Europe: Why I Now Have Trust Issues with European Trains

In both cases, it was supposed to be a simple ride. Amsterdam to Hamburg. Nürnberg to Amberg. Simple routes, simple transfers. A total breeze. 

The European train system is the envy of the world, and rightly so— with high speeds, comfy chairs, efficient service, and excellent coverage, it blows away every other part of the planet as far as public transportation goes. So I had no qualms boarding one for the first time, and despite a little confusion about my ticket (darn you, language barrier), I was confident that it was going to be fine.

Ready to board the bus with 50 of my closest friends...

Let’s start with Amsterdam to Hamburg. Everything was going swimmingly until an announcer sounded over the loudspeaker. I had no idea what he was saying, but the word “Hamburg” showed up at least four times. So I asked my seat-mate (named Juliana) about it, and she answered, in halting but clear English, that there had been a bomb threat on the tracks near Hamburg, and the train was going to stop at a different station, load us onto buses, and then take us to Hamburg. That sounded complicated, so I asked Juliana, “Can I follow you?” She agreed.

Within minutes, the situation had rapidly complicated into “Now we’re stopping at a station, but we missed the train that was supposed to pick us up, so we have to wait for the next one, which will take us to a place with a bus, and then the bus will take us to another train station, and then that train will take us to Hamburg.” Thank God for Juliana. She helped me navigate the crowds, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure I was following her. We waited at the train station together, crammed onto a bus (my arms got exhausted from holding my backpack in front of me), and then hopped on the train to Hamburg, where we said goodbye. Yeesh!

Ahh... now this is livin'.

The second incident happened three days ago, on what should have been a simple ride from Nürnberg to Amberg. I saw that the train had different compartments for different destinations, so I hopped into the car that I thought was correct. Within a few minutes, a conductor came by and stamped my ticket. Then he did a double-take, examined my ticket, and pointed to the car behind me, saying something in German. I mimed, “I go to that car?” and he nodded. Relieved, I took my place on the rearmost car of the train.

On the train zoomed through rolling farmland, passing through quaint villages, none of which were Amberg. I glimpsed the ruin of a castle peering out from the crest of a wooded hill. Nothing seemed amiss, until I realized that I should have arrived in Amberg ten minutes ago. When the car was almost empty, I approached a family and asked if we had passed Amberg. What? the woman said. This train didn’t even go to Amberg. 

My stomach dropped into my guts, and nearly in tears, I got off the train. I wandered around, found a telephone, called my upcoming host Michaela, let her know what was going on, then booked a train back to Amberg, which would be an extra two hours. Fortunately, it was a cheap ticket and I had the cash to spare. I paced the platform, glad that I had a full meal in my stomach, and realized that it really could be much worse. Think if this had happened with Amtrak— I would have had to wait several hours, if not a full day!

At last I was back on the train, headed to where I needed to go. Thinks went smoothly after that. However, Europe’s trains now make me wary, and I’m not likely to relax on them too much. But all’s well that ends well. At the end of the day, I sat in my new host family’s dining room, and ate cheese and bread and drank apple juice and watched the Olympics. Then, after dispensing of three gigantic spiders, I went to sleep in my own  private room, with the sound of a millstream rushing like rain outside my open window. And everything was okay.

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