Idiosyncrasies of travel: or, why Melia has learned (maybe too successfully) not to stress…
Traveling. Things are bound to go wrong, right? And yet… just as the venerable rick steve’s recommends getting lost, often the biggest “wrongs” turn into simply awesome experiences that out weigh the original plan by millions.
Example. Yesterday, trying to return from lake Maggiore, I unknowingly got on the train coming FROM Milan, not going TO Milan (that was me trying to understand the Italian announcement, hearing something about ‘Milan’ and hurriedly boarding, afraid to miss the train…). And somehow, absorbed as I was in my French Hercule Poirot mystery, I didn’t seem to notice that the landscape started to look quite different than the ride over… nor that all the station names were different. Hence, half an hour later, when we arrived in Domodossola, I looked out at the station with great surprise, high-tailed my way off the train, and onto the train opposite, ready to head of to Milan… an hour later than planned. Annoyed with myself and mad that I had misheard the announcement, I plopped down in the new train and reached for my Poirot. In the process, however, the train began to move, and I glanced out the window. And nearly gasped aloud. Somehow, I had found way to the very border of Italy and Switzerland and was basking in the beauty of THE ALPS!!! My nose was eagerly glued to the window for the next 15 or 20 minutes back to Lake Maggiore, taking in the incredible view I had somehow missed on my wrong-way transit. Little Italian mountain towns with an old-school feel passed by, and I could see little communes high up in the trees. I was in awe. And decided, then and there, that even though Switzerland is not on my stopping itinerary, it simply needs to be in my day-time train transit itinerary. Because… my god. Perhaps it was because I simply wasn’t expecting it. But what a treat!
However…
This is nothing compared to last Tuesday’s train (mis)adventure. One that taught me just how amazing ‘going with the flow’ can be…
So. Gretch and I were all set to leave Budapest at 9 am on Wednesday, for a three hour trip to Vienna, where we would spend the afternoon and evening before catching a night train to Venice. All the schedules were printed, Alf (our awesomely eccentric german host that I will definitely describe in detail to come) came with us to the station to see us off and help decipher the train schedules, and with a good-bye hug and a cute-as-ever ‘Oooh, I’ll never forget you girls!’ from Alf, we were off. We only had a 15 minutes transit before we needed to change trains to head out of Hungary and into Austria. Simple simple, right?
Or not. Somehow, even though we knew the ride was only 15 minutes, we had set all our stuff down and proceeded to start a rather involved conversation. Which meant that when the train stopped, it took us a couple minutes to realize it was our station. And, seeing as how trains only stop for a couple minutes… by the time we had our backpacks on, the wheels had begun to roll again (did I mention that this also happened to us back in denmark, trying to get to the Viking camp?). A look between us and you could tell the exasperation was starting to mount, the i-want-to-blame-someone desire, the okay-WTF-do-we-do-now? And of course it was at this moment that the Magyar-only train attendants came by to check tickets and seemed perplexed by our eurrail passes and the explanation we tried to give that we should have gotten off at the last stop… At this point, the entire train car, filled with locals (it was a small regional train), was staring at us. One older man was nice enough to come over and serve as our translator, through which we were made to understand that, as the train slowed to a stop, we should get off at this next station and wait for a train going back in the opposite direction. So, packs on our backs, we step out of the train, eyes and a bit of laughter following us onto the platform, at which point we realized we were the ONLY ones to get off. And that the station was no more than a tiny strip of cement with a tiny little station and a reclining station attendant sitting on a bench out front.
Oy. Vey.
We started to laugh. You know, the only thing you can really do in those situations to avoid biting each other’s heads off for something without a true source of blame. I think Gretch was more exasperated than I was (as I mentioned, I think I’ve become almost too good at not worrying…) and she sat down on the bench with a sigh… I took a picture, to document our fateful situation. Walking over to the station attendant, we asked if he spoke any English. “No problem!” he replied, heavy with accent.
“Where do we wait for the train back to the previous station?”
“Yes, yes. Here. The train… here.”
“Okay… thanks.”
And I sit down next to gretch.
“Well… at least we have some good books!”
“But can we get to Vienna? We don’t even know if there’s another train there today…”
Luckily, the eurrail pass comes with a generic listing of main train routes, and we figured out that another train to Vienna would be leaving at… 1:30 pm. i.e. in four hours. Leaving us four hours actually IN Vienna before our night train to Venice. Aie. But no, no, it’s still worth it… we’ll just go back to Budapest, grab some lunch, and hang out in town before the next train. No problem….
The only question was, when was the next train back to Budapest? Can’t be that long, right? So I ask the station attendant, who had come out again to assess our situation. It seems he was alone and didn’t have much else to do, thus being eager to help out… and show us that, oh, yeah, no train back to Budapest that would stop at this little Podunk station for another… 2.5 hours. So I might as well take off my backpack and relax, he motioned with a knowing smile.
