I was welcomed aboard by the sleeper car attendant and shown to the room — or was it a coffin with seats? I did not pace it off for there is no room to pace but estimated 30 square feet. There are two seats that recline a little, a big window, a sink that folds down and supplies hot and cold water and “ice water” I didn't try. A desk folds out, folds open from under the window with a chess board inscribed in it. A toilet for midgets is under the sink, directly beside one seat. I had my worries about using it. The room had a few lights individually controlled and a thermostat that worked, room for me and another non-supersized person facing each other. Curtains could cover the three windows onto the narrow passageway. A “shower” was at the end of the car. It looked much like a vertical sarcophagus and, the train bouncing and swaying, I did not avail myself of the cleanliness I so desperately wanted.
There were also bigger rooms (with bigger price tags) in the car. They have more space and gathered families. I, alone, would have liked the space but not the 100% additional price.
The blogging traveler will revel in the power outlet that ran my laptop. I had remembered to put movies on the hard drive and could relax with a good one although I should have planned for North by Northwest or Keaton's The General. There was no wireless connectivity, intermittent cellular service.
There is a dining car and the food is better than it might be but not as good as it should be, the car about 65 F, the tables too close to the benches for the super-sized Americans who tried to share my table but couldn't fit. Fittingly we talked of their world of working in a hog processing factory. Like dog owners, they had grown similar to the 32,000 hogs a day their factory butchered. The food was better than the Marriott's restaurant the other night when I was too tired to walk out in search of anything else. The hospitality, service, and room were so good that I regard the hotel restaurant as something for which I should have known better.