Here’s where my adventure began: at the train station in Berlin. I headed to the Berlin Hauptbahnhof right from university. My last class of the week was over, and although I was tired I was really looking forward to seeing Robert again after a few weeks apart. Of course I always welcome a trip too, and like Budapest there’s still a lot that I want to see in Breslau/Poland. I had decided on taking a train that stops twice in Germany (in Cottbus and then in Gorlitz, both cities in the incredibly under-populated province of Brandenburg). I did this in order to avoid having to switch trains in Poland, where the English and the German is, how shall I put it, either lacking or incorrect in most train stations. I had taken this train the last time, and, other than the eeriness of the pitch black and empty ride from Gorlitz to Breslau, I had had no complaints.
Melissa was punctual. Melissa was on platform 12 with her bagpack and schoolbooks, patiently watching other trains go by and other passengers embark. But for her there was a “Verspaetung”, apparently due to mechanical difficulties. The first announcement mentioned a ten-minute delay. No problem, since I would have had twenty minutes in Cottbus to get on the train to Gorlitz. But then fifteen minutes later I began to panic. I went to an attendant dressed in a red and blue Deutsche-Bahn uniform. I explained to him my problem, that I might not make my next connection. He said that there was nothing he could do. Hmmm. I asked if there was something that I could do, since apparently he couldn’t do anything. After a few seconds he said that I could tell the attendant on the train and have him/her call ahead to the next train, and see if it would wait for me for a few minutes. But there was no guarantee of that, he added.
I was beginning to notice a trend of ‘no guarantees’ that I was not very happy about. I said that if I knew now that the train would not wait for me, then I would just stay in Berlin instead of landing in the middle-of-nowhere in Brandenburg. He recommended that I find the attendant as soon as possible when I get on the train and then I could still get off on the other side of Berlin, if the next train won’t wait. Again, lots of “if’s” in this equation.
Okay, the train finally came and I got on thirty minutes later than I expected to. Much to my dismay, the train was packed. I should have known; obviously Friday night is when all the commuters leave the city for the weekend. But I eventually found two seats where I could put my bags and sit comfortably. Ever the problem when one is traveling alone – how could I find the attendant and keep my prized seats at the same time without getting my stuff stolen? The first nice lady of the evening sitting across for me offered to keep an eye on my bags, so I took my laptop with me and went on a hunt. About ten minutes of people grumbling at having to move to let me pass by later, I found her. She was too busy with the crowded passengers to notice me, but then I got her attention. She looked at my tickets, noticed that I was not just commuting but heading to Breslau, and said that she would call.
I struggled to get back to my seat but I thought, well, at least everything is under control. I took out my computer, I took out a dictionary, and got started on some work. I texted Robert to say that everything was figured-out. About 30 minutes away from Cottbus, where I was supposed to get off, they announced that because of the delay the train’s final stop would be Calau. Hmmmm. I had no idea where that was, and only cared that it was not where I was supposed to be going. I called Robert again, this time stressed and near-tears. He calmed me down; there was nothing to do but just try to get to Cottbus. There at least I could find a hotel or a place to stay for the night, and then I could think about either going on to Breslau or heading back to Berlin in the morning.
A huge mass of passengers got off the train in Calau, including a large group of loud and impatient high-schoolers. Perfect. There was one particularly "over-sized" attendant standing on the platform and, as expected, he had no solution to my problem. In fact, almost ironically he said that one should know never to take the last train of the day. That was his solution. Luckily another stranded passenger overheard me and said that I could at least have the conductor sign a document confirming that there was a delay. That is so unbelievably German - when in doubt, get it in writing, even better with an official stamp and a signature. Well, having a record could not hurt, and I joined a line back in the stopped-train to get a confirmation.