Gretch and I looked around. We were in the middle of nowhere hungary. Or, more precisely, we were a mere 15 minutes from our desired station. But the sun was hot, we had huge packs, and that was 15 minutes BY TRAIN. Hence… we had a long wait ahead of us.
“We’ll just have to make friends with the station attendant” I joked, wondering if we could get up the umph to have a conversation with him. He was young, friendly… no doubt bored…
But we couldn’t have guessed.
Within 15 minutes, he was out of his office with chair in hand, coming over to join us in the shade with a confident shrug of the shoulders, as if to say, “Now that you’re here, let’s be friends!” And for the next 2.5 hours, I couldn’t wipe the disbelieving/loving it smile of my face.
With his minimal English and our expressive hand motions, we managed to establish that he was Istvan, age 31, and had been working at this same out-of-the-way station for 10 years (yikes!) and reffed football (soccer) games on the weekends. When conversation started getting a little more difficult (those deep philosophical conversations are somehow more difficult when one doesn’t even know the word ‘think’ in the other’s language), Gretchen came through with the solution, pulling out of her bag one of the many quintessential universal languages, one that can cross all vocal barriers in this day and age… the language of cards.
Oh yes. For the next 2 hours, we sat down with a cardboard box standing on end as a table, pistachio shells found on the ground as betting chips, and played some mean games of poker and blackjack with a laughing and horrible-poker-faced Istvan. Every 10 or so minutes we’d here a computerized “toot toooot!” coming from his office and he’d get up, don his special train hat, and head to the tracks to wave at a passing conductor or give a train the “go” signal. And then he’d be back, ready to deal, ready to pose for pics, ready to show off his office… proud and sheepish, he brought us into the little office that was very obviously his own, complete with desk, computer, sink, fridge, and various train contraptions, which he tried to explain via motion… like showing us how he switched the tracks back and forth. Then his friend/collegue called and he had Gretchen on the line, obviously showing off that he had two Americans, CALIFORNIANS no less, in his office, hanging out with him for the afternoon… man, he was proud. And we were stoked. We posed holding the red old-school phone and wearing his special hat. He looked up our connection to Vienna and assured us we’d get there just fine… eventually. He gave us a bar of divine apricot-filling chocolate… and then we played more blackjack, learning how to count to 21 in Magyar, so we could announce our score each time. EGY, KETTO, HAROM, NEGY, OT… etc.
When it was nearly time to leave, we exchanged emails so we could send him the pics (and later, I realized that was really all we’d be able to do, seeing as how it’s not so easy to relate via email without a common language…). He proudly introduced us to some of his passing collegues, with whom we could only stand, smiling the i-don’t-know-what-else-to-do-because-i-can’t-understand-you foreigner’s smile, until they went back to work. I went back to his office one last time to refill my water bottle and see if I couldn’t catch a glimpse of all the naked girly pics Gretchen claimed were plastering the wall of the adjacent filing cabinet room (“Really?? I didn’t even notice! God… really?” and Grech’s response “Well… what else is he going to do all day? But now he’ll have pics of us to put up…” “Gretch!!!”)
Finally, our train was set to come. And we said our gesture-filled goodbye’s, thanking Istvan for an enjoyable, unexpected layover, and him saying “Fantastic day!” over and over and telling us we needed to wave at a collegue of his 1 kilometer down the tracks in a little house as the train passed. Supposedly this was the guy we’d talked to on the phone (‘talked to’ being used quite loosely here).
Boarding the train, we were filled with smiles and head-shaking laughter, and positioned ourselves at the window, starting to wave so that we wouldn’t miss whoever it was. Sure enough, 3 minutes down the line, we see another station attendant in another hut, scanning the train windows to see these “American girls” that his collegue had no doubt been bragging about. When he saw us, his entire face lit up and he started waving back enthusiastically, as Gretchen and I burst into a fit of laughter. At this point, we didn’t care if the rest of the train laughed at us. We’d just had an afternoon that no Rick Steve’s book could boast.
So many other little randomnities have come up during our travels, and I feel like each one fuels me with smiles and laughter… like when we arrived in Vienna at 4 pm and made our way to the big basilica only to see three afroed guys in sparkly outfits get up on a stage in front of the church and proceed to sing ‘Mah Mah Mah My Corona!’, surrounded by deck chairs and window displays of ACTUAL PEOPLE paid to lounge or stand for some sort of fashion event…Brilliant day, it was. Simply brilliant.
And man, what a luxury not to HAVE to stress… I’ll have to find a way to translate this ‘flow’ mentality to regimented, time-constrained life back home…
On that note… I’m frickin exhausted. Late nights and early mornings, with days in the sun is enough to make me wilt! Adventures with Alf and his Bobett (now you-ll have to wonder…) will have to wait till next time.
