Minnesotans find beautiful views, food and fun on trip to New Orleans via train

Something about train travel appeals to me.

Maybe it’s the more relaxed pace than going by air. Or maybe it’s the comfort of wider seats with greater legroom. Or the chance to get up and wander around.

On trips to Italy, Ireland and Norway, traveling by train has been overwhelmingly pleasant.

It appeals to our friends, too. So, when eight of us started talking about our next group vacation, we decided on a trip aboard Amtrak. But where to go?

Having taken Amtrak’s Empire Builder to Chicago years ago — a ride that took about seven hours each way — we decided we wanted to branch out a little more.

We settled on New Orleans, an old city of European flair and great cuisine that a few of us had visited before. The journey of nearly 900 miles would take another 19-plus hours from Chicago, but it was hard to beat the price.

Since a couple of our group were retirement age, we got a senior group deal. Our round-trip coach seats on the Empire Builder cost less than $160 per person. We figured we could endure an overnight since we’d done it on a plane before. We booked for the third week of March.

And, for the most part, it was fine.

We left St. Paul on the Empire Builder on a Friday morning. After an easy and uneventful first leg of the journey, a three-hour layover at Chicago’s Union Station and a transfer to the Amtrak City of New Orleans train, we headed south Friday night.

But there were a couple of drawbacks.

First, because our seats were on the train car’s upper level and the restrooms were located on the lower, my 60-year-old bladder required frequent trips up and down the winding stairs. My MS made it even tougher to navigate the way.

Then there was the noise. At several nighttime stops along the route, new passengers loudly came aboard looking for their seats while others clambered off. The commotion, coupled with the train’s loud horn blaring seemingly hundreds of times, was not a great way to get a decent night’s sleep.

Still, with the Mississippi River rolling by as the sun rose on Saturday, I was in a forgiving mood. We arrived in New Orleans in the afternoon.

We traveled the 1½ miles from New Orleans’ Union Passenger Terminal to our boutique hotel in the French Quarter by foot (and wheelchair). Just a block past the infamous Bourbon Street, we found the nondescript door to our home for the next three days: the Olivier House Hotel.

Oh, my.

Going inside the 42-room hotel, which was composed of four historic homes from the early to mid-1800s, we were transported to another place and time.

The air was springtime cool and heavy with moisture, as we wandered through the hotel’s combination of indoor and outdoor spaces. The bricks of the ground-floor hallways still shimmered with water from the cleaners’ mops.

Two open courtyards, one with a bubbling fountain and a small pool, offered seats to lounge and read, or go over the day’s plans. It was a perfect home base to explore the French Quarter by foot.

Ahh, the French Quarter. Where to begin?

While the Mardi Gras vibe was somewhat subdued — it was more than two weeks after Fat Tuesday — the Quarter’s small music clubs and nightspots still offered lots to do.

And eat.

From the first night there to our final breakfast together, New Orleans proved its reputation as a great place to dine. Whether it was various breakfast creations at the coffee shop run by Vacherie, a Wedge salad and crab cakes at the Court of Two Sisters, or chicken and andouille gumbo at the Original Pierre Gaspero’s, there wasn’t a bad meal — anywhere.

And classic New Orleans offerings were everywhere. Grilled oysters? Check. Shrimp Po’ Boys? Yep. Beignets? Well, we couldn’t stop just anywhere for that.

On a late Monday afternoon, we headed to the famous Cafe Du Monde on Decatur Street. We pulled together a couple of tables and ordered plates of the signature fried New Orleans pastry buried beneath an avalanche of white powdered sugar. Despite long lines, tables turn over quickly, and servers bring coffee to cut through all the sugar.

One must-see spot remained: the National WWII Museum.

Formerly the D-Day Museum, the institution focuses on the American experience of World War II. We were there for several hours, and yet only scratched the surface of its sprawling and comprehensive displays.

My father-in-law, Rolf Slen, now lives in Fargo. But the soon-to-be 101-year-old was a navigator aboard a B-24 Liberator in the Pacific when his crew flew its first missions. By the time the second atomic bomb was dropped on Nagasaki, they’d flown 40 missions, and he was all of 21.

Yet there’s much he doesn’t talk about.

So, I was drawn to the sprawling and comprehensive Pacific Theater galleries to learn more. From the years leading to the attack at Pearl Harbor to the Japanese surrender in Tokyo, the museum covers a lot of ground. I could have spent days there, and still not seen it all. The next time I go to New Orleans, I plan to return here.

We left New Orleans on the northbound train on a Tuesday afternoon. We pulled into Union Depot in St. Paul around 11 p.m. Wednesday.

I still love the train and plan to take future trips by rail. But I think I’d tweak a couple of things should I travel overnight again.

Sit on the lower level and closer to the restrooms, for one.

And, maybe, spend a few hundred dollars more on a private roomette.