On the right track.

I’ve just had to travel across to Germany for work. I found enormous pleasure being in a country that can in no way be described as foreign – how can it be foreign when there are Subway outlets and Sky Sports Channel stings all exactly the same as they are in the UK? – but is different enough for me to feel “other”.  I suppose that the anonymity that you feel as an alien is very different to that which you feel in your hometown.

Heidelberg

Emmendingen 

To get between the three places I had meetings I used the train.  Driving in Germany is brilliant (the excitement of being able to drive on a road without a speed limit mitigated by the sensible way in which the majority of drivers approach this fact – at least in the journeys I took), but my ability to park varies between being able to pull in at the side of the road and I’m not getting this vehicle in that space and I’ll cause less damage and stress simply by leaving it in the road.  So, I drive to find an empty street where pulling in and parking is manageable and then get a taxi back to my actual destination.  Anyway.  The trains.

Firstly, buying a ticket is always fun.  The automated machines are straightforward to use but do ask questions and I’m always conscious of making a mistake and buying a ticket to Patagonia or for the wrong type of train.  Where do you want to go? How many people are travelling? Which service are you thinking of getting on? Etc. etc. etc. as the King of Siam once said.  Being on the wrong service came to the fore on my first foray onto the trains this time.  I bought a ticket for the 10:14 from Frankfurt to Heidelberg and was told it would be valid for all services except the ICE service (The Intercity Express trains, all ice-cool and sleek).  The 10:14 was promptly cancelled, as was the next service.  The subsequent available service was an ICE train.  What to do?  Well, a quick enquiry with the help-desk, an official stamp and squiggled signature rendered my ticket valid and off I went. Efficient, no fuss: simply helpful.

Emmendingen has a snail fixation

Frankfurt Subway

After a misadventure on a school trip in France many moons ago, I’m always quite happy to check, double and triple check the route the train is taking without any sense of embarrassment.  So, having read the timetable, the platform display, asked the guard and then checked the on-board display again, I was relatively confident I was on the right train.  It sped south and soon the display in the carriage said we were going at 200kph.  Nice.

No other cancellations occurred and for the next three days I trained down from Heidelberg to Emmendingen and then back up to Frankfurt.  At every station stop and as I boarded every train I checked and double checked, becoming confident enough to only next directly ask the guard if I was on the right train for the journey back to the airport to fly home.  I must have looked more confident because as I stood slouched and waiting at a station stop on the way to Frankfurt, a man leant in and asked me whether this was the Stuttgart train.  No, I was able to tell him – after first letting him know that my German was Schlecht. “Are you American?”  He asked.

“UK,” I said.

“Ah, I used to live in London, many years ago,” he said.

“Me too,” I replied.

“Where in London?” He asked.

“Near Wimbledon.”

“Ah, you know Southfields,” He said, “I was there recently. It’s built up tremendously.”

We gave each other a wave as the train pulled out of the station.

A curious sort of comfortable anonymity.

River Neckar - Heidelberg

Frankfurt old and new

One thing I did notice immediately upon my return to the UK was the difference in tone of the train stations and on the trains.  In Germany, the only announcements were for train arrivals and departures.  In the UK I was asked to be on the look out for suspect packages, to report anything suspicious and not to leave my bags alone or they could be destroyed.  Speaks volumes…repeatedly.