3 May. Bistritz.—Left Munich at 8:35 P. M., on 1st May, arriving at Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was an hour late. Buda-Pesth seems a wonderful place, from the glimpse which I got of it from the train and the little I could walk through the streets. I feared to go very far from the station, as we had arrived late and would start as near the correct time as possible. The impression I had was that we were leaving the West and entering the East; the most western of splendid bridges over the Danube, which is here of noble width and depth, took us among the traditions of Turkish rule.
That’s the opening paragraph of Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula’, and, like Jonathan Harker, we are heading to Transylvania.
Saturday, December 27th. Day nine of the trip. Roughly 1,521 miles travelled so far since leaving home, and 541 miles to travel today before we reach our next destination tomorrow. First train, 10.36, arriving at Vienna 4 hours and 13 minutes later (14.49). Second train, the Datcia 347 overnight from Vienna to Brasov, with two two-man sleeping compartments, leaving at 19.08, and arriving in Brasov at 11.03 the next morning.
Let’s see how this day is going to go then…
It begins with packing and preparation. Somehow, we all work around each other in the kitchen. The masters of the coffee machine masterfully make sludge, while the tea drinkers of the group do the decent thing with Colette’s donation. Bags packed, rooms tidied, washing up done, anything edible of use goes into a bag for life, final check of all rooms, passports, tickets, money, another final check of all rooms, leave the Christmas tree, check again that we’ve not forgotten anything, and leave the penthouse to enter the chilly morning.
The thing is, we’re not leaving by the same station as we came in to, so Jenine has checked and double-checked the appropriate tram route. This is a good idea.
I once flew with Olympic from Rhodes to Athens to Berlin, there were no delays, my luggage came out first, and I was in a taxi to my hotel before you could say Freundschaftsbeziehungen. The weekend trip went well. I met up with some friends, and as they were leaving before me, they told me their easy route to the airport. This, I took the following morning, and arrived feeling very pleased with myself because I’d done it all by public transport. I wasn’t so pleased with myself when I discovered I was at the wrong airport, and had to spend the €50 I’d saved on a quick cab around the city. Hoppla! As they say in German.
The same mistake was not made on this day, as we took our tram across town, over the river, and into the more industrial and less picturesque part of the city, where, for some reason, every other building is another home for Allianz. A quick investigation of the station reveals, among its brutalist design, cracked tiles and failing concrete, a small café in which we can wait and where we can feed the teen, while the scout checks out which platform we will need, and the Master Controller checks the punctuality of the train. Here, we fuel ourselves for the hours ahead.
Soon enough, we’re on the icy platform, doing that thing where you look up and down the tracks every five seconds in case something has miraculously appeared like the Flying Dutchman from the mist, or the Flying Czech from the blue and icy air in this case, and, eventually, it does. We are at the right spot on the right platform for our carriage doors to open right in front of us (the European customer care ethos is still prevailing, for now), and on we board to find our reserved table.
This bag up there. I’ll put yours here. Will that go under your feet? Mind the hat! Whose is this? Where’s the bag for life? It died. No, here it is. Is there a loo? There will be, sit down. I can’t, there’s a bag in the way. What, no hatstand? Sorry madam. I hope this isn’t a quiet carriage. Where’s my pills?
Alan Whicker used to say, ‘Any fool can be uncomfortable, so when you are travelling, always make yourself as comfortable as possible.’
And we do. Settling into our new space, we look forward to the next four hours and thirteen minutes, and off we set.
From city to countryside, over plains, through stations busy and not, past engines, the snow fades away, the ground is brown and ochre as if this were autumn, the time passes quickly, as do Brno and other names I vaguely recognise, and, in the midafternoon, we glide into Vienna.
Vienna railway station is not unlike a small town. They have maps and online guides showing you what’s available in what supermarket, shop, department, café, restaurant, and probably hospital, and being Austrian, it is all very well organised and signposted. This means we’re able to stow our bags in a large locker before heading out to see at least one Viennese sight/site before boarding our next train in just under four hours’ time.
Out of the station, do up your buttons, turn right into the wind, look back at the sinking sun beyond stark, modern buildings, and keep going, up to the lights, cross, turn right, and there’s the long view of the Belvedere. The Belvedere is a historic building complex in Vienna, Austria, consisting of two Baroque palaces (the Upper and Lower Belvedere), the Orangery, and the Palace Stables. The buildings are set in a Baroque park landscape in the third district of the city, on the south-eastern edge of its centre.
I am sure you knew that. You might also know that the Belvedere currently houses museums and art galleries, none of which we have time to see.
