Nick – The night train from Dusseldorf to Verona, Porta Nuova, was old rolling stock which carried with it a whiff of days gone by. With maroon livery and cream stripes along the side, to us it was unusual and mysterious. It was as long as the platform and the open carriages for the vehicles were strung on the back. A little of the mystery was spoiled however by the picture of bikers loading on 6 packs of beer.
The steps to our carriage were steep and in the corridor, just inside, awaited our hostess for the trip. She was extremely kind and helpful and, being chatty sort of people, we asked her name. In her Dutch accent, she explained it was Astrid, after the Swedish author of ‘Pippi Longstocking’ Astrid Lindgren. I have never quite understood the attraction of stories about a young, ginger-haired girl with ridiculous plaits, goofy teeth, freckles and long stockings with garters that are always falling down but then I am not a girl.
Nancy – I must say I was a girl once…
Nick – No really?
Nancy – and, although Pippi is a strong, brave girl, I also found her a bit weird. She is so full of herself and rather disrespectful. They show an old series of ‘Pippi Longstocking’ on Greek television and it is beyond me. Perhaps it’s lost in the history of Sweden and the Baltic States.
For goodness’ sake, Nick has me going off at tangents now
Nick – Ha! Astrid showed us our compartment and explained everything. All we had to do was to choose between us which bunk we wanted, i.e. who was on top, and she would return to make them up later. In one corner was the washroom and there was a little table under the window. Breakfast was thrown in – not literally! The train would leave at 6.30 p.m. and dinner in the dining car was at 8.30.
Well no, Astrid corrected, it was for 6.30.
No, we had booked it for 8.30 which allowed us to watch Germany pass before our eyes as the sun set, and then wash before dinner.
There was some discussion. She had us down for 6.30.
We were adamant we had booked it for 8.30.
Astrid ran off to check and I decided I was going to put my foot down. On this occasion, someone else was going to have to budge, not us.
The motor rail between Dusseldorf and Verona is currently operated by Trainswenkel, a Dutch company. Motor rails, especially sleepers, really are a dying breed in Europe. It seems that companies are unable to make a profit on them. As usual, it is not about providing people with a service but making cash. Looking on the net I noticed that we were really lucky to travel on this train at this price. It seems that next year the company is being taken over by a German group and the cheapest price for a cabin will be over 1,000 euros, even on the last trip of the season, which is what we were on. So, unbeknown to us, this had been our last chance to make this trip.
Astrid returned, looking worried. I took a deep breath ready to engage in battle. But then it turned out that she was looking worried because she had made the mistake and we were indeed booked in for the 8.30 sitting for dinner. She was very apologetic, we were very grateful, and we were all friends once again. As we settled down to look at the station wall through the window, the train began to move. We were off. The scooter was safely stowed on the back, the table was booked, and our adventure lay ahead. I love trains.
Nancy – So do I. It’s a shame that British trains are so expensive. It seems they choose to put the prices up to make a profit, which excludes many would-be travellers, instead of reducing the prices so that people clamour to use them, thereby making a profit and keeping everyone happy at the same time. But perhaps I am being naïve. One of our exciting train journeys was in the south of Italy. It ran along the coast, was new, on time and cheap. Nick and I would love to travel by train in India and maybe China.
Nick – As the suburbs of Dusseldorf passed by, much like any suburb of any European city, Nancy got her tablet out and proceeded to play computer games.
I was astonished. She liked to switch off by playing games on her tablet but surely not now when we were cruising through Germany, into the unknown. Instead of looking at the world in front of her she was tapping pictures of fruit on an 8-inch screen! How could she?
Nancy – Quite easily. I had sat on a scooter for 2 days, I was tired, I had a cold, everything was sorted, now I needed to shut down.
Nick – It was beyond me. I had a go at Nancy, telling her what I thought. I couldn’t understand her.
Nancy – And I made it clear to Nick that it was my life and I could choose to do what I want.
Nick – I shut up and looked out of the window.
As we travelled south, on our right, to the East, a massive river appeared. And beyond were fields interspersed with rising ground that changed into hills and then mountains. On our left, by the side of the tracks and running parallel to them, was a road and behind that rose tall river cliffs. This was the magnificent Rhine valley. What an unexpected treat. Of course, Dusseldorf is on the Rhine. The centre of communications and industry!
We had never seen the Rhine before and I was massively impressed. So was Nancy when she drew herself away from “Gardenscapes”.
Nancy – For goodness’ sake. I put the game away when I was ready and dutifully looked at the Rhine. It was impressive though. It was so wide. There were enormous pleasure boats travelling up and down, all lit up in the failing light, restaurants lining the banks and fairy tale castles topping pointy hills.
Nick – A steward passed the compartment so I asked him the name of the river, just to confirm it. He was Dutch, like all the train staff, but he surprised me by answering that it was ‘The Rhine, Germany’s great river’. Yes, that is true, but it rises in the Swiss Alps, pours out of a glacier in fact, and, at 766 miles long, runs through 5 other European countries including Austria and France before issuing into the North Sea at Rotterdam in the Netherlands. Compare that to the Thames which is only 215 miles long. The name Rhine apparently means ‘raging flow’ but, as we looked at it this evening, it was anything but.
Nancy – We both fell in love and vowed that not only would we return to Germany to learn more about the country but would spend some time travelling down the Rhine, exploring its hinterland.
