Other than a ticket and passport check and some interesting scenery along the way, the train ride was shorter than I expected (about three and a half hours) and relatively uneventful. There was little question when we crossed the border because (beyond the passport checks) the world beside the tracks looked much different. The style of living for these people was still very hard – the fall of communism and the arrival of open markets has changed the landscape out here very little.

We arrived in Bratislava and the sunny blue sky was being rapidly overtaken by gray clouds. No sooner had I walked into the station when it began to rain. As I prefer to walk and explore, I hoped that it was a quick storm, or else I would lose much of my day of wandering. I decided to wait it out inside the station – I needed to get a city map anyway, grab some local cash, and orient myself. First – not to spoil any surprises, but I saw more beautiful girls in my time in the Bratislava train station than I saw in Boston all summer.

I located an ATM and found my way to a withdrawal screen. I was stupidly unfamiliar with the local currency and exchange rate. The ATM presented me with a few options for withdrawing cash – 2,500; 1,000; 500 or 250. I had no clue how much these were in USD, so I just picked 1,000. That turned out to be around US$35, and way more than I’d need. I then procured myself a map of the city, determined where I was, and decided I would take the bus toward the city center and spend the afternoon and evening walking around.

I boarded the bus that seemed right, and about one or two stops later nervously re-consulted my map. A man near me looked at me and began speaking to me in Slovak. I gathered he was trying to help me, showed him the map, and pointed where I wanted to go. He pointed to himself, to say, I am going to the same place – you follow me. I said OK. Then a couple approached, having overheard our exchange, and the lady addressed me in very good English, also offering to help. Then another woman came up behind them but said little – she seemed just to be listening in. On that bus ride, I was already learning about the warmth and friendliness of this part of the world.

Then, our stop. The man got off, as did listening-lady. They both were looking back to make sure I was following, and I was. The couple said good-bye, and I offered a clumsy Slovak “dakujem” (thank you.) Listening-lady disappeared down a flight of stairs, and the man said “down” and pointed to where listening-lady had gone. As I got down below, I saw that listening lady was actually waiting for me. She said she could tell I was “from United States” and that she would show me the way, as she was also headed toward the center of the old town. A couple of blocks (and some smalltalk) later, she pointed me in the right direction and headed in her own – just after giving me a couple points of interest to look for along the way (the old executioner’s house, this old church, this romantic street, etc.)

Thus began my solo walk around old Bratislava. Wow – this was a completely different place from any I have ever seen. Marks of communist oppression, but a lot of up-and-coming creativity, vibrance and hope. Restaurants, lovely buildings, friendly people, and a rich, if rough, history.

After a lot of exploring and picture-taking, I stumbled across a slovak-italian restaurant (that’s right!) and had a great dinner. Appetizer was mozzarella and tomato salad, the entree was a really delicious type of long noodle with creamy sauce, and I had a glass of local white wine to go with it. During dinner, I had a great conversation with the maitre’d, a nice guy who had relocated to Slovakia from Italy several years ago. He had a lot of great things to say about the US, about Slovakia, and not much nice to say about his homeland.

When the bill arrived, I was having a very hard time believing that my currency calculations were correct – but they were – the total tab (with tax and tip) was about US$13. And (as I noticed later,) he had actually charged me for two glasses of wine.

I slowly made my way back to the train station, knowing the last trains back to Vienna were around 10 and 11. As I got into the main parking area for the station, I saw a guy in a suit and tie on the ground, with a briefcase beside him, in a state of total inebriation. The police were trying to help him get up but he was so gone that he couldn’t even begin to right himself. He was just rolling around in the dirt, doing a sort of playful shoo-away of the cops and they were laughing pretty hard. Eventually they called an ambulance (and drunk-man did the same thing to them) and the medics carted him away.

As I entered the terminal I saw that the train to Vienna left from track 6 in about 15 minutes. Perfect! I diligently located track 6 but saw no train there yet. So I walked around – and as departure time approached, re-checked the departure display (one of the older, mechanical ones) and saw that it still indicated an on-time departure from track 6. But track 6 was empty. I heard an announcement within which I understood only the word “Westbanhof,” the station in Austria to which I was headed. I asked two people where track 6 was, just to be sure, and I was in the right place. A few minutes later, at 10 sharp, I noticed a train on the other side of the tracks. As I was contemplating how much it looked like the kind of train that brought me here, it rolled off into the night. Of course, I’d later find out that that was my train, and the announcement had been that the train was on a different track (but I guess they can’t update the display?)

