In October 2021, I embarked on a long and immersive travel experience—an overnight Amtrak journey that carried me from the sunny sprawl of Miami to the bustling heart of New York City. The voyage lasted nearly thirty hours, connecting two vibrant points of the East Coast through an ever-changing landscape. Determined to make the extended trip as restful as possible, I reserved one of Amtrak’s private bedroom accommodations, which at approximately forty-five square feet—roughly the area of a king-sized bed—offered a compact yet remarkably self-contained sanctuary on wheels. For $1,000, the price of what might equate to a short domestic flight and hotel stay, I gained the rare luxury of an onboard suite that featured its own private restroom, shower, and ample space to unwind. Compared with the smaller roomettes I had tried on previous domestic rail trips, this bedroom felt like a genuine reprieve—a haven of comfort situated within the rhythmic motion of the train.
I have always found something uniquely mesmerizing about long-distance rail travel. Unlike the hurried sterility of airplanes or the monotony of highways, the train invites passengers to slow down and inhabit the journey itself. Even so, my affection for this mode of transportation has sometimes been tested by the constraints of budget and space. Before this specific trek, I had taken a 30-hour ride southbound to Miami in a modest roomette costing around $500. On the way back north, I decided to invest in the more spacious bedroom option, partly as a reward for enduring the earlier confined quarters and partly out of curiosity to see how much comfort an upgrade could truly provide. The difference was transformative. At double the cost, it offered more than double the comfort—greater room to move, lie down, and simply breathe during the long passage from Florida to New York.
My previous cross-continental railway experiences between 2022 and 2023 had taken me across Europe—from Berlin to Vienna, Paris, and Venice—aboard renowned trains such as Austria’s ÖBB Nightjet and the opulent Venice Simplon-Orient-Express. Those voyages, spanning a total of sixty-five hours, established a standard of European refinement that contrasted sharply with the more utilitarian ambiance of American routes. Yet, while no U.S. train could replicate the sumptuousness of an $8,000 European sleeper suite, this Amtrak bedroom proved to be the most comfortable accommodation I had experienced stateside. Even later, when I ventured westward on a 15-hour journey from Denver to Salt Lake City in a compact roomette, I found myself nostalgically recalling the ample comfort of that Miami-to-New-York bedroom.
The Miami Amtrak Station, where my return journey commenced, greeted travelers with a practical simplicity that reminded me of a Greyhound terminal—unadorned yet functional. Arriving roughly fifty minutes before departure, I settled into the modest waiting area, anticipating the lengthy ride ahead. Once onboard, however, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The bedroom offered modular elegance: a sofa that transformed into a bed, a hidden upper bunk that descended from the ceiling, and a foldable chair that cleverly tucked out of the way. These space-saving innovations reminded me of compact architecture seen in tiny homes, where efficiency meets design. Between two of the seats, a petite table folded out from the wall—a surprisingly thoughtful feature that transformed the compartment into both an office and a lounge. During daylight hours, I used it as a workspace for my laptop; by evening, it folded neatly away to free up the living area.
My private quarters even included a washroom—a rarity in many sleeper categories. The miniature bathroom housed a toilet and shower behind a door, complete with hooks for towels and clothes, and shelves for toiletries conveniently situated above the sink. Having a personal sink beneath a mirror, with a few fresh towels arranged nearby, evoked the comfort of a hotel room. I appreciated the small details: a built-in tissue holder, a discreet trash bin, and a narrow closet equipped with hangers for jackets or outfits. For someone who tends to unpack minimally on short trips, being able to hang or organize belongings lent a sense of permanence, making the cabin feel more personalized.
As a traveler prone to anxiety—particularly during lengthy, enclosed journeys—the steady movement of the train initially heightened my unease. Thirty continuous hours confined to a single carriage can feel endless, especially for someone unaccustomed to extended overnight travel. The constant swaying and hum of the rails might easily tax one’s equilibrium. I even felt a touch queasy in the early stages of the journey. Yet, the generous space of the bedroom acted as a buffer against claustrophobia. Having the freedom to stand, stretch, and pace a few steps in any direction helped calm my nerves. I realized that this sense of autonomy—being able to move through my own private environment—was perhaps the truest luxury of all.
