Train journeys could be so serene, if I hadn’t somehow gotten myself cursed. I would never be able to leave a train without having lived through a moderately traumatic experience. I guess I must have pissed off a DB AG board member with an affinity for witchcraft.
Stranded in the middle of nowhere. Abandoned by the train and left high and dry. Without a phone, and only a trash can as company. A hopeless situation. Until Ulli appears. My smoking savior. Coughing at the wheel of a golden bus, whose passengers have an average age higher than every cemetery.
Christmas is coming. The trains are fuller than Christmas markets and their visitors. Somewhere Last Christmas is playing on loop and as soon as the first tentative snowflake makes its way down to earth, everything goes pear shaped.
My rail journeys always resemble an odyssey, non-stop, to Bizarro World. This will be a report on one of those wanderings.