Back in 1983, I took a train from Oakland to Boulder, and on the trip back, the train took a southern route through the Rockies and then up toward Salt Lake City. When I got on at Union Station, there were few seats left because the trip had started in Chicago. I landed in a seat on the lower level that was arranged to face two seats across from me. The other three people in this charming little arrangement were related to each other and kept up a constant stream of chatter (except for the man next to me, who kept falling asleep with his head on my shoulder).
The track through the Rockies goes through some stunning landscape - steep canyons and long views of high meadow. As we were passing through a particularly beautiful spot, the folks across from me started ooooh-ing and aaaaah-ing.
Woman: This is so beautiful. I would love to live here!
Man: Yeah, me too.
Woman: I can imagine a grocery store and some little shops.
Man: Yeah, and a bowling alley!
At this point I probably shoved the sleeping guy off my shoulder and headed upstairs to the bar car where I could weep into a beer - or the equivalent.