Throughout the trip, I found ways to transform the compartment into a miniature version of home. Behind drawn curtains, I took light-hearted dance breaks, an everyday ritual that keeps me energized and grounded. Such moments of frivolous movement brought warmth to an otherwise motion-restricted experience and reminded me how essential small rituals are during long journeys. The sofa, long enough to recline on comfortably, became my refuge during breaks from work. During the day, I immersed myself in writing and digital tasks on my laptop, letting the steady procession of scenery play across the window like a meditative film reel—towns, forests, rivers, industrial sites, and the occasional flash of human life. Traveling by train grants a uniquely cinematic view of America’s geography, the landscapes unfolding sequentially like chapters in a moving diary.
When mealtime arrived, I made my way to the dining car, where multi-course meals were included in the fare. The menu offered several options, but my preference gravitated immediately toward the braised beef short ribs and mashed potatoes—a dish I had enjoyed on my earlier southbound ride. The dinner service was simple yet satisfying, framed by the distant hum of steel wheels echoing beneath us. Later that evening, after brushing my teeth and washing my face at my vanity sink—thankfully equipped with a power outlet to charge my electric toothbrush—an attendant discreetly entered to convert the sofa into a freshly made bed.
This fold-down sleeping arrangement far exceeded the compact bunks found in the roomettes. Choosing the lower bed this time, after struggling with the narrow top bunk on my prior journey, proved wise. The mattress was inviting, the linens crisp, and within minutes of lying down I felt the rhythmic sway of the train lull me toward sleep. Although the track’s occasional turbulence roused me intermittently, the solid ground-level berth offered a comforting sense of stability. I slept imperfectly, yet far better than before.
Morning light streamed through the window as the train passed through North Carolina. Waking to that soft illumination felt both surreal and invigorating—a reminder that, despite the hours of motion, the world outside had changed entirely. I had intended to start the day with a shower but realized I had forgotten my flip-flops. Concerned about hygiene in shared environments, I opted instead for a brisk face wash and a generous application of deodorant. Standing before the trio of mirrors above the sink, I appreciated how the layout helped catch every missed angle of water and soap.
Breakfast and lunch, both included in the fare, offered an assortment of generous portions. The continental breakfast proved unexpectedly delightful, featuring a sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich accompanied by oatmeal—available in maple brown sugar or apple cinnamon—plus Greek yogurt and a blueberry muffin. It turned out to be the most fulfilling meal of the entire trip, one I would have gladly enjoyed at any time of day. For lunch, some twenty-odd hours into the journey, I sampled chicken fettuccine with broccoli and sun-dried tomatoes, another respectable though less memorable dish.
The bulk of the afternoon passed in tranquil idleness. I lounged in bed, alternating between glancing at my phone, playing handheld games, and intermittently gazing at the scenery. The unhurried rhythm of the train began to feel strangely meditative, as though time had elongated specifically for reflection. But once my attendant returned to convert the bed back into seating roughly three hours before arrival, my perception shifted—without a sleeping berth to recline in, the final stretch seemed to crawl along.
As the train pulled into New York’s Penn Station close to 7 p.m.—slightly behind schedule but right on emotional time—I felt an expansive sense of relief. The fatigue of continuous motion gave way to gratitude. Despite the long haul, I appreciated not only the privacy and comfort of my accommodation but also the space it provided for calm introspection. The $1,000 bedroom had not merely upgraded my level of convenience; it had transformed a routine transfer between cities into a genuine travel experience—an experiment in mindfulness, curiosity, and the pleasure of unhurried journeying.
Sourse: https://www.businessinsider.com/amtrak-bedroom-overnight-train-review-photos