Luckily, another train would leave an hour later for Vienna.

I spent the next 45 minutes in the Bratislava station, sadly noting considerably fewer young hotties than I’d seen earlier in the day. I did note, however, a guy who had somehow passed out, upright, leaning against a heating radiator. I felt real bad for the dude and put a big candy bar in his pocket. I walked around checking things out – not very much to see, really, since the hottie exodus – and sat near the center of the station for a while, sipping coffee and watching the passed-out-guy sort of roll around on the radiator. While I was trying to figure out how he was holding himself up, as if I had jinxed him, he fell to the floor, sending the candy bar sliding across the floor. A woman rushed over, and I thought she was trying to help him, but she was going for the candy bar. I prepared to confront her about that, but she gently put the candy bar back in his pocket.

Train time arrived, and it was one of the not-so-nice EuroCity trains. While staking out a cool (well, decent) place to sit, I walked by a blonde guy who was hiccuping as very drunk people often do. I sat about four or five rows from him, facing in his direction. He was soon joined by a friend who was not hiccuping. A sophisticated-looking couple sat in one of the rows between us. Diagonally opposite me was a guy who looked eerily like one of my old Timberland bosses, Jeff Gatchell. I wondered if Jeff Gatchell would be caught dead wearing a sweater with little racing stripes up the sides and arms, then decided it wasn’t him.

I did a little reading and window-gazing. About an hour and a half into the train ride, I heard a funny gushy sound and the sophisticated couple bolted upright like they’d been hit with cattleprods and beelined for the other car. Hiccup man was throwing up. He and his friend thought this was really funny. After hiccup man settled down, he and his friend tried to clean themselves up with a few scraps of newspaper, headed out of the car in the wrong direction (like, toward open track – I thought they were going to jump off the train for a minute,) then went the other way into the other car where sophisticated-couple went (much to their delight, I’m sure.)

When we arrived in Vienna, I hit the subway. Oddly enough, also on my subway car headed in the same direction was Sophisticated Couple, the Jeff Gatchell impersonator, Hiccup Man, and his friend.

The Gatchell Impersonator would be the first to leave our little ad-hoc travel clan. At the first subway stop, he just got up and left without a word or a glance. Dude – after all we’ve been through – the train, the puking incident, the subway – you can’t even say good-bye? Sheesh.

The extra bonus, though, to make up for the hurtful, cold departure of the Gatchell Impersonator, was that we were joined by a gorgeous girl who walked and dressed like she was on a runway at Fashion Week. What a treat this time of the evening. Of course, Hiccup Man and his friend were making little comments and gestures from the back of the subway car. She didn’t know or didn’t care (both, actually.) It was then time for Hiccup Man’s sidekick to depart. After getting off the subway, he stood on the train platform waiting for the train to go, so he could make dumbass gestures to Hiccup Man as we sped off. Hiccup Man made a finger-gun at his friend as if to say Yeah, man – what a night! You and me! I puked, even!!

Then, it was my turn. I jumped off at my stop, hoping Runway Girl would follow, but no luck. She was trapped on the car with Hiccup Man, and only God knows what happened from there. I had to catch another subway line for just two stops – and while waiting for it, I saw a big Austrian dude who looked like he was probably Central Europe’s D&D Champion. He actually had some kind of horn or tusk on his waist. Odd, I thought.

There were several workers unsuccessfully working to get a manhole type cover open. D&D Champion got up, offering to help, and borrowed a couple of their tools. I really thought he was going to be able to do it, but it turns out his bark was bigger than his bite. (Or, perhaps I should say, his constitution was bigger than his strength? Sorry, D&D joke.)

I boarded my train and D&D Champion was right behind me. He began speaking to me in German, but immediately switched to English at my first English word, asking me which direction we were headed in. I told him, and this pleased him. He then gave me a mischievous look and said, vant a drink? I then realized he had his mysterious horn in his hand. I asked him what it was and he said, limon wodka! I thought, what the fuck, and took a swig. It was actually good. I told him so. He was really pleased about this, too.

