Ok, so I am on the overnight train to Serbia. Yes, I am aware it sounds like the start of a bad joke. Or an Eagles song. It's bad enough I will be awoken at 3am for an aggressive passport check (Twice! The Hungarians have to say goodbye before the Serbians can say hello), but I was just subjected to the most cranky rule-abiding Austrian who runs a tight ship on train carriage 417. You see, the wackiness of inter-Europe rail is you end up with the strangest amalgamation of actual train carriages all mixed together like a multi-cultural mixer circa 1878.
But I miss the Hungarian overnight train conductors because they look out for a single gal traveling alone such as myself on these smuggler's trains. Last time, I had a conductor insist I change carriages to one that had 3 working locks rather than 2. As much as I appreciated his concern, the thought that a mere two locks might not be enough did give me a moments' pause. Although the train ticket sales people are among the least friendly civil servants, the actual train conductors are sometimes among the nicest, at least the ones who are infused with a sense of pride in their job working the rails, traveling these dark and dusty byways of Eastern Europe. My biological grandfather rode the rails for the post office so I feel entitled to essentialize train conductors!
Anyhow, back to my Austrain carriage en route from Vienna to Belgrade via Budapest. There are two sleeping compartments with human life in them on this carriage of about 8 compartments in total. One has a couple in it, the other, the one I was assigned to, had an grey, bearded man who smelled a bit like Palinka. Not to judge, but it seemed perfectly reasonable that I might be given the chance to move into an empty. Nische don't think so.
"If you wanted a cabin to yourself you should have reserved a private cabin. You can pay for a private cabin if you want one." "
"But there are so many empty cabins - this one is also for 6 people just like I paid for. Why can't I stay there?"
"You think I should open up all these cabins to make a private cabin for everyone on this train?"
And back and forth we went. The weird thing was, he only responded to me when I got a bit huffy - you know, the kind of reaction you finally come to when you know all is lost, the snotty "I just don't see what the big deal is? Why is this so complicated?!" I finally snapped, preparing for a night of bunking with Father Christmas. The something even stranger happened. He just started to unlock an empty and told me to get inside and give him my ticket. Maybe some people just like the rough talk.
Sensing a frost, I thanked him sincerely, but thought I had cooked my own goose when I asked him if he was Hungarian or Serbian. "From Vienna!" he replied. Not even bothering to claim himself Austrian. I should have known. Not just from the interchange, but the clean train car, the matching embroidered button down shirts, and oh, the German he tried to speak to me at first.
Anyhow, that is likely an unnecessarily long recount of my adventures in cross cultural communication. Now I should go to sleep. And hide my stash before the border crossing. Kidding!
2 comments:
i'm glad you get what you need and what you want! it's your charm!
Ha ha, that was a fine one. Next exercise: try to board the train to Romania, usually Arad. Long procedures which leave you thinking what the hell are these stops for in both (!) border towns. You might be the only one sitting in this international train, but it seems that by the amount of time passing, both countries want to assure, that they are not divided only by a short border trip, but ages away from each other.
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