I would be lying if I said that I hadn’t come to Vienna just to be able to ride the Railjet.
There had been mad dreams and schemes about taking a Railjet from Bratislava to Zurich (ten hours, omg) or even from Budapest to somewhere towards Croatia, but in the end it was only scheduled to be a four-and-a-half hour journey to Munich, and then on to Ingolstadt. Given the remaining time available, this was the best I could do.
There were croissants in the lounge, much to my excitement. I had two, because I thought I should stock up after a long and pretty tram ride from Westbahnhof, and a couple of cups of coffee and a bottle of sparkling water. The last time I was here was during that hangover and I was happy to be able to enjoy the facilities a little less gingerly. Back then, I promised myself I’d have another go on the Railjet if I went Interrailing again to make up for having missed half of the experience last time, so here I was, keeping an eye on the departures board excitedly waiting for 10:28 to approach so I could dash to my appointed platform and hop on board RJX 60, in which I had paid the 15€ supplement to go Business Class. I rang the SNCF and with the help of a charming lady placed an option on a place isolée on a TGV for Wednesday.
This particular Railjet was a bit tattier than the last. I’d I failed to book one of the individual seats at the end of the carriage, so ended up in a group of four seats of which only three were occupied. I was in the direction of travel and with a window seat and everything was looking wonderful. It quickly became apparent that some sort of intervention would be required with the occupants of the adjacent compartment, but I let that slide at first. Until such point as I decided I knew enough about Vancouver as I was ever going to need to know, about their house with its two wood-burners, and climate change that yadda yadda, I contained myself.
The Hungarian woman in the seat next to me gave me a pained look.
I thought I was quite polite in my asking, simply — and with a smile and a soothing hand motion — if they “wouldn’t mind keeping the noise down a little bit.” I was nearly back in my seat when the German man they were talking to (an expert on everything apart from the concept of quiet) asked what I wanted.
“Oh,” she Karened. “He doesn’t want us to talk!”
Well. Really. This was not on and I made very certain she knew this by going back to her seat and telling her in slightly less hushed tones that that was a blatant misrepresentation. “That’s not what I said.” I gave her my best rictus. “I simply asked if you wouldn’t mind keeping your voices down.”
She looked at my magnificent slippers.
The Hungarian woman in the seat next to me gave me a big smile. The German man in the seat opposite took advantage of the lull to make a quick phone call but didn’t make any more. Our friend remained hushed for a good while, though her husband took a little more time to adapt but calm was eventually restored and I was happy. With my civic duty done, I started looking through the dining car menu to see what I’d have for lunch.
We were quite significantly delayed by lunch time so I took my time in waiting for somewhere appropriate to become free. I sat facing a nice woman as she ate her soup and ordered for myself the potato and chickpea curry with a beer – and watched the mountains, just. The weather was unkind but the view was nonetheless splendid, with proper spiky mountains with snow on top. We made delightful noise-appropriate conversation which was not so invasive as to interfere with our food, but sufficient for us to be engaged. When she got up to leave I said goodbye and then changed to her seat, in the direction of travel.
With proper weather the section between Salzburg and Munich (left side of the train in that direction) would have been especially spectacular. I think another trip along this route is merited. I’ll add it to the list of missed destinations.
Meanwhile, a commotion was unfolding.
A young man was getting progressively more drunk and having increasingly loud conversations about something that was giving him much cause for aggravation. People seemed to try avoid him but he insisted on trying his luck at the bar and in a strange turn of events for a Schengen border, it was announced we’d soon be having our passports checked. This seemed to agitate him only more as the most common word in his discourse went from blyad to pasport. I left just as the police boarded. It’s safe to say they hadn’t checked many passports by the time we pulled into Munich.
I enjoyed my trip on the Railjet but I think that my next journey will be in first, but with a reserved seat in a designated quiet compartment where there are signs one can point at while shushing people loudly, unless one of the two individual seats at the end of the carriage is available. I think it’s only the (truly magnificent) seat that’s different between first and business; both get at-seat catering and free coffee.
The ÖBB site lists Business as offering a “quiet atmosphere for undisturbed work”, which seems to mean somewhere you can make other people listen to your phone calls. I much prefer their description of the quiet carriage: “On the Railjet, we offer Quiet Zones for undisturbed travel. In the interest of your fellow travellers, we therefore ask you to please keep quiet here.“
On arrival in Munich I immediately went to look for other exciting destinations on the departures board but sadly remembered I was going to Ingolstadt. Not sadly because there’s anything wrong with Ingolstadt, but just because I was powerless not to go. There was time to find a newspaper and some Fisherman’s Friends and very briefly consider boarding the (delayed) 15:34 Eurocity to Verona which was preparing to leave platform eleven. Or the Nightjet to La Spezia which still had space on it (in a couchette, but who cares?). I got so very close to getting on “because I could” that I was walking along it to check out the availability in first and the suitability of the dining car when the whistle was blown. In a brief rush of irreconcilable thought processes I remembered, sadly again, that someone was waiting for me in Ingolstadt and that it would probably have been considered rather rude to announce a change my plans less than an hour before he was due to meet me from his local station, already over an hour late.
A woman ran past, her arms flailing and bags protesting, clearly oblivious to the futility of the exercise.
Ingolstatd is nice. It is home to an Illuminati plaque which apparently “attracts a lot of nutters.” A lot of people, if not all people, work for Audi. Mary Shelley set Frankenstein here. Guinness is cheap. Murphy’s is different. Baby Guinness is not too expensive. Public transport works all night. There is a set of golden arches open until 4am. Hetman vodka is very nice.