Arrivederci!
Example. Yesterday, trying to return from lake Maggiore, I unknowingly got on the train coming FROM Milan, not going TO Milan (that was me trying to understand the Italian announcement, hearing something about ‘Milan’ and hurriedly boarding, afraid to miss the train…). And somehow, absorbed as I was in my French Hercule Poirot mystery, I didn’t seem to notice that the landscape started to look quite different than the ride over… nor that all the station names were different. Hence, half an hour later, when we arrived in Domodossola, I looked out at the station with great surprise, high-tailed my way off the train, and onto the train opposite, ready to head of to Milan… an hour later than planned. Annoyed with myself and mad that I had misheard the announcement, I plopped down in the new train and reached for my Poirot. In the process, however, the train began to move, and I glanced out the window. And nearly gasped aloud. Somehow, I had found way to the very border of Italy and Switzerland and was basking in the beauty of THE ALPS!!! My nose was eagerly glued to the window for the next 15 or 20 minutes back to Lake Maggiore, taking in the incredible view I had somehow missed on my wrong-way transit. Little Italian mountain towns with an old-school feel passed by, and I could see little communes high up in the trees. I was in awe. And decided, then and there, that even though Switzerland is not on my stopping itinerary, it simply needs to be in my day-time train transit itinerary. Because… my god. Perhaps it was because I simply wasn’t expecting it. But what a treat!
However…
This is nothing compared to last Tuesday’s train (mis)adventure. One that taught me just how amazing ‘going with the flow’ can be…
So. Gretch and I were all set to leave Budapest at 9 am on Wednesday, for a three hour trip to Vienna, where we would spend the afternoon and evening before catching a night train to Venice. All the schedules were printed, Alf (our awesomely eccentric german host that I will definitely describe in detail to come) came with us to the station to see us off and help decipher the train schedules, and with a good-bye hug and a cute-as-ever ‘Oooh, I’ll never forget you girls!’ from Alf, we were off. We only had a 15 minutes transit before we needed to change trains to head out of Hungary and into Austria. Simple simple, right?
Or not. Somehow, even though we knew the ride was only 15 minutes, we had set all our stuff down and proceeded to start a rather involved conversation. Which meant that when the train stopped, it took us a couple minutes to realize it was our station. And, seeing as how trains only stop for a couple minutes… by the time we had our backpacks on, the wheels had begun to roll again (did I mention that this also happened to us back in denmark, trying to get to the Viking camp?). A look between us and you could tell the exasperation was starting to mount, the i-want-to-blame-someone desire, the okay-WTF-do-we-do-now? And of course it was at this moment that the Magyar-only train attendants came by to check tickets and seemed perplexed by our eurrail passes and the explanation we tried to give that we should have gotten off at the last stop… At this point, the entire train car, filled with locals (it was a small regional train), was staring at us. One older man was nice enough to come over and serve as our translator, through which we were made to understand that, as the train slowed to a stop, we should get off at this next station and wait for a train going back in the opposite direction. So, packs on our backs, we step out of the train, eyes and a bit of laughter following us onto the platform, at which point we realized we were the ONLY ones to get off. And that the station was no more than a tiny strip of cement with a tiny little station and a reclining station attendant sitting on a bench out front.
Oy. Vey.
We started to laugh. You know, the only thing you can really do in those situations to avoid biting each other’s heads off for something without a true source of blame. I think Gretch was more exasperated than I was (as I mentioned, I think I’ve become almost too good at not worrying…) and she sat down on the bench with a sigh… I took a picture, to document our fateful situation. Walking over to the station attendant, we asked if he spoke any English. “No problem!” he replied, heavy with accent.
“Where do we wait for the train back to the previous station?”
“Yes, yes. Here. The train… here.”
“Okay… thanks.”
And I sit down next to gretch.
“Well… at least we have some good books!”
“But can we get to Vienna? We don’t even know if there’s another train there today…”
Luckily, the eurrail pass comes with a generic listing of main train routes, and we figured out that another train to Vienna would be leaving at… 1:30 pm. i.e. in four hours. Leaving us four hours actually IN Vienna before our night train to Venice. Aie. But no, no, it’s still worth it… we’ll just go back to Budapest, grab some lunch, and hang out in town before the next train. No problem….
The only question was, when was the next train back to Budapest? Can’t be that long, right? So I ask the station attendant, who had come out again to assess our situation. It seems he was alone and didn’t have much else to do, thus being eager to help out… and show us that, oh, yeah, no train back to Budapest that would stop at this little Podunk station for another… 2.5 hours. So I might as well take off my backpack and relax, he motioned with a knowing smile.