Then, as we came to my stop, I thanked him, bid him adieu, and called it a night. Why can’t all my days be like this?

Then a German woman walked up to me in a half-full car and informed me that I was in her seat (I was, but in fairness to me – I did not have an assigned seat for this segment of the trip.) Did she really need that seat? I apologized and picked up to move. She noted my laptop and asked me if there was internet access on the train and I replied, “no, I wish.” Then, a half hour later as I was prepping some images and listening to music, she worked real hard to get eye contact with me and then started talking to me again. I took out my earphones and she asked if there was Internet access on the train. Rather than asking her if I’d just stepped into some kind of time warp, I merely gave her the same answer I did the first time.

People started acting sketchy when they announced that it was the last stop in the Netherlands. Not sure why they were, but I would not find out; entrance into Germany was a breeze. I wandered around the Duisburg station for about half an hour – didn’t get to see much – then boarded a City Night Line train for the ride to Vienna. Oddly enough, the Vienna night train was also the Milan night train – make sure you get in the proper car, kids, because this train, somehow, splits in half along the way.

There are many pickpockets on this train, said the announcer. Many? If you know this, then do something about it. How does it work exactly? Do these pickpockets buy tickets and just hope to recoup their investment?

Rolling out of Duisburg, we passed right by an airport, and a plane came in for a landing immediately above us. Then the train cocked off to the side a bit – more than I was entirely comfortable with, especially since these things are not attached to their rails – and we stopped for about 10 minutes. Due to technical problems with the rail in front of us, our arrival in Dusseldorf will be delayed.

All along the side was a row of cold, stone apartment buildings. The haunting sound of those old two-tone sirens in the distance. Dusseldorf, Zoo, it said. It was hard to see as much as I wanted from the train – and not just because it was dark, but the interior lights of the train reflected off the glass.

The German magazine at my seat had a girl on the cover who looked like a porny version of Kirsten Dunst. She had removed her high heeled pumps and was hanging them off her fingers by their straps, as if that was sexy. The porny part was fine – it can get you through the night – but leave the shoes on. I mean, you can’t have it both ways. Porny requires footwear. Look, honey, once I’m done with you, maybe then you can let your hair down and go to the beach.

I had been dreading the CNL trip because there were no first class cars on this train – and it was an overnighter. I decided on a seat rather than a sleeper because I didn’t want to share sleepers with people. I’ve been open about meeting new people all along the way, but sleeping right next to them was a bit too cozy. The CNL cars were not crowded, and most people were able to spread out and secure a couple of seats for themselves. The German announcements were a bit hard to follow, since about the only thing I remember about German class was that time Fred Rummel brought a snake in and set it loose. I remained confident that would be all I’d need. If I had any trouble with German authorities, I could have Fred talk with them.

The CNL train was definitely not one of the fancy, high speed ones – but it wasn’t bad, either. It was a non-smoking train, I had a little extra room, and that was good enough for me. It seemed at the beginning we hardly ever got above 30 miles an hour. We stopped several times. Maybe this is why the train takes 16 hours to get to Vienna.

Some industrial buildings with windows way at the top, 30 or 40 feet up, so the sunlight shone in on their work, but prying eyes did not.

And then Bayer, with its giant lit up sign shaped like a pill. Bayer was the place that a German guy I met in Amsterdam claimed had commercialized LSD. I couldn’t help but let him know it was another German pharmaceutical, Sandoz, who deserved the credit. And now, there they were. Did anyone in there know about this new urban legend?

In Cologne, lots of modernish-but-dull looking condos along the tracks. I did notice the occasional effort to stand out of the housing crowd – a lone red electric star shone from one of the windows, a string of white lights decorated another. I wonder if they leave them on all night?

Lots of construction out there – scored by the constant grinding of the wheels and tracks as we navigated the track. Still moving pretty slowly. I wonder if it’s the Italians weighing us down? All those carbohydrates.

After Cologne, there was a new announcer. Female now. But not really gentler; to me, everything sounds harsh in German. An old lady walked through the car in pink flip-flops.