An hour later, after the high school group finally dispersed and quieted down a bit, the next train came to bring us to Cottbus. Crowded, as expected. There was a line of around five people at the Deutsche-Bahn service point in the Cottbus train station. One had left a piece of luggage behind on a different train, luggage that had a hundred-year-old dollhouse in it. He and I waited together for a while and he explained to me that the dollhouse was supposed to be a present for his niece. A lady greeted us and believe it or not…. she had a smile on her face. Thank goodness. He explained his situation. She had us wait a bit longer, and said that she would make a few phone calls.
Finally, things were looking up. The lady got a hold of the train that had the man’s luggage in it; it would be coming back to Cottbus and he could hopefully look for his luggage himself. I was hoping for similar news when I asked her - pretty much exasperated at this point - if she could have the Deutsche-Bahn find me a hotel room in Cottbus and, if possible, pay for it. She looked at my ticket, and said that she was sorry to disappoint me. The Deutsche-Bahn rarely offers people accommodation. Well, is there a train back to Berlin tonight then? I asked. She must have read the disappointment on my face. I’ll see what I can do, she replied. Again, calling a few people.
About ten minutes later someone called her back with a definite answer. No, they could not pay for a hotel room. But they would….. send for a taxi to pick me up. What?!? A Taxi?!? She relayed this information to me, and I said that that would not help, since I would be just as stranded in Gorlitz as I was in Cottbus. She clarified, not to Gorlitz, but to Breslau. I was shocked. You mean, a taxi to Breslau? They do that? She was not sure if they could find a taxi-driver to cross the boarder late on a Friday night. One more call, and then it was decided.
She filled out a certificate (with stamp and signature) confirming that Deutsche-Bahn would pay for a taxi to bring me all the way from Gorlitz to Breslau, a little under 200 kilometers. I just needed to take the train to Gorlitz, and then the driver would wait for me outside the station.
I was elated, and related the news to Robert that I would make it to Breslau after all. The man who was waiting for his dollhouse suitcase invited me to hot chocolate, since we were both getting on the same train. I could breath much easier on the way to Gorlitz, and it didn’t even occur to me that a ride with an unknown taxi-driver late for such a long distance could be a sketchy thing.
So I rode to Breslau in style. A taxi-driver with a very heavy Saxony accent was, in fact, waiting for me. I considered hiding in the back seat and trying to sleep a bit, but right away he offered me shotgun and we started to chat.
I hate to call them tales, but that’s exactly what they were to me… he told me "tales" of the good-old-times and the not-so-good times growing up in the DDR (what in English is called the GDR, the German Democratic Republic). He told me about his mandatory years of service in the DDR military, about how he smuggled in six bottles of liquor and hid them in paint jars. When the officers suspected something, he was made to stand outside from 3 in the afternoon to 1 in the morning with no breaks as punishment. But the officers found no liquor and he didn’t confess, so the next night he and his buddies got drunk and partied. That was just about his only fond memory of his army-days, however. We talked a bit about politics. He emphasized that even working-class families in Germany (like his, I presumed) could have a good political discussion. Then our conversation went to Poland. He had not been in Breslau in over thirty years, he explained, although he crosses the boarder quite often to bring German businessmen to polish brothels.
Melissa was punctual. Melissa was on platform 12 with her bagpack and schoolbooks, patiently watching other trains go by and other passengers embark. But for her there was a “Verspaetung”, apparently due to mechanical difficulties. The first announcement mentioned a ten-minute delay. No problem, since I would have had twenty minutes in Cottbus to get on the train to Gorlitz. But then fifteen minutes later I began to panic. I went to an attendant dressed in a red and blue Deutsche-Bahn uniform. I explained to him my problem, that I might not make my next connection. He said that there was nothing he could do. Hmmm. I asked if there was something that I could do, since apparently he couldn’t do anything. After a few seconds he said that I could tell the attendant on the train and have him/her call ahead to the next train, and see if it would wait for me for a few minutes. But there was no guarantee of that, he added.