Nick – It would have to be on our own boat, so we could take our time and stop at leisure. I wonder what the prices are like.
Nancy – Typical, he’s planning another questionable jaunt!
Nick – As the Rhine glided by and the sun went down, it was time to wash for dinner. I appeared refreshed from the washroom and started to dry myself in front of the window while looking at the view. However, at that moment, the road between me and the hills slowly rose and suddenly there was a bus running alongside the train at approximately the same speed. The bus was fully lit and I could see the passengers sitting, all facing the front, faces switched off as they thought about the day that had just passed. Then I realised that, if I could see them and the expressions on their faces, they could see me and the expression on my bare willy. Well it was too late to worry. One of the passengers, a man, turned and checked me out then simply faced the front again. I guessed it must be a regular occurrence! As the bus gradually pulled away, I finished drying and the moment was over.
The next morning, in Italy, I was arrested for indecent exposure…not really.
Nancy – We dressed in the most suitable clothes we could muster, considering everything had been crushed into the rucksack. Nick wore a grey and white, pinstriped shirt tucked into a pair of light chinos, an outfit he had been saving especially for this moment. I wore a blue, crush-proof dress with a few frills on it that made it look dressy, and some sparkly jewellery to lift the whole effect.
Nick – The dining car was very old world, and through our eyes, very romantic. As we faced the engine, down one side were tables for 2, maybe a dozen, and on the other side of the aisle were tables for 4. The whole carriage was divided by etched glass panels, at intervals, giving the feeling of intimacy.
But thanks goodness we are down to earth and not snooty. The tables for 2 were all taken by couples who had dressed for the occasion, but on the other side of the aisle there were the bikers, still dressed in their biker gear, already on their third beer or bottle of wine. It was brilliant, very real and honest. We said hello to our fellow bikers as we sat down and lots of them raised their glasses. It was warm, friendly and fun. Here we were, different nations, different outlooks, different tribes, all locked together in this metal tube for the night, hurtling across Europe, hurtling through time and space, thrown together by circumstance.
I made a fuss over a bottle of wine, as promised, and then studied the menu. Basically, there were 3 choices for each of the 3 courses – meat, fish or vegetarian. Five star it was not but it threw out a few challenges. We both started on carpaccio, you know, thin slices of raw dead things, in this case beef. I love prosciutto, thin slices of raw pig but had never had carpaccio beef. I don’t often choose beef. I can’t help thinking about cows, how each one has become so deformed to produce as much meat as possible, that they can hardly move the different cuts around on their spindly little legs. Anyway, it always tastes like tough cardboard to me. But this first course was interesting and acceptable.
As the wine flowed, the evening grew more relaxed. I studied the company, as is my want. On the table behind, Nancy there was a couple who looked like they had escaped from a 1940s’ movie. She was thin, about 45, wearing a slinky mauve dress with an enormous artificial flower pinned on her left shoulder, and black stockings. Her hair was black, drawn back severely from her thin face, and she wore bright red lipstick and round, gold wire glasses. Her partner, with his back to me, was stocky but wore an oversized grey suit, with a thin stripe. His shoes had been polished to a shine but his hair was thin, in strands that sat unhappily on his scalp as if it was just waiting to blow away. They could have been fugitives from the film ‘Casablanca’.
Across the aisle were 2 old bikers, one with a black t-shirt saying “Evil one” but he was a round faced, happy looking chappy, and the other with a black t-shirt saying “Leave you in the dust” but he seemed to have left all his hair in the dust, somewhere along the way.
And then there was Nancy and me, 2 odd-looking, English people, wearing creased clothes, and broadening smiles as we became slowly inebriated. The second course was, again, a choice of meat, fish or vegetarian. Nancy chose the beef.
Nancy – I wish I had chosen the fish. The beef was thinly sliced, pre-cooked, served with packet, frozen veg. The potatoes were very good and the gravy just about held it all together. Nick chose the pork but it could have been beef.
Nick – I thought it was not bad considering they had an impossibly small kitchen in which to prepare it. It helped that I was hungry and drank more of the wine than Nancy. Also, I was happy just to be there. As I’ve grown older, I’ve got better at recognising those moments that will become memorable and try to savour them as fully as possible while they are happening.
The Rhine continued to swan along outside our right-hand window and we marvelled at the views, praised the waitresses and generally mellowed until Nancy decided that it was time for her bed. But for me the night was young. Not that we were in for a party or anything but when again would I find myself in a dining car of a sleeper train heading south to warmer climes. I ordered a German beer, to indicate my intention of returning, then saw Nancy to our compartment.
On my return, things were much the same. The wheels clacked on through the night, more drinks were called for, a bottle of wine was spilled, much to the biker’s embarrassment (one would have thought they would have been deliberately smashing their glasses by now) and I sat raising my glass, watching the Rhine outside and the people inside and generally melting into the atmosphere.
Gradually, people paid their bills and made for their beds, so I began to worry about the next day and headed back.
The cabin was cosy now the beds were made up and the lights dimmed. Nancy was still just about awake but snug in her bunk. I stowed my clothes under the seat in case the hostess arrived with breakfast the next morning and saw my underwear strewn across the cabin. Then I climbed the Matterhorn into the top bunk. Even Nancy woke up enough to manage a laugh at my expense. The night was done, the lights were off and the fields and mountains, tunnels and bridges were free to pass by without us checking. We fell into sleep lulled by the rocking of the train.