Many pickpockets on this train….

Then, finally, the moment we’d all been waiting for – bona fide German authorities. I’d heard things, seen movies. How bad could it be? There were two. A lead guy, and then a lieutenant, backup-type guy with a clipboard. English or German, asked lead guy, smelling like a cigarette. My first thought was that it might be good practice to answer “Deutsch” just to see how far I could get. I always had the Fred-Rummel backup plan. Neh.. English. “Passport and ticket please.” He spent a moment looking them over in silence, then said something to his wingman in German. As Wingman wrote some stuff down, lead-guy informed me that I should move to my proper seat. I didn’t even realize I had an assigned seat on this train. Ja, 53, he said. I apologized and he said “it’s OK” – but what he meant was not that, despite the half-empty car, that I could remain where I was. Nono, he just meant I wasn’t going to be in trouble for sitting in the wrong seat. I asked if I could stay where I was, knowing i was pushing my luck. His answer was a longer, more pedantic, half-smiling version of nein. I gathered up my things and relocated to seat 53, which, like many of the seats on the train, was broken. So I put my knapsack in 53, sat in 54, and hoped I wouldn’t end up in jail. Jesus, lead-guy, between you and stupid-internet-lady on the other train, it’s little fucking wonder you gave Hitler 90% of the vote.

One of the things about traveling alone that sucks is that you have to bring your bags everywhere… want to go to the bathroom? Haul them in. Want to go to the dining cart on the train? Many pickpockets … best to bring them along. So, instead of heading to the dining car (and also risking another encounter with lead-guy that might precipitate some kind of formal inquiry) the cereal bar that had been in my knapsack for a month would be dinner. Probably not a bad idea anyway – the way I’ve been eating on this trip is surely adding on the pounds.

Lady with pink flip flops again – this time with her hand covering her nose and mouth as if she were standing in the middle of a cesspool. She looked at me as if she couldn’t understand why I wasn’t doing the same thing.

I met a couple nice girls who boarded at Hamburg. Casey and Duckie with a little pink elephant named Ellie. The three of us made some smalltalk. Casey was kinda cute except for the three days without a shower and the quarter-sized cold sore on her lip. A bit later, Casey went off to smoke a cigarette, and was gone during our stop in Mannheim, which happened to be the stop where the train split in half. Duckie and I speculated as to whether Casey had gone too far down the train to smoke her cigarette and might be on her way to Milan. Ciao ciao!

But she returned, the lights were finally dimmed, and folks began to try to get some sleep. I could see outside much better. It was then treated to something wonderful. As we sped through the Black Forest, there was a thick white fog on the ground. You had to wonder, were it not for this railway, would this space see a human in a hundred years? But the stars and moon saw this space, and shone down on it like they had for a trillion nights. The train’s electric cables were creating eerie flashes of light that illuminated the forest around the train like a strobe. It was right out of a Grimm Brothers’ tale.

Then, we began to slow. What could be out here? In the dim, dark distance I saw humanoid figures, with big strange heads each emitting an odd bluish light. The headlines began popping into my head…

Cyclops Family Eats Train
American Snatched From Train by Alien Cyclopses

But as we closed in, it was clear the rail workers meant us no harm.

Knowing I’d get no sleep during the trip did not diminish the annoyance of one of the worst snorers ever. The guy one row behind me was engaged in the most guttural kind of snoring – and it was unpredictable, too, so it made it a lot harder to zone it out. Silence for a minute or so, then an explosive UGGGGH KUCK KUCK KUCK… I eventually found myself wishing for derailment. Not just any kind of derailment, either .. but one that could be unquestionably linked to his snoring. Then, as we stood together in the cold foggy forest, looking out over the fire and twisted metal and dying passengers, him still dazed and shoeless, I would look at him and say, Just look what you fucking did! Now are you happy, Mr. Obnoxious? You and your goddamned snoring!

Then, as if God had reached his own personal limit, SnoreMan’s cell phone rang. A cell phone call at 0330? Who could it be? My hero is who it is. The snoring never restarted. As we disembarked in Vienna, I wanted to ask – sir, who was it who called you? I might name a park after them or something.