Quarter past six in the morning is not a healthy time to take a train, I have decided.
It was, however, my only realistic option for getting to Vienna as the journey takes seven and a half hours and leaving on the later train limits options for doing things at the other end. This is why I would rather have taken the night train to arrive this morning and have a full day’s tourism before a train in the afternoon or something. But this was not to be, so after a pre-bed shower, I set an alarm for 05:15. It served the man in the bunk above me for snoring all night.
Warsaw was brisk but sunny when I left the hostel at half past five, after a slightly restless night, in search of caffeine. I walked with purpose but sufficient time for dawdling to have a look at things as I walked through the leafy green urban delight between me and Centralna. I had tried valiantly to stomach the free tea-or-coffee provided in my hostel but it was, in a word, rank, so I had to survive on fumes alone until I got to the station where a nice man served me a lovely cup of dark liquid relief from a freshly-cleaned machine full of very angry steam. This gave me some impetus for station exploration but not much of it as I was determined to get on my train and have a nice relaxing ride while accepting my fate. I am going home, therefore I can’t afford to get distracted.
I was joined in my compartment on EC 103 by two Belarussians who took the opportunity to have what was a long and apparently incredibly amusing conversation for quite a lot of the first few hours of the journey. I held on tight until the coffee started to kick in, but they were far too communicative for that time of day, but I got the impression their journey had started hours before mine.
Somewhere between Warszawa Zachodnia and Zawiercie, about an hour in, I sought solace in the dining car where I decided I should have coffee and scrambled eggs, both of which were brought to after a sufficiently reassuring delay by an amenable young man. Breakfast was a leisurely affair, and afterwards I retired to my compartment.
There was much joy on my return to seat 36 as the young Belarussians, exhausted from their morning conversation, had decided to sleep for a couple of hours, leaving me free to admire the glorious morning view undistracted. I noticed that the louder one had changed his footwear for something more comfortable which warmed me to him slightly and sufficiently that I felt at home availing myself of train slippers which, considering it was still morning, were a most welcome and comfy addition. I made a couple of trips to the back of the open-ended train to watch Poland slip away behind me. It was far too early in the morning to think of something apt to say about it, which is a shame, because it was deep.
By midday I was starting to feel peckish and had somehow and with the help of the Internet convinced myself that I should also have lunch in the dining car to complement breakfast. The journey to Vienna is over seven hours, after all, and watching the world go by consumes a surprising amount of energy that I felt it justified.
In the dining car, things had livened up significantly in the intervening period and I feared that train slippers might have been considered inappropriate attire, but as the man on the adjacent table was freely yelling into his iPhone while his luggage alternated between obstructing and aisle and trying to make a run for it — causing iPhone man to exclaim something loudly and chase after it, all the while maintaining his conversation — it was clear that standards had fallen during my absence and that with my train slippers I was reassuringly over-dressed. I endeavoured to put the situation to rights by ordering vegetarian pierogi and a pint, which I’d just finished as we pulled alongside another dining car, like something in a Christopher Nolan movie, in Břeclav. I stared into its windows, but I was nowhere to be seen. I like looking into dining cars; they are glimpses into other people’s private worlds.
I decided against pudding, because the lounge in Vienna was sure to contain cake.
As the scenery passed, so did time and there was not much to do apart from gaze some more out of the window next to seat 36 and contemplate my recent discovery that someone had had the foresight to integrate a bottle opener into the bottom of my little table. This struck me as a brilliant thing and I wondered what types of beverage that required opening could be appropriate on a morning train.
Some back and forths between the Belarussians.
By two o’clock, only a few minutes later than scheduled, we pulled into Wien Hbf and I put the train slippers back into their little hidy place and by five-past was in the ÖBB Lounge, stocking up on caffeine but lamenting a disheartening lack of sugary snacks. There had clearly been some cake at some time before my arrival because a cake pedestal was out, but there was, most importantly, no more cake at that precise moment and this was most displeasing. There was fruit on offer, but when you want cake it’s fair to say that having a banana with your coffee simply doesn’t cut it. Nobody ever orders a banana to go with their coffee. Oh how I longed to be Gothenburg, liberating the doughnuts. I had a chocolatey wafter biscuit thing that was so small as to be mocking me.
The elected hostel for the night was right next to another train station so rather than take the metro or a tram, I rode the regional trains as they were included in my pass. In an amusing turn of events, I once again ended up sitting next to The Belarussians who were also on their way somewere, though we parted ways at Wien Hütteldorf as they went off in their direction, and I scurried for a train to Westbahnhof. It was a short walk to the hostel from there, where I successfully checked in and just had a little sit down for a minute or two on the comfy bed before it suddenly being much later than it had been. I had to buy a padlock for my locker which I thought was a bit off; even 10€ a night in Warsaw gets you a metal locker.
At first this was not very well executed evening tourism. I ambled, for the most part, looking for things and failing. I had previously attempted to make sense of the tourist map but with so many palaces with near-identical names to choose from I wasn’t really sure what I was doing. Somehow — and I forget the exact circumstances that led to this — I ended up sufficiently close enough to the Karlskirche that it would have been rude not to proceed until I had passed go and collected 200€, so that is what I did. After some quick reorientation, I had a most pleasant stroll through the Naschmarkt where sellers were keen to peddle their wares by thrusting free samples at you. If I’d had it together more, I could’ve had an entire meal; the olives and cheese were particularly good. In this Viennese bazaar I found classy fridge tat (not expensive) and bought a postcard. And then I found a building with a shiny gold dome (bit too bling for my liking) and then the Karlskirche itself.
I really enjoyed looking around the Karlskirche, or to give it its official name, The Rektoratskirche St. Karl Borromäus, and it was nice to find it still open at nearly 8pm. A baroque church considered the most outstanding in Vienna, I would probably describe the interior as spangly. And busy. On arriving, I’d also noticed a stripy church which, after a little wander, turned out to be Saint Stephen’s cathedral, which was also open late at night. I was even fortunate enough to stumble upon someone doing some organ practice, so that was nice, and gave me something to listen to while determing how best to describe the interior. Which is probably most correctly described as glorious. It was a little bit darker inside than I’d have liked, but the place still looked the part. We couldn’t get much further than the west end because of gates, but there was somewhere to sit and contemplate what to eat.
My evening falafel was disappointing. I’d seen lots of other places I fancied trying but got back late from the centre so had limited my choices somewhat. Also not up to scratch was the Aperol Spritz which followed it. Can’t have everything.
