It takes 35 hours to get from Los Angeles to Seattle on Amtrak’s Coast Starlight train. Thirty-five. Hours.

Tasked with finding out what it’s like to ride a train for a day and a half, I armed myself with books and crosswords to combat boredom, an extra hoodie to serve as blanket and pillow leverage, and a bag of toiletries to limit my own contributions to the odors of the showerless.

I figured that even if I was cramped, cranky and wild with cabin fever by Hour 8, at least I’d be entertained and perfumed.

Here’s how it all went down.

10 a.m.

Hour 1; Location: Union Station, Los Angeles

I boarded with ease at Union Station a half-hour before our 10 a.m. departure time; the train was right on time. On board I had my choice of seats, and stretched out into a surprisingly roomy seat that would be my workspace, bed and possibly my torment for the next 35 hours.

I settled into a practically empty business class car (it was only $30 more than a coach ticket), where I was greeted by business-class car attendant Raymond Luna who reassured me when I told him Seattle was my destination.

“Oh you’re with me all the way?” he said, “OK, I got you.”

11 a.m.

Hour 2; Location: Simi Valley, Calif.

The ocean views began in earnest and were absolutely stunning. At times, the train ventured closer to the coast than the highway and offered glimpses of beaches so isolated they seemed like tiny desert islands.

In the lounge car, passengers sit in swiveling chairs facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that run along both sides of the car, some excitedly hold cellphone cameras to the glass, while others just blend into the charming scene as they sip wine and read in the natural light as the countryside jogs past.

Many of the views along the way are as incredible as I’d imagined. In southern California, the sunny beaches and vast ocean views seem to stretch from right under the wheels of the train all the way to the ends of the earth. In northern California and Oregon, the snowy landscape seems at times to press right up against the train windows before breaking open into vast valleys that literally sparkle as the sun gleams off the snow, streams and lakes.

Even the more mundane scenes of daily life captured the imagination as we passed through residential areas and caught momentary glimpses into backyards.

4 p.m.

Hour 6; Location: San Luis Obispo, Calif.

Just after the San Luis Obispo station we passed the tall, foreboding walls of the California Men’s Colony, a prison. From the train, I spied a small courtyard, where a couple of prisoners wandered along the confined circular path. Such a sobering contrast to the privilege of my thousand-mile journey up the coast.

5 p.m.

Hour 7; Location: Paso Robles, Calif.

I would have thought that seven hours of staring out the window might make me antsy to move around, but I had to tear my eyes away from the window to try to get some work done. Unsuccessful, I nodded off and woke up to an announcement that the dining car was accepting dinner reservations.

6-9 p.m.

Hours 8-11; Location: Salinas to Oakland, Calif.

The dining-car experience is basically an awkward social experiment. If you’re rolling solo like I was, the dining-car attendants will seat you in a four-person booth with three strangers and leave you to navigate conversational land mines.

My tablemates were a father and son from Arizona and a teacher from the Bay Area. We dutifully made conversation out of the menu options. I chose the thyme roasted chicken breast ($18.50) and didn’t regret it. The mashed potatoes had the slightest taste of cardboard that indicated they probably came from a box, but I was surprised to find the chicken was tender, juicy and well-seasoned.

Soon we graduated to more interesting topics. The father and son had also boarded in L.A. and were Seattle-bound. They planned on jumping right back on the train after they arrived in Seattle to go straight back to L.A. They were on a sort of father-son retreat, they said.

10 p.m.

Hour 12; Location: Emeryville, Calif.

Back in my seat, I stayed awake, staring out the window until the lights from San Francisco shining across the bay disappeared and the views faded into pitch darkness. Luna handed out pillows, and generously offered me a second pillow with a look that said, “trust me, you’ll need it.”

11 p.m.-7 a.m.

Hours 13-21; Location: Martinez, Calif., to Klamath Falls, Ore.

I tried the knee-hug, but quickly abandoned it for a solid recline, which eventually morphed into a semi-upright fetal position across the two seats, happily unobstructed by an armrest. I didn’t sleep very well. But when I woke up to snow-covered evergreens of southern Oregon sweeping past my window I quickly forgot about the cramp in my neck.

9 a.m.

Hour 23; Location: Chemult, Ore.

This time I had a table to myself in the dining car, accompanied by a book and a coffee, and a cozy wintry scene outside my window.

Despite a disappointing breakfast, nothing could ruin the appeal of enjoying a cup of coffee with a snow mountainscape brushing past the windows and an adorable couple sitting next to each other a few booths away looking out at the snow.

3-6 p.m.

Hours 29-32; Location: Portland, Ore., to Olympia-­Lacey

Hours passed before I looked up from my book to find the snowy landscape had become lush green. Luna announced over the speakers that we were nearing Portland and advised us to move to the left of the train if we wanted the best views of Puget Sound en route to Seattle.

6-9 p.m.

Hours 33-35; Final destination: Seattle

In the last hours of my trip, I felt like I was only just gaining a degree of fluency in train life. I’d learned how to walk a straightish line in rhythm with the jostling cars, and had new theories on sleeping positions I wanted to try.

A couple of hours after sunset absconded with the Puget Sound views, the train staff began to bustle about the cars, making preparations for arrival in Seattle.

I was shocked to find that I wasn’t ready for the trip to be over! I’d just spent 35 hours on a train, and, despite the bad omelet and the awkward sleeping postures, I wanted more time.

When I disembarked at King Street Station, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and turned to find the father and son I’d met in the dining car.

We shared a ride from the station, and I sent them off with well wishes and a bit of envy that they’d be back on the train the next day. Back at home, the envy and nostalgia waned after a hot shower and a good night’s rest in my own bed.