Journey to Bayern - September 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007.
‘Dank je wel... doei!’, I say to the chauffeur and get down from the bus.
My body is fuelled by a minimum of five cups of coffee, of course, apart from the usual gulp-it-up breakfast. So, I have a great idea: why not go to the supermarket Albert Heijn and buy a Frieshe Vlag Mango & Milk -- a milkshake, really. I take a little too much time to decide on whether to buy a Chocolade Croissant along with it, and finally decide against it.
After all, it took only a minute to make that decision. Just one minute, that’s all!
‘Hallo... een euro en viertig cent, alstublieft.’
I pay the exact amount.
‘Bedankt!’
‘Graag gedaan, prettige avond!’
I don't know whether she heard those words at all, because I was already darting towards Spoor-5. I don't use the escalator -- it takes ages to reach the platform; what more, I can't even get off it because there will be people infront and behind -- it is a trap for a trout!
The time is 7:33 pm, or 19:33, as they would call it here. Really wonder how things that I studied in elementary school come to mind all of a sudden. Unlike in my country of birth, India, people in western countries are just mad about punctuality. Time is money for them; I can hear those words in the back of my mind. As if to prove it, I come at 19:33, and the scheduled train departure was at 19:32.
No. Not even a trace of it. It takes approximately one hour to reach Utrecht Centraal from Eindhoven. The next train leaves at 19:47 and I wait impatiently. The pessimist in me wakes up and starts talking. The CityNight Line train leaves at 21:02 from Utrecht. What if I can't make it?
But then, I assure myself. I will have ample time for, perhaps, even a coffee break. The obsession with that dreaded beverage never seems to end. Whoever invented that! The other day, I was reading a Paulo Coelho novel, where he talks about the significance of Eleven Minutes. Now, I really begin to contemplate writing my own book with the title Fifteen minutes to the Next Train.
The wait never seems to end. I have even managed to finish the whole 500ml of the milk shake. I have also checked four times whether or not I possess the right tickets. Too much apprehension to cope with! I always feel like I am bordering on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. In fact, I have several times ‘self-diagnosed’ myself of suffering from OCD. Additionally, this is the first time I am going on a lonesome and long journey into another country, in a train. Once I am across the border, there will be few people who would understand and speak English. I decide, probably, for the thousandth time that I need to go to Goethe Institute upon my return to India and learn the language of the ‘Fatherland, über alles’. Anyway, the train has arrived to put an end to my misery.
I fill one of the many vacant seats in the carriage, and put my backpack on the seat next to mine. I have the final two sips the milk shake and just about start gulping the fruit bread that has remained from the unfinished lunch. And then it occurs to me. I am actually going to travel for nearly twelve hours to reach Bavaria.
‘Goeie avond, meneer’ suddenly brings me back to the present.
Perhaps my lack of reaction (or perhaps because of my skin colour?!) I hear a repetition, ‘Good evening, Sir. Can I see your ticket please?’
‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry. Indeed, here they are.’
‘So you are going to München! Fantastisch. I assume you have your passport with you.’
‘Yes, I do. Here it is.’
‘No. I won't need them. Thank you. The border authorities might check it when you are near Neuss, maybe. By the way, what is the occasion, Sir?’
‘Well, I am hoping to meet a friend of mine who is coming over from Budapest. We are planning to watch the opening ceremony of Oktoberfest.’
‘Oh! I am sure you will, Sir. I hope you have a good time at the Oktoberfest! Wish you a pleasant evening.’
‘Thank you.’
It is twilight and I see the last few rays of sun on the flat lush-green meadows outside. The cows don’t seem to bother as they have their heads down as if to show their indomitable determination in grazing all the grass off the meadow before dawn. I think they are inspirational characters even though they bring a good reward to their country in terms of the quality of the dairy products.
‘Dames en heren. Volgende station is Utrecht Centraal. U kunt uitstappen hier voor treinen naar Amsterdam Centraal, Amersfoort en de internationale treinen naar Duitsland en België. Dit is station Utrecht Centraal.’
I’m interrupted by the announcement, thankfully avoiding me from developing an interest towards dairy farming! I have to get change trains here.
I check my watch and also the clocks in the railway station; it’s almost 21:00. And, in a minute the CityNightLine (aptly “CNL”) arrives bang on cue. I get in. And we depart at 21:02 sharp.