It’s a case of snap this, look at that, appreciate this and look over there, but all from the outside as we walk the gardens, and then a circuit of the complex where we visit a war memorial, and ignore a Christmas market, while trying to find a café, and deciding to have something to eat back in the station. We also need to do some shopping ready for the evening and night on the train. Someone has the foresight to buy noodles and beer, so I’m happily restored to full health, and the game can continue. So happy am I that I venture into a clothes shop and pick up three scarf/snood/things for us boys, and on the way back, check out where the Spar is, so we can buy supplies. This, as it turns out, is not as easy as it sounds.
Perhaps Saturday afternoon is the time for the Viennese to come out and do their shopping in a small, railway station branch of Spar, as that is what is taking place here. We enter in pairs, but it soon becomes apparent that we are not alone. I mean there are about 500 people crammed into long queues, and the time for departure is heading our way. We decide to divide and conquer, so H and I leave the other two to their side quest and go to pick up the luggage. This we do with ease – well, entering the code and retrieving the bags is achieved with ease; carrying the 15 bags back to the Spar upstairs is another matter. But we manage, and message our success to the B team, and wait. And wait. And bob up and down trying to see in, catching a glimpse of a bobble hat and a bald head, both belonging to the wrong people, and wait, and watch the clock, and… Finally. The B team break free from the clutches of the great Spar and appears with more bags for life (or at least, bags for the next couple of hours), and with those added to our caravan, we set off for the platform.
Now, here’s a short tale. Once, when Neil and I were travelling around, we travelled from Prague to Vienna on a smart train with buffet service and a dining car, but as we had a longer, eight-hour journey coming up, we decided to leave the new-to-us experience of a dining car until then. That day came, Budapest to Belgrade (roughly eight hours, in theory), and we set off in an equally smart, first-class carriage that had locked toilets and no buffet car, so I investigated second class to find no dining car, no buffet anything, and only the very basic of toilets. I mean, practically the hole in the floor to the tracks kind of job, and one was so bad, someone was keeping chickens in it. Things became stranger when we arrived at the Hungary/Serbia border, and three sets of officials boarded, one lot with sniffer dogs, and someone ran across the roof, another man was taken off, never to be seen again. Nor, when we set off, and I turned behind to see about using the loo, was there any sign of second class. Those carriages had vanished, but at least someone opened the 1st class WC. But I digress… Kind of, because…
Our Romanian train doesn’t let us down. We have a compartment for each pair with two narrow bunks, and a third if needed (as long as the sandwich filling is very thin and no-one is claustrophobic), and we have… not much else, actually. A window, and just enough room to shove bags in corners as long as we sit on them. We try a seating compartment a way down the train, and find a six-seater with only one sceptical looking woman using it, and we try sitting there for a while, but the lighting is so dim, and we don’t feel able to relax because we know we’ll be disturbing our fellow traveller, so we bundle back to our cabin to become students on an interrail adventure. Three on the bottom bunk facing the wall, one on a bag in the corner, drinking beer, having a laugh, chatting the evening away and enjoying the blackouts. These happen at the start of the journey. We’re moving, but there’s no light in the cabin. Then there is. Then there isn’t. Then there is. A passenger comes to ask if our heating is working. Yes, it bloomin’ is. I’m sweating like a glassblower’s armpit, and even with the AC off and the window open, we’re at a toasty 98°. He is clearly unhappy and mutters his way towards the steward (who we rarely see after our initial grunt of welcome).
The evening draws to a natural end, and we prepare for bed. If you are of the type who likes to shower before bed, and you find yourself on a Romanian night train, then abandon all hope. I mean, you could try, but you’d have to squeeze into something smaller than a telephone box with one tap, one hosepipe, and I’m not sure I remember drainage, while standing not three feet away from the leaking WC and holding up a queue of others wanting to be somewhere else but needing the facilities.
We don’t bother. Instead, we climb into the bunks with me worrying that Neil will roll out (he doesn’t), and wondering where I will wake up, and before I know it…
Oblivion for a short while. A speeding train passes. The window is slammed shut by the suction. Things calm. Rattling, rhythm, swaying… Screaming whistles from the engine. I think they are doing it for fun. Then, I suspect, we are crossing the border. I don’t know the time, but I am grateful I am not woken to show papers and passports, and then… Definitely time to get up. My T-shirt is soaked as usual, and I need the facilities, but it’s not yet dawn, so it’s quiet out there, and we’re stationary in a station. Which turns out to be Sighisoara in the heart of Transylvania. And it is tomorrow, so we must now wait until, strangely, tomorrow to talk about Brașov.
