High cable ride

Chiang Mai Train Station. July 2012.

There's something about trains that is romantic. Probably because I grew up not seeing or riding one until early this year. What a sight looking at the hustle of intertwining lives bumping into one another that make up the organized chaos that makes sense and doesn't at the same time. Different stories of people going to the same destination, lost pairs of feet trying to make it on time, weary eyes waiting for their time of departure, crying babies wanting so bad to be taken cared of.

Casablanca Train Station in Morocco. June 2012.

What could a family of five be doing out of a poor town? Seeking for greener pastures on the other side perhaps, or going back to the place they were from after a failed attempt at finding a bright future in the big city. I stand at the ticket line watching that happy couple on their backpacks, probably on their first trip together hoping they'll make it to their 1st-year anniversary so they can share memories to talk about when they get home.

Graffiti on the wall on the way to Rabat, Morocco. June 2012.

Or that woman squatting on the floor, travelling alone, reading her favorite novel as she waits for her train to arrive. She could be a divorcee, mending a broken heart. Was she the one who left her man or was she left behind? That middle-aged man with the attache case on a business trip, most likely unhappy with his marriage and his strained relationship with his teenage kids pushes him to uninspired trips to the office and conferences. And the happiness he thought he found in his mistress' embrace made him realize his inadequacies.

Chiang Mai Train Station. June 2012.

That songwriter stretching his hand out of the window to feel the rush of wind on his arms. He closes his eyes, swaying to the rhythm of the wheels kiss the the infinite tracks. The laughter of a group of friends looking forward to a vacation together, talking about office or school gossip but avoiding the weight of talking about their families and relationship troubles. Or the filmmaker in deep thought, thinking of another story to tell, perhaps a story that happened in a train trip. A love story that isn't lasting and he knows that the uncertainty it brings is what makes its tragedy fun to watch. A love story that just happened to pass through time, both parties knew it would end sooner than later and the temporary high it brought them was something to cherish when they walk apart at their destination's exit stairs.

Yes, trains are romantic.

Upon arrival at Rabat Station in Morocco, taken by my brother James. June 2012.

They have stories to tell. Or am I just romanticizing the density of loneliness that trains bring? Maybe I watch too much 'Before Sunrise'.