I have travelled in night trains in India quite a lot, but this is something else. She is a beauty. All the coaches have been painted dark blue as if to hide from the dark. I have no difficulty in finding my compartment. I make myself comfortable in the 6-bed sleeper. My seat is on the lower berth, right next to a curtained window. My word, but for the covering on the seat, it is a real bed! There are pillows and a blanket to make myself even more comfortable! There are personal reading lamps just above each berth. There is a ‘night lamp’ and there is a door that has an impressive lock. I waste no time in locking myself up into solitude. I really want to get down on the bed and sleep almost immediately, but I can’t do that just yet. I just can’t stop admiring this comfortable environment inside. I can’t hear the sound of the wheels, nor can I hear anybody speak (even though the other compartments are crowded!). Only I have been blessed with a compartment in which I am the only person travelling, at least for now. I pull aside the window curtain and look out the window. After a few minutes, I see the train station of Arnhem. Then, we arrive at a place called Emmerich. Some people get down to get some fresh air. I follow them and I’m astonished at what I see: they are changing engines! I thought electric trains did not need to do that! However, let us not forget that the train left Utrecht after having started from Amsterdam Centraal on the Dutch Railway Network. Apparently, Emmerich is the first German town on the line and they need to switch from the Dutch engine to a German one that conforms to Germany’s train speed limits. Dutch trains are traditionally slower than German trains and, hence are powered by less powerful engines. Ladies and Gentlemen – we are now officially in Germany!
The train departs from Emmerich without wasting too much time for the engine switch. I believe it hardly took about five minutes for the whole stuff.
My eyes are a bit tired and I think of taking a nap and do so almost immediately. I open my eyes and the train seems to have stopped. We are now in Düsseldorf. Yawn! It starts moving again and within a couple of minutes I hear knock on the door of my compartment. I open it without delay thinking that I have a fellow passenger about to get in. But I’m wrong. It is actually the ticket collector.
‘Guten abend. Ihre Fahrkarte bitte.’
‘Good evening. Here is my ticket.’
‘Thank you, sir. We will arrive in München at 07:16. Oh, by the way, there are some more passengers getting in your compartment in Köln. Please keep the door locked. I will come and knock when we are in Köln. Good night!’
‘Danke schön.’
‘Gerne geschehen!’
As soon as she leaves, I lock the door and waste no time in getting back to sleep.
It only felt like two minutes and I hear a knock on the door. I wake up and look out the window but can’t see the place name yet. Well, I need to open the door anyway. The ticket collector lady smiles at me again and three elderly ladies (must be in their sixties) barge in (not really, but because of my sleepiness I imagine they did). I get back to bed after succeeding to bring a sheepish sleepy smile on my face so as to acknowledge theirs.
My God! I can’t sleep. These ladies, I think they are hyperactive. They have been talking for the last ten minutes continuously. Come on, please let me sleep!
I am still cursing them and with great agitation in my mind, I uncover my face by sliding away the blanket. Silence! And the train isn’t moving either. I look outside: “Ulm”. What does that mean now, in the name of God? Maybe I should check my ticket. Yes, there I see: Ulm – Augsburg – München. Good heavens! I had slept so well that I couldn’t notice that the ladies had already left the train! And, there were at least six train stations that I missed in my sleep. Never mind all that. Anyway, it feels so good to be alone in the compartment again.
I want to have a bit more sleep before we arrive in Augsburg. This time I have no difficulty in getting back to sleep. I hear a voice buzzing above my head. It was irritating. It is very hard to decipher, then I begin to recognise some of the words: ‘Good… arriving… Munich… late… nice day!’ I looked at my watch instantaneously: 07:15! Mein Gott! I’m almost there in Munich. What happened? I can’t believe that I missed Augsburg in my sleep. Anyway, thankfully the train has to end at Munich. However, it is still running. I pick up my backpack and get ready to leave. Surprisingly the train is still moving quite fast, so I believe that there is some more time before we arrive in Munich. As a habit, I check my mobile phone for any missed calls but I find two text messages:
‘Dude, I just crossed Vienna. Austrian border police stepped in to check my passport and visa. No worries. See you soon.’ – received at 01:22
‘Mate, I’m in Munich. I can’t find your train. When are you arriving?’ – received at 06:15
That was Bala. I had asked him to send me messages as soon as he entered Schengen territory and also as soon as he arrived in Munich. Actually, he was quite anxious about his journey to Munich as he does not like German border polizei. Poor guy. He had applied for a German tourist Visa starting for a week, but they had given him a Visa that was valid from 00:00 hrs Friday to 00:00 hrs Monday. They just looked at his hotel booking and then decided 'logically' that he didn't need more than those 72 hours! Typical Germans.
