I remember when the map of the Midwest felt like a series of closed doors, the old train schedules offering only a whisper of connection. But then, in 2024, a new voice joined the chorus—the Amtrak Borealis. It didn't just open a door; it flung open the curtains on a landscape I thought I knew, inviting me to see Illinois, Wisconsin, and Minnesota not as separate states to be conquered by highway, but as a single, breathing tapestry unspooling outside my window. This isn't just a train; it's a storyteller, and I've been listening.

The old Empire Builder was a grand, sprawling epic, but its chapters between Chicago and Minneapolis were brief, hurried. The Borealis, though... it decided to linger. It carved out space for a more intimate narrative. Now, the rhythm between these two great cities has changed from a sporadic drumbeat to a steady, reliable pulse. I've seen it all—folks hopping on for a day of business, their laptops glowing softly, and families unfolding like flowers, the kids' noses pressed to the glass, discovering the world frame by frame. It’s become part of the region's daily breath.

And oh, the places it introduces you to! The route is dotted with stations that feel less like stops and more like gentle invitations. Take Red Wing, for instance—a name that sounds like poetry. The Borealis pauses there, as if allowing the very town to introduce itself.

These aren't just dots on a map; they're portals. They transform the journey from a simple point-A-to-point-B affair into a choose-your-own-adventure. Want to explore a little river town in Wisconsin? Just step off. The train waits, patient as an old friend. It solves a puzzle I never could quite crack: how to truly visit these neighboring states without the logistical headache of a car. The countryside here doesn't appreciate being rushed. It prefers to be observed, and from the train, I am its captive, willing audience.

Let's talk comfort, because, let's be honest, that's half the magic. In 2026, where the cost of everything seems to have wings, the Borealis feels like a delightful secret. Starting at $41 from St. Paul to Chicago? That's not just a ticket; it's an invitation to breathe. The real luxury, though, isn't just the price. It's the freedom. On a road trip, the driver is a prisoner of the asphalt, their world narrowed to taillights and lane markers. But here? Everyone gets a front-row seat to the show.

Inside, the car is a sanctuary of quiet movement. The seats recline into personal pockets of space—no dreaded middle seat to negotiate!—and the legroom is a gift to my six-foot frame. Amtrak lets you bid for an upgrade to Business Class, a move I treated myself to once. Let me tell you, the extra space and perks felt like traveling in a gentle, rolling hug.

Typical Borealis Amenities (2026):

This is the part that gets me, the profound shift. A road trip promises freedom, but it often delivers a divided experience. One person sacrifices, their knuckles white on the wheel, while the others feast on the views. The Borealis erases that division. We all share the same experience. We all gasp at the same sudden lake, point out the same red barns standing sentinel in rolling fields, and doze off to the same lullaby of wheels on tracks. No one is left out. No one has to "wait for their turn" to see the beauty. It’s communal wonder, and it’s why, for me, this train isn't just an alternative to the road—it's an upgrade for the soul.

So, here's my truth, whispered back to those whispering rails: you've changed how I see my home. You've shown me that the heart of the Midwest isn't found in hurrying through it, but in letting it flow past, vast and serene and utterly captivating. On the way there, I'm all eyes, a sponge soaking up every shade of green and gold. And on the way back, tired and full of new memories, I recline my seat, the world a peaceful blur, and nap without an ounce of guilt. The Borealis carries me, and for a few beautiful hours, all is right with the world.