I was up early and had plenty of time before my train to Prague to avail myself of the ÖBB Lounge for breakfast rather than faff making coffee in a hostel kitchen at 7am.
Last time I did this kind of