That said, my train enters a big arch that has a text ‘Grundig’ embossed on it. I also see a big H&M poster of Daria Werbowy. Anyone who has seen one hour of FTV in his life would know her name; she is a supermodel from Canada (although she was born in Poland and grew up partly in Ukraine). And, she endorses a ladies' fashionwear from the big Swedish company Hennes & Mauritz (H&M). Anyway the train now slows down and I finally see the name I was looking for: München Hauptbahnhof. Perhaps, I’m the happiest person in the world for a moment. Get ready for me, Munich, here I come!
I realise that we are five minutes late! Five minutes? I must admit I don’t really care about the train being late. I am just glad that I have arrived, finally, in München. I get down from the train and anxiously start walking in a direction where everybody seems to be going. I see that there are quite a lot of people. I think it’s better to give him a phone call and start searching for his number on my mobile. I hear a pat on my back. It sends me a shiver down my spine, and slowly turn my head fearing that, finally, the German Bundespolizei had caught me for my innocent looks. Nope. It's not them. I see a familiar face adorned by a gentle smile, beaming an air of contentment, and a surprising flat cap – Balachandra Rao. He greets me with a warm handshake and a bear hug (although I don’t like the latter). I am amazed to find him dressed like an Englishman from the 1930s!
‘Giri, what a wonderful feeling to see you here in Bavaria. The last time I saw you was in Bangalore.’
‘Likewise, Bala. It’s nice to see you to see you nice (I like this signature line of Bruce Forsythe’s). The world is round – I was pretty optimistic that we would meet up again. It’s just phenomenal to catch up here, in Bavaria, in Munich, the adopted place of Herr Führer.’
‘Mate, I wouldn’t like to hear your impressions on Adolf Hitler. Germans would rather forget about him and so would I.’
‘Yeah, so be it. Nevertheless, have you heard of Brezel? And, can it be consumed for breakfast. I’m rather hungry. Let's get going, shall we?’
‘Dank je wel... doei!’, I say to the chauffeur and get down from the bus.
My body is fuelled by a minimum of five cups of coffee, of course, apart from the usual gulp-it-up breakfast. So, I have a great idea: why not go to the supermarket Albert Heijn and buy a Frieshe Vlag Mango & Milk -- a milkshake, really. I take a little too much time to decide on whether to buy a Chocolade Croissant along with it, and finally decide against it.
After all, it took only a minute to make that decision. Just one minute, that’s all!
‘Hallo... een euro en viertig cent, alstublieft.’
I pay the exact amount.
‘Bedankt!’
‘Graag gedaan, prettige avond!’
I don't know whether she heard those words at all, because I was already darting towards Spoor-5. I don't use the escalator -- it takes ages to reach the platform; what more, I can't even get off it because there will be people infront and behind -- it is a trap for a trout!
The time is 7:33 pm, or 19:33, as they would call it here. Really wonder how things that I studied in elementary school come to mind all of a sudden. Unlike in my country of birth, India, people in western countries are just mad about punctuality. Time is money for them; I can hear those words in the back of my mind. As if to prove it, I come at 19:33, and the scheduled train departure was at 19:32.
No. Not even a trace of it. It takes approximately one hour to reach Utrecht Centraal from Eindhoven. The next train leaves at 19:47 and I wait impatiently. The pessimist in me wakes up and starts talking. The CityNight Line train leaves at 21:02 from Utrecht. What if I can't make it?
But then, I assure myself. I will have ample time for, perhaps, even a coffee break. The obsession with that dreaded beverage never seems to end. Whoever invented that! The other day, I was reading a Paulo Coelho novel, where he talks about the significance of Eleven Minutes. Now, I really begin to contemplate writing my own book with the title Fifteen minutes to the Next Train.
The wait never seems to end. I have even managed to finish the whole 500ml of the milk shake. I have also checked four times whether or not I possess the right tickets. Too much apprehension to cope with! I always feel like I am bordering on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. In fact, I have several times ‘self-diagnosed’ myself of suffering from OCD. Additionally, this is the first time I am going on a lonesome and long journey into another country, in a train. Once I am across the border, there will be few people who would understand and speak English. I decide, probably, for the thousandth time that I need to go to Goethe Institute upon my return to India and learn the language of the ‘Fatherland, über alles’. Anyway, the train has arrived to put an end to my misery.