Gretch and I looked around. We were in the middle of nowhere hungary. Or, more precisely, we were a mere 15 minutes from our desired station. But the sun was hot, we had huge packs, and that was 15 minutes BY TRAIN. Hence… we had a long wait ahead of us.
“We’ll just have to make friends with the station attendant” I joked, wondering if we could get up the umph to have a conversation with him. He was young, friendly… no doubt bored…
But we couldn’t have guessed.
Within 15 minutes, he was out of his office with chair in hand, coming over to join us in the shade with a confident shrug of the shoulders, as if to say, “Now that you’re here, let’s be friends!” And for the next 2.5 hours, I couldn’t wipe the disbelieving/loving it smile of my face.
With his minimal English and our expressive hand motions, we managed to establish that he was Istvan, age 31, and had been working at this same out-of-the-way station for 10 years (yikes!) and reffed football (soccer) games on the weekends. When conversation started getting a little more difficult (those deep philosophical conversations are somehow more difficult when one doesn’t even know the word ‘think’ in the other’s language), Gretchen came through with the solution, pulling out of her bag one of the many quintessential universal languages, one that can cross all vocal barriers in this day and age… the language of cards.
Oh yes. For the next 2 hours, we sat down with a cardboard box standing on end as a table, pistachio shells found on the ground as betting chips, and played some mean games of poker and blackjack with a laughing and horrible-poker-faced Istvan. Every 10 or so minutes we’d here a computerized “toot toooot!” coming from his office and he’d get up, don his special train hat, and head to the tracks to wave at a passing conductor or give a train the “go” signal. And then he’d be back, ready to deal, ready to pose for pics, ready to show off his office… proud and sheepish, he brought us into the little office that was very obviously his own, complete with desk, computer, sink, fridge, and various train contraptions, which he tried to explain via motion… like showing us how he switched the tracks back and forth. Then his friend/collegue called and he had Gretchen on the line, obviously showing off that he had two Americans, CALIFORNIANS no less, in his office, hanging out with him for the afternoon… man, he was proud. And we were stoked. We posed holding the red old-school phone and wearing his special hat. He looked up our connection to Vienna and assured us we’d get there just fine… eventually. He gave us a bar of divine apricot-filling chocolate… and then we played more blackjack, learning how to count to 21 in Magyar, so we could announce our score each time. EGY, KETTO, HAROM, NEGY, OT… etc.
When it was nearly time to leave, we exchanged emails so we could send him the pics (and later, I realized that was really all we’d be able to do, seeing as how it’s not so easy to relate via email without a common language…). He proudly introduced us to some of his passing collegues, with whom we could only stand, smiling the i-don’t-know-what-else-to-do-because-i-can’t-understand-you foreigner’s smile, until they went back to work. I went back to his office one last time to refill my water bottle and see if I couldn’t catch a glimpse of all the naked girly pics Gretchen claimed were plastering the wall of the adjacent filing cabinet room (“Really?? I didn’t even notice! God… really?” and Grech’s response “Well… what else is he going to do all day? But now he’ll have pics of us to put up…” “Gretch!!!”)
Finally, our train was set to come. And we said our gesture-filled goodbye’s, thanking Istvan for an enjoyable, unexpected layover, and him saying “Fantastic day!” over and over and telling us we needed to wave at a collegue of his 1 kilometer down the tracks in a little house as the train passed. Supposedly this was the guy we’d talked to on the phone (‘talked to’ being used quite loosely here).
Boarding the train, we were filled with smiles and head-shaking laughter, and positioned ourselves at the window, starting to wave so that we wouldn’t miss whoever it was. Sure enough, 3 minutes down the line, we see another station attendant in another hut, scanning the train windows to see these “American girls” that his collegue had no doubt been bragging about. When he saw us, his entire face lit up and he started waving back enthusiastically, as Gretchen and I burst into a fit of laughter. At this point, we didn’t care if the rest of the train laughed at us. We’d just had an afternoon that no Rick Steve’s book could boast.
So many other little randomnities have come up during our travels, and I feel like each one fuels me with smiles and laughter… like when we arrived in Vienna at 4 pm and made our way to the big basilica only to see three afroed guys in sparkly outfits get up on a stage in front of the church and proceed to sing ‘Mah Mah Mah My Corona!’, surrounded by deck chairs and window displays of ACTUAL PEOPLE paid to lounge or stand for some sort of fashion event…Brilliant day, it was. Simply brilliant.
And man, what a luxury not to HAVE to stress… I’ll have to find a way to translate this ‘flow’ mentality to regimented, time-constrained life back home…
On that note… I’m frickin exhausted. Late nights and early mornings, with days in the sun is enough to make me wilt! Adventures with Alf and his Bobett (now you-ll have to wonder…) will have to wait till next time.
Arrivederci!
posted by Melia at 4:32 AM
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