On the Train

I've ridden the train before; all last summer I took the commuter rail into Boston when I worked in the city, and I took Amtrak from Philly to Boston a couple years ago. Everyone tells me trains in Europe are different, nicer, and they are. But no one warned me about how they were different in other ways too. It took only one weekend trip for me to learn the ins and outs of European train rides.

A few months ago I'd set up a weekend trip to see my friend Will. He's studying in Heidelberg (a good German major) and I said I'd just hop on the train and meet him there. So Friday after my morning class, after I'd eaten a delicious meal of fish soup and bread, I packed my little backpack, bought two bus tickets to get me to and from the "Hauptbahnhoff" (did I mention I'm almost bilingual now?), and hit the road. I must have made a funny picture in my orange dress, navy blue blazer, backpack, and flipflops. I definitely didn't look like I knew what I was doing. When I reached the train station I realized I had a good twenty minutes before I left, so I used the train station bathroom. Using a public restroom = .50 euro. That's right. When the train to Heidelberg pulled up, I got on and looked for a free seat. I'd asked Will and even one of the directors of my program here if I should reserve a seat. They both said not to bother, that it was more money and not worth it. So I just plunked myself down in a window seat and waited to gaze at the rolling Austro-German scenery. That worked for about two stops. And then a young woman came up to me and said "Entschuldegung?" (sp?!) and said something in rapid German which I figured out meant, "Girl, you're in my seat. Move!" So I moved. And lived in fear every time someone walked by me - what if I were in their seat? I made it to Heidelberg in only one seat-move.

I had a great time in Heidelberg - a beautiful walk on Philosphers' Way, delicious "doners" (kebabs in a thick pita), and even a "cocktail-to-go" (bizarre). Sunday after church I left for Salzburg, and the trip back was a different kind of eventful. I reserved a seat this time, since it was easy to do and would allow me not to cower every time someone looked at me. So I found my seat number in my car, but a woman in her fifties was sitting there. I don't know enough German to explain to her what happened, so I showed her my ticket and pointed to the number. She just motioned me forward as though I were in the wrong compartment. I didn't know what to do. I walked further down and stood awkwardly in the aisle, until I asked a young man with bright blue eyes if he would help me. He understood English, and he took my ticket and explained to the woman. The woman motioned to the person next to her - a slow man in his twenties or so - and it looked like she didn't want to leave him. Finally we decided to make another person move and the three of us sit together. Phew.

A few stops later I hear again, "Entschuldegung?" It's the woman. She kept talking quickly, motioning to herself and to the slow man who now sat next to me, who was obviously her son. She had to repeat herself, pointing at her chest, saying, "Ich, ich," and embarrassing her son to the point where he patted her hand, looked away, and blushed. Finally I heard that she was getting off at the next stop, but her son was getting off in Munchen ("Munich"), and would I please be sure to get him off the train when we got there? Oh my gosh. It was so obvious that I didn't speak German, why didn't she ask someone across the row who did?! I looked at her son, back at her, said, "Munchen?" and when she said yes, I smiled and said, "Ja," like I knew what I was saying "ja" to. For the next twenty minutes I couldn't focus on my book ("Tender at the Bone" by Ruth Reichl, by the way. Very good.) for fear I would miss his stop. Finally it came, and I stood up, letting him pass. He didn't even need me to remind him.

I thought it was over. I thought my ride would end in peace. But then it happened - smells. An older couple and their middle-aged daughter came and sat at my table, the man next to me. He was shrunken and thin, but I could see that he had once been a tall man. I didn't mind sitting with them, but it was the smell. Every time they moved it wafted over me, engulfing my nose. I tried to ignore it, and eventually it seemed to wear off. Later they bought two coffees, and as the man reached into his pocket to get out his wallet, he rested his elbow on my thigh. I kept thinking, whatever, whatever, he doesn't even know he's doing it. After he paid for the coffee, though, he reached over and patted my knee, muttered something in German, and laughed. Then his wife and daughter laughed. So I had to follow suit, and I laughed like I knew what was happening.

After all that, I am back in Salzburg. Is there more to learn about trains and buses? Probably. For now, be sure to make a seat reservation, and just smile and nod and pretend you know what's going on. Most of the time, it doesn't matter anyway.