Real Life Happens on the Slow Train

by Theo Huffman
(Budapest, Hungary)

By the time I was standing in front of the train schedule in the echo-y hall of Munich's main train station (München Hauptbahnhof), I'd crossed nine time-zones on a flight from San Francisco to Frankfurt, waited hours for my flight to Munich due to a missed connection, and taken a bus into the city to catch a train. It was late afternoon, and I'd been on the road since the morning of the previous day. The schedule presented me with two choices for reaching my ultimate destination, Salzburg. I could either wait for the express train, or immediately jump on the local train that stops at every bump in the road (affectionately called the Bimmelbahn in German). Being in motion was better than sitting in the station, so I bought my ticket and hopped on the local.

I thought I would settle into my seat and take a nap, but right at the first stop a chimney-sweep boarded my carriage, dressed all in black, with a black hat on his head, and his chimney brush on a long wire looped over one shoulder. That's not something you see every day in Northern California, but other than me, nobody took notice. A stop or two later two smartly dressed women boarded, each carrying two large baskets full of fresh food. They had obviously taken the train to a neighboring village to go to the open air market, and were now returning home. My eyes wandered curiously over the vegetables, fruits and cheeses in their baskets, taking note of what was available and in season in this corner of the world.

By this time, I wasn't interested in sleeping anymore, I realized that by taking the local train, I was seeing real life happening, and could really feel Bavaria first hand.

Soon we were joined by a rowdy crew of six Prep School (Gymnasium) students in their late teens, who obvious commute between school and their home village by train.

Then the conductor, a large man with thick grey hair and a walrus moustache, waltzed in and, in the musical rhythms of Bavarian speech, announced that it was time for everyone to present their tickets. He came up to me, and with a beaming smile and one hand out for my ticket, sang, "Gruess Gott!", that warm southern German greeting. Everything about him expressed that this man loved his job.

When he came to the rowdy schoolboys, they engaged with him in a contest of playful little insults and sarcasm, accompanied by raucous laughter. They obviously knew each other well, and probably saw each other every day.

The train rolled through the country-side, the hills growing taller as we approached Salzburg. After the conductor had gone the length of the train, he came back and sat with the boys, and they treated him like a favorite uncle, talking about sports, and cars and girls.

By the time we reached Salzburg, I was actually revitalized. It was refreshing to see a world in which train travel is still a vital part of everyday life. And I was grateful to fate for letting me take a train ride that has been a pleasant memory ever since.