, I would have had more than a couple of days a month to devote to solving the mysteries that perplex the police.
You'll be hard to believe, but have never become a detective, and I'm still waiting to be called is that Everton from Brazil, but the fascination for trains, especially those of luxury, has remained. It is with a sense of satisfaction, then, that I hold in my hand a ticket for the Empire Builder, the daily train that departs from Chicago to Seattle and Portland in the far North-West of the United States, a journey of more 'for 3550 km, during which time you go back in twice - from Central Time to Mountain Time, and the Mountain Time Pacific Time. Back to the Future without the mad scientist.
At 22.55 on a Monday morning, I reach the train in Minneapolis-St Paul. Inside the station you type check-in: they ask the ticket and write with a pen on a small sign on the door then the passenger train with him. Mrs. in front of me he gets "FAR", which leaves me puzzled for a moment: is it the name of a country? Or is that Amtrak offers the possibility to send away unwanted relatives? The more I think, more plausible it seems to me the latter. With minimal marketing - Uncle annoying? Children uncontrollable? Wife / husband scassacazzo? Not to suffer the most snag: with our packages FAR, VERY FAR BEYOND THE UNIVERSE, now you can find the space that you are missing. Call us today to learn more about how to really send people to hell and beyond. Discounts available for brats, talkative and Jehovah's Witnesses - the gain would be achieved. I get
I sign my baby ("WGL"), I go out on the dock and get on the train, where a woman in uniform tells me I have to climb the second floor. the second floor? From the outside, the dark, you could see the top part of the Empire Builder, is not that I misunderstood the name and now I am nell'Empire Building? FUCK ME, I'M IN A SKYSCRAPER TO TRAVEL ON WHEELS! ... And as we do on the curves? Have thought of the tunnel?
get to the top of the stairs leading to first floor, however, began to calm down. First, I do not find desperate bankers ready to jump out of windows, and then I remember that plans begin for Americans not from "Earth" but "First." In other words, what they call the second floor is for us Europeans the first floor. What a relief! It is not then a skyscraper, but simply a train equal to those of the South East Railway!
Maybe not quite the same. The seats are large enough to accommodate each of two Europeans, three anorexic or a small tribe of pygmies, and a unique comfort. Another woman in uniform and it takes me a sign put up on the rack above my head.
"West Glacier, huh?" He says. "You'll Be Needing this, then. Sweet dreams! "
gives me a pillow and, with a snap of his fingers, turns the chair in a beautiful bed to 45 degrees. I fall asleep within five seconds, and waking up only to three-thirty at night when, from the armchair in front of me, the lady with the sign "FAR" gets up to go down.
"Fargo, North Dakota," announces the controller.
Fargo ! One of my "detective movies" favorites! And here I am on a train! The only thing I need now is a murder ...
* at the time - before the privatization would make a train trip impossibly expensive, even for murderers richer - Britain still had a functioning national rail.
