It was eleven years ago, on that sad, bleak, horrific day when America began bombing Iraq based on manipulated and otherwise faulty ‘intelligence’ that Jen and I landed in Amsterdam. Not only did neither of us vote for Bush the Buffoon and Cheney I’ve-never-met-a-man-I-wouldn’t-shoot-in-the-face we most def did NOT support the invasion.
At first I was all nervous. Would we, as Americans, be blamed, would we be castigated, held responsible for the aggression and insanity?
Happily, relievedly, no. Everyone we met was stunningly open and polite. Those who asked us how we felt about the invasion were inevitably subjected to my usual full metal anti-war, anti-oil industry, anti-Bush/Cheney Co. rant. I can be a little intense when I’m on a tear but our conversation buds didn't seem put off. Granted, they agreed with me.
In any case, this was a holiday for us so we did what all girls on the go do — hung out at The Alto Jazz Cafe, The Van Gogh Museum, took a stroll through the red light district and took part in a massive anti-war demonstration.
After a few days we got that itchy feet urge to move on — off to Centraal Station to see where to next.
PRAGUE! We’d take an overnight train and be there by morning. Fab! Getting plain seats would’ve been the least expensive way to go but I just could NOT feature trying to sleep sitting up all night. We booked the next option up — couchettes. Sleeper cars are the ideal but beyond our budget range.
A couchette car (from Wikipedia):
All our bunkmates were German — 3 college students and one 60ish gent. My first thought “yea, I can practice/attempt/build on my German conversation skills!” That was also the students’ thought. They won the toss so we jibber jabbered in English. Later I struggled through a brief chat, in German, with the older dude, who spoke no English. I’m always a little embarrassed about my weak ass language abilities. With good reason.
At the agreed upon hour, (how civilized — we discussed and decided as a group!), the train guy came in to convert the compartment into a bunk house. It was surprisingly comfortable and easy (a blast even) to share tight quarters with 4 strangers. Mind you, they were all very nice strangers.
The only other couchette/sleeper I’ve taken was out of Krakow, when my new Peace Corp pals poured my drunken soul onto the midnight train for Berlin. This was an ‘antique,’ a ‘vintage’ (yup, the scare quotes are needed here), coach with just me and one other person. She didn’t attempt chat, didn’t even say hello. Frankly, I wasn’t in any kind of shape to converse in English let alone German. Plus, after a week in Poland, the only Polish I knew was thank you (dziekuje) and yes (tak). Hey, that's doing good for me!
Current dream train trip — Berlin to Istanbul. I just HAVE to find a way to make that happen! Maybe I should begin by learning a little of the language, eh?
Robyn Hitchcock — I Often Dream of Trains
At first I was all nervous. Would we, as Americans, be blamed, would we be castigated, held responsible for the aggression and insanity?
Happily, relievedly, no. Everyone we met was stunningly open and polite. Those who asked us how we felt about the invasion were inevitably subjected to my usual full metal anti-war, anti-oil industry, anti-Bush/Cheney Co. rant. I can be a little intense when I’m on a tear but our conversation buds didn't seem put off. Granted, they agreed with me.
After a few days we got that itchy feet urge to move on — off to Centraal Station to see where to next.
PRAGUE! We’d take an overnight train and be there by morning. Fab! Getting plain seats would’ve been the least expensive way to go but I just could NOT feature trying to sleep sitting up all night. We booked the next option up — couchettes. Sleeper cars are the ideal but beyond our budget range.A couchette car (from Wikipedia):
Naturally, we were in second class — splurging here, NOT breaking the bank.is configured in daytime with a bench seat along each long side of the compartment. At an appropriate time in the journey, the attendant who travels in the car (or by agreement the passengers booked in the compartment) converts the compartment into its night-time configuration with two (1st class) or three (2nd class) bunks on each long side of the compartment, creating a total of four bunks in first class and six in second class.
All our bunkmates were German — 3 college students and one 60ish gent. My first thought “yea, I can practice/attempt/build on my German conversation skills!” That was also the students’ thought. They won the toss so we jibber jabbered in English. Later I struggled through a brief chat, in German, with the older dude, who spoke no English. I’m always a little embarrassed about my weak ass language abilities. With good reason.
At the agreed upon hour, (how civilized — we discussed and decided as a group!), the train guy came in to convert the compartment into a bunk house. It was surprisingly comfortable and easy (a blast even) to share tight quarters with 4 strangers. Mind you, they were all very nice strangers.
Current dream train trip — Berlin to Istanbul. I just HAVE to find a way to make that happen! Maybe I should begin by learning a little of the language, eh?
Robyn Hitchcock — I Often Dream of Trains
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