I was beginning to notice a trend of ‘no guarantees’ that I was not very happy about. I said that if I knew now that the train would not wait for me, then I would just stay in Berlin instead of landing in the middle-of-nowhere in Brandenburg. He recommended that I find the attendant as soon as possible when I get on the train and then I could still get off on the other side of Berlin, if the next train won’t wait. Again, lots of “if’s” in this equation.
Okay, the train finally came and I got on thirty minutes later than I expected to. Much to my dismay, the train was packed. I should have known; obviously Friday night is when all the commuters leave the city for the weekend. But I eventually found two seats where I could put my bags and sit comfortably. Ever the problem when one is traveling alone – how could I find the attendant and keep my prized seats at the same time without getting my stuff stolen? The first nice lady of the evening sitting across for me offered to keep an eye on my bags, so I took my laptop with me and went on a hunt. About ten minutes of people grumbling at having to move to let me pass by later, I found her. She was too busy with the crowded passengers to notice me, but then I got her attention. She looked at my tickets, noticed that I was not just commuting but heading to Breslau, and said that she would call.
I struggled to get back to my seat but I thought, well, at least everything is under control. I took out my computer, I took out a dictionary, and got started on some work. I texted Robert to say that everything was figured-out. About 30 minutes away from Cottbus, where I was supposed to get off, they announced that because of the delay the train’s final stop would be Calau. Hmmmm. I had no idea where that was, and only cared that it was not where I was supposed to be going. I called Robert again, this time stressed and near-tears. He calmed me down; there was nothing to do but just try to get to Cottbus. There at least I could find a hotel or a place to stay for the night, and then I could think about either going on to Breslau or heading back to Berlin in the morning.
A huge mass of passengers got off the train in Calau, including a large group of loud and impatient high-schoolers. Perfect. There was one particularly "over-sized" attendant standing on the platform and, as expected, he had no solution to my problem. In fact, almost ironically he said that one should know never to take the last train of the day. That was his solution. Luckily another stranded passenger overheard me and said that I could at least have the conductor sign a document confirming that there was a delay. That is so unbelievably German - when in doubt, get it in writing, even better with an official stamp and a signature. Well, having a record could not hurt, and I joined a line back in the stopped-train to get a confirmation.
An hour later, after the high school group finally dispersed and quieted down a bit, the next train came to bring us to Cottbus. Crowded, as expected. There was a line of around five people at the Deutsche-Bahn service point in the Cottbus train station. One had left a piece of luggage behind on a different train, luggage that had a hundred-year-old dollhouse in it. He and I waited together for a while and he explained to me that the dollhouse was supposed to be a present for his niece. A lady greeted us and believe it or not…. she had a smile on her face. Thank goodness. He explained his situation. She had us wait a bit longer, and said that she would make a few phone calls.
Finally, things were looking up. The lady got a hold of the train that had the man’s luggage in it; it would be coming back to Cottbus and he could hopefully look for his luggage himself. I was hoping for similar news when I asked her - pretty much exasperated at this point - if she could have the Deutsche-Bahn find me a hotel room in Cottbus and, if possible, pay for it. She looked at my ticket, and said that she was sorry to disappoint me. The Deutsche-Bahn rarely offers people accommodation. Well, is there a train back to Berlin tonight then? I asked. She must have read the disappointment on my face. I’ll see what I can do, she replied. Again, calling a few people.
About ten minutes later someone called her back with a definite answer. No, they could not pay for a hotel room. But they would….. send for a taxi to pick me up. What?!? A Taxi?!? She relayed this information to me, and I said that that would not help, since I would be just as stranded in Gorlitz as I was in Cottbus. She clarified, not to Gorlitz, but to Breslau. I was shocked. You mean, a taxi to Breslau? They do that? She was not sure if they could find a taxi-driver to cross the boarder late on a Friday night. One more call, and then it was decided.
She filled out a certificate (with stamp and signature) confirming that Deutsche-Bahn would pay for a taxi to bring me all the way from Gorlitz to Breslau, a little under 200 kilometers. I just needed to take the train to Gorlitz, and then the driver would wait for me outside the station.