I fill one of the many vacant seats in the carriage, and put my backpack on the seat next to mine. I have the final two sips the milk shake and just about start gulping the fruit bread that has remained from the unfinished lunch. And then it occurs to me. I am actually going to travel for nearly twelve hours to reach Bavaria.
‘Goeie avond, meneer’ suddenly brings me back to the present.
Perhaps my lack of reaction (or perhaps because of my skin colour?!) I hear a repetition, ‘Good evening, Sir. Can I see your ticket please?’
‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry. Indeed, here they are.’
‘So you are going to München! Fantastisch. I assume you have your passport with you.’
‘Yes, I do. Here it is.’
‘No. I won't need them. Thank you. The border authorities might check it when you are near Neuss, maybe. By the way, what is the occasion, Sir?’
‘Well, I am hoping to meet a friend of mine who is coming over from Budapest. We are planning to watch the opening ceremony of Oktoberfest.’
‘Oh! I am sure you will, Sir. I hope you have a good time at the Oktoberfest! Wish you a pleasant evening.’
‘Thank you.’
It is twilight and I see the last few rays of sun on the flat lush-green meadows outside. The cows don’t seem to bother as they have their heads down as if to show their indomitable determination in grazing all the grass off the meadow before dawn. I think they are inspirational characters even though they bring a good reward to their country in terms of the quality of the dairy products.
‘Dames en heren. Volgende station is Utrecht Centraal. U kunt uitstappen hier voor treinen naar Amsterdam Centraal, Amersfoort en de internationale treinen naar Duitsland en België. Dit is station Utrecht Centraal.’
I’m interrupted by the announcement, thankfully avoiding me from developing an interest towards dairy farming! I have to get change trains here.
I check my watch and also the clocks in the railway station; it’s almost 21:00. And, in a minute the CityNightLine (aptly “CNL”) arrives bang on cue. I get in. And we depart at 21:02 sharp.
I have travelled in night trains in India quite a lot, but this is something else. She is a beauty. All the coaches have been painted dark blue as if to hide from the dark. I have no difficulty in finding my compartment. I make myself comfortable in the 6-bed sleeper. My seat is on the lower berth, right next to a curtained window. My word, but for the covering on the seat, it is a real bed! There are pillows and a blanket to make myself even more comfortable! There are personal reading lamps just above each berth. There is a ‘night lamp’ and there is a door that has an impressive lock. I waste no time in locking myself up into solitude. I really want to get down on the bed and sleep almost immediately, but I can’t do that just yet. I just can’t stop admiring this comfortable environment inside. I can’t hear the sound of the wheels, nor can I hear anybody speak (even though the other compartments are crowded!). Only I have been blessed with a compartment in which I am the only person travelling, at least for now. I pull aside the window curtain and look out the window. After a few minutes, I see the train station of Arnhem. Then, we arrive at a place called Emmerich. Some people get down to get some fresh air. I follow them and I’m astonished at what I see: they are changing engines! I thought electric trains did not need to do that! However, let us not forget that the train left Utrecht after having started from Amsterdam Centraal on the Dutch Railway Network. Apparently, Emmerich is the first German town on the line and they need to switch from the Dutch engine to a German one that conforms to Germany’s train speed limits. Dutch trains are traditionally slower than German trains and, hence are powered by less powerful engines. Ladies and Gentlemen – we are now officially in Germany!
The train departs from Emmerich without wasting too much time for the engine switch. I believe it hardly took about five minutes for the whole stuff.
My eyes are a bit tired and I think of taking a nap and do so almost immediately. I open my eyes and the train seems to have stopped. We are now in Düsseldorf. Yawn! It starts moving again and within a couple of minutes I hear knock on the door of my compartment. I open it without delay thinking that I have a fellow passenger about to get in. But I’m wrong. It is actually the ticket collector.
‘Guten abend. Ihre Fahrkarte bitte.’
‘Good evening. Here is my ticket.’
‘Thank you, sir. We will arrive in München at 07:16. Oh, by the way, there are some more passengers getting in your compartment in Köln. Please keep the door locked. I will come and knock when we are in Köln. Good night!’
‘Danke schön.’
‘Gerne geschehen!’
