I got off the train and found myself in what our Mexican friends call “the ass of the world.” A tiny little station in the middle of nowhere. I had to buy a new ticket from a machine because it’s a Sunday, and everything is closed. Shouldn’t have bothered because nobody checks them anyway.
If you have ever seen a German train ticket, you know how hard it is to read for a foreigner with no experience in code-breaking. There was no wi-fi and no food fit to eat. I mean, there was food being sold, but it was surrounded by clouds of fat black flies, and even I don’t get that hungry.
Finally, my train “to Prague” arrives, I board it and. . I get a really bad feeling. Something isn’t right. Again I start to bug passengers and they manage to communicate to me that it’s not a direct train. I’ve got to change to another one somewhere in the middle of yet another nowhere.
And talking about nowhere, there’s no indication on the ticket that this is a journey that requires a transfer.
I did get to Prague in the end and I’ll try to see what I can in the 15 minutes left before the sun goes down. I’m not upset, though. I’m glad to know I have great instincts and a functional level of German.