I Traveled on the Amtrak Train from New York to Montreal – Here’s What It Was Like

Ten o’clock on a scorching morning in New York’s Moynihan Train Hall, and platform seven is abuzz with excitement. The silver Amtrak train—like a stretched Airstream—purrs gently on the tracks as passengers heave their backpacks and suitcases up the stairs and into the carriages.

After a summer of closure for track renovations, the daily cross-border train between New York and Montreal is back in service, a 12-hour journey through the scenic Hudson River Valley and the foothills of the Adirondacks.

Unlike most of my fellow travelers, I disembark in Albany to spend a few days exploring upstate New York before reboarding in Plattsburgh to continue on to Canada. The towns and cities that populate the Hudson River Valley are popular with New York weekenders, but I continue on to explore the Adirondacks. My first stop is Lake George, known as the Queen of the Lakes—something of a distinction, considering there are more than 3,000 lakes in the region. The lake stretches for 30 miles, and its shores are dotted with small resorts and palatial mansions that date back to the lake’s days as a summer playground for millionaire industrialists from the Gilded Age.

Green Splendor: Annabelle Thorpe rides the Amtrak train between New York and Montreal, passing Lake Placid in the Adirondacks (photo)

With little time to explore, I book a ticket on the Minnie Ha-Ha, a traditional paddle steamer with a piercing whistle that announces our departure to anyone within ten miles. As we pass a resort with rows of empty sunbeds, the captain turns on the public address system: “They like to sleep in there,” he says, sounding the whistle. “How about we wake them up?”

Back on dry land, we head to Gore Mountain, where gondolas carry mountain bikers and hikers in summer and skiers in winter to the summit station at more than 3,000 feet. As the hut glides upward, I’m reminded that the American landscape is on a different scale than ours; vast forested mountains undulate around aquamarine lakes.

The feeling grows stronger as I head further north, through vast forests to the town of Lake Placid, famous for hosting the Winter Olympics in 1932 and 1980. Main Street, a picturesque street of cafes, hotels and shops, borders Mirror Lake, where you can kayak, paddle board and swim.

Annabelle stops at Lake George (pictured above). “The lake stretches for more than 30 miles, and its shores are dotted with small resorts and palatial mansions, dating back to the lake’s days as a summer playground for millionaire industrialists of the Gilded Age,” she writes.

The Amtrak train (pictured) was closed over the summer for track renovations, but is now running again, Annabelle reveals

Shop windows are lined with hunting and fishing gear. But it’s the city’s Olympic heritage that defines it, from the twin ski jumps that tower above it to the gleaming Olympic Center that houses the newly renovated museum. Its interactive exhibits offer a (virtual) chance to experience the thrill of a bobsled run or a speeding ski jump. At the actual ski jump park, a lift whisks visitors up to the 120-meter-high platform from which the skiers launch.

The next day I walk along the waterfront at Saranac Lake – famous for its art galleries – and visit High Falls Gorge, where four waterfalls converge and cascade over rocks. Viewing platforms offer a chance to get up close to the rushing water – and get more than a little wet.

After four days of exploring, I drive back to Plattsburgh to board the train again. Dusk falls as we slowly chug toward Canada, with a two-hour stop at the border, where police check everyone’s passports. An hour later, Montreal’s imposing skyline comes into view, its illuminated towers twinkling in the darkness. At the city’s Gare Centrale, I feel as if I’ve stepped through a looking glass; everyone is suddenly speaking French.

Annabelle takes a stroll along Lake Saranac, which is famous for its art galleries

Arriving in Montreal (pictured), Annabelle admires the ‘sparkling’ panorama

The next morning, Daniel, a local guide, takes me through the Mile End district, past a number of famous eateries, from the legendary Fairmount Bagels (baking 12,000 a day) to La Cornetteria for ricotta-filled cannelloni and the Jean-Talon Market, where you’ll find local specialist producers and farm stalls.

It’s a wonderful introduction to Canada’s multicultural city, with alternating French and English, Italian, Portuguese and many more languages.

On my last day, I take the metro to Old Montreal, where the buildings look as if they’ve been plucked from rural France—a legacy of the city’s colonial past. Shops selling Inuit sculptures and paintings of snowy landscapes make me wish this was just a stop on my journey. Instead, the flight home beckons—400 miles and a wilderness far from where it all began.