I'm not a huge fan of train travel. Sure, some people find the gentle lulling motion of the carriage to be soothing but I've always found the pervading odour of stale urine a tad off-putting. I also prefer to arrive at my destination within a suitable time-frame, not a week later looking and smelling like a hobo.
The only time I've enjoyed a train trip was when I travelled from Brisbane to Blackwater in Central Queensland and I was lucky enough to snag a seat in the sleeper carriage. Sleeper carriages in trains are segregated by gender and I ended up sitting on my lonesome. Early on in the trip I snaffled a choice seat in the bar carriage but upon finding out the majority of the clientele in this part of the train were old swaying men who reeked of sherry and who wanted to tell me about their gout, I retired to my private room for some shut-eye. After wrestling for 20 minutes with the fold-out rubber coated seat that transformed into a bed, I drifted off to sleep. It was possibly the best night's sleep I'd ever had.
I awoke early in the morning because I had neglected to shut my blinds so I decided to have a lukewarm shower. As I dried myself off in my room, staring out at the sun rising over the plains, I noticed that the train was slowing and I could hear a faint bell ringing. Before I could react the train leisurely rolled through a road crossing, at which an elderly couple sat parked in their farm truck. I distinctly remember making eye contact with the gob-smacked couple as I stood there, naked. Towelling my junk.
I still regret waving.