The windows of the cabins, providing panning views of urban or pastoral scenery during the day, at night dramatically reflect the crude lighting from within the train. As you look outside, you contemplate yourself staring back in — a reflective spectator of your own life, rendered strangely cinematic by the overlaid abstracted lights of passing villages in the distance, traffic control signals, the moon.
Being in transit is always a good time to reflect, to dream and be transported. The impermanence of time and place of train travel sets us in a liminal state where unexpected romance or international intrigue can spontaneously manifest between geographies, borders, and climates. This issue dives into the mystery of the night, where lost trains of thought are found navigating the dimly lit corridors of our fantasies. Passing through tunnels can result in loss of service — as we disconnect from externalities, we reconnect to ourselves.
Later on, at the first signs of dawn, with its passengers sound asleep, a train silently slices through the rolling landscape of the countryside with the elegance and grace of a haiku.
— Savinien Caracostea, Editor in Chief
— Savinien Caracostea, Editor in Chief