As soon as she leaves, I lock the door and waste no time in getting back to sleep.
It only felt like two minutes and I hear a knock on the door. I wake up and look out the window but can’t see the place name yet. Well, I need to open the door anyway. The ticket collector lady smiles at me again and three elderly ladies (must be in their sixties) barge in (not really, but because of my sleepiness I imagine they did). I get back to bed after succeeding to bring a sheepish sleepy smile on my face so as to acknowledge theirs.
My God! I can’t sleep. These ladies, I think they are hyperactive. They have been talking for the last ten minutes continuously. Come on, please let me sleep!
I am still cursing them and with great agitation in my mind, I uncover my face by sliding away the blanket. Silence! And the train isn’t moving either. I look outside: “Ulm”. What does that mean now, in the name of God? Maybe I should check my ticket. Yes, there I see: Ulm – Augsburg – München. Good heavens! I had slept so well that I couldn’t notice that the ladies had already left the train! And, there were at least six train stations that I missed in my sleep. Never mind all that. Anyway, it feels so good to be alone in the compartment again.
I want to have a bit more sleep before we arrive in Augsburg. This time I have no difficulty in getting back to sleep. I hear a voice buzzing above my head. It was irritating. It is very hard to decipher, then I begin to recognise some of the words: ‘Good… arriving… Munich… late… nice day!’ I looked at my watch instantaneously: 07:15! Mein Gott! I’m almost there in Munich. What happened? I can’t believe that I missed Augsburg in my sleep. Anyway, thankfully the train has to end at Munich. However, it is still running. I pick up my backpack and get ready to leave. Surprisingly the train is still moving quite fast, so I believe that there is some more time before we arrive in Munich. As a habit, I check my mobile phone for any missed calls but I find two text messages:
‘Dude, I just crossed Vienna. Austrian border police stepped in to check my passport and visa. No worries. See you soon.’ – received at 01:22
‘Mate, I’m in Munich. I can’t find your train. When are you arriving?’ – received at 06:15
That was Bala. I had asked him to send me messages as soon as he entered Schengen territory and also as soon as he arrived in Munich. Actually, he was quite anxious about his journey to Munich as he does not like German border polizei. Poor guy. He had applied for a German tourist Visa starting for a week, but they had given him a Visa that was valid from 00:00 hrs Friday to 00:00 hrs Monday. They just looked at his hotel booking and then decided 'logically' that he didn't need more than those 72 hours! Typical Germans.
That said, my train enters a big arch that has a text ‘Grundig’ embossed on it. I also see a big H&M poster of Daria Werbowy. Anyone who has seen one hour of FTV in his life would know her name; she is a supermodel from Canada (although she was born in Poland and grew up partly in Ukraine). And, she endorses a ladies' fashionwear from the big Swedish company Hennes & Mauritz (H&M). Anyway the train now slows down and I finally see the name I was looking for: München Hauptbahnhof. Perhaps, I’m the happiest person in the world for a moment. Get ready for me, Munich, here I come!
I realise that we are five minutes late! Five minutes? I must admit I don’t really care about the train being late. I am just glad that I have arrived, finally, in München. I get down from the train and anxiously start walking in a direction where everybody seems to be going. I see that there are quite a lot of people. I think it’s better to give him a phone call and start searching for his number on my mobile. I hear a pat on my back. It sends me a shiver down my spine, and slowly turn my head fearing that, finally, the German Bundespolizei had caught me for my innocent looks. Nope. It's not them. I see a familiar face adorned by a gentle smile, beaming an air of contentment, and a surprising flat cap – Balachandra Rao. He greets me with a warm handshake and a bear hug (although I don’t like the latter). I am amazed to find him dressed like an Englishman from the 1930s!
‘Giri, what a wonderful feeling to see you here in Bavaria. The last time I saw you was in Bangalore.’
‘Likewise, Bala. It’s nice to see you to see you nice (I like this signature line of Bruce Forsythe’s). The world is round – I was pretty optimistic that we would meet up again. It’s just phenomenal to catch up here, in Bavaria, in Munich, the adopted place of Herr Führer.’
‘Mate, I wouldn’t like to hear your impressions on Adolf Hitler. Germans would rather forget about him and so would I.’
‘Yeah, so be it. Nevertheless, have you heard of Brezel? And, can it be consumed for breakfast. I’m rather hungry. Let's get going, shall we?’
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