Yesterday I climbed aboard the Northeast Regional to travel up to a meeting in Philadelphia. On the way out of town, I spotted a familiar landmark of northeast D.C., the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. I used to work next door to the basilica, so I always look for it when I can. Its rotunda and its Marian blue always bring a pang of nostalgia.

I planned to review notes and read on the train. Instead I almost instantly fell asleep. Train travel does that to me, the rocking motion, the blurred scenery, the clickety-clack.

Let’s make a deal, said my seat mate. Whoever is awake will let the other know we’re in Philadelphia. (He had told me when he sat down that he was getting off there, too.) But as it turned out, we were both awake, and he kindly pointed the way to Market Street as we left the station.

The sun was low in the sky when I started walking to the hotel, but the streets were full of students, and I was on my own in a big city.