I was elated, and related the news to Robert that I would make it to Breslau after all. The man who was waiting for his dollhouse suitcase invited me to hot chocolate, since we were both getting on the same train. I could breath much easier on the way to Gorlitz, and it didn’t even occur to me that a ride with an unknown taxi-driver late for such a long distance could be a sketchy thing.
So I rode to Breslau in style. A taxi-driver with a very heavy Saxony accent was, in fact, waiting for me. I considered hiding in the back seat and trying to sleep a bit, but right away he offered me shotgun and we started to chat.
I hate to call them tales, but that’s exactly what they were to me… he told me "tales" of the good-old-times and the not-so-good times growing up in the DDR (what in English is called the GDR, the German Democratic Republic). He told me about his mandatory years of service in the DDR military, about how he smuggled in six bottles of liquor and hid them in paint jars. When the officers suspected something, he was made to stand outside from 3 in the afternoon to 1 in the morning with no breaks as punishment. But the officers found no liquor and he didn’t confess, so the next night he and his buddies got drunk and partied. That was just about his only fond memory of his army-days, however. We talked a bit about politics. He emphasized that even working-class families in Germany (like his, I presumed) could have a good political discussion. Then our conversation went to Poland. He had not been in Breslau in over thirty years, he explained, although he crosses the boarder quite often to bring German businessmen to polish brothels.
More funny stories ensued. I noticed that he had labeled me as an “Auslander”; in other words, he spoke to me of Germany as if I was completely new to the place. Right before we arrived in Breslau I mentioned that my boyfriend comes originally from a small town in the southern part of Brandenburg. He turned to me a bit surprised and with a big grin. He said, so he’s an East German, this boyfriend of yours! I confirmed that he is in fact an east German and is only in Heidelberg to study. All of a sudden I perceived that he was proud to be driving me, someone who can appreciate an “Ossie” enough to be in a relationship with one. At one point he said, they are nice, those east Germans, aren't they? Rhetorical question.
It was incredibly sweet, and when we drove up to where Robert was waiting for us by the dorms he got out of the car and gave him a warm handshake. Robert’s worries of me traveling in the middle of the night with a stranger subsided, and finally I had made it to Breslau. The best part about it is that I had bought my original ticket for just 20 euros; my ride cost the Deutsche-Bahn, however, over 200. And Robert remarked that I arrived only two hours later than expected!
So, what sort of moral could we take from this story… don’t ever take the last train of the day and expect it to work out…? Try to avoid boisterous high school groups however possible? Or maybe, that punctuality and making sure things happen on time is still a major value here in Germany. It’s not just a stereotype. As Robert has said, if that had happened in Poland, there is no way in hell that I would have gotten a taxi-rebate. They might offer you some vodka though, as compensation.
So, what sort of moral could we take from this story… don’t ever take the last train of the day and expect it to work out…? Try to avoid boisterous high school groups however possible? Or maybe, that punctuality and making sure things happen on time is still a major value here in Germany. It’s not just a stereotype. As Robert has said, if that had happened in Poland, there is no way in hell that I would have gotten a taxi-rebate. They might offer you some vodka though, as compensation.
According to the other people waiting with me at the service point, the reputable Deutsche-Bahn (think important, like Amtrak or Rail Canadian) has been slipping in the past ten years - delays and technical difficulties are not rare. So it goes both ways. Germans have a very high expectation for Deutsche-Bahn and the punctuality of the trains. And when it does not meet those expectations, the company goes through great lengths to make up for it. In any case, even after all that they have not lost me as a customer. More about Breslau soon…
1 comment:
deutsche bahn still undoubtedly kicks amtrak's ass in all ways, yo. that seems like an epic ride indeed, i got tired just reading it.
hej ich wollte auch fragen wo deine video/mediothek ist, weil ich eine suche...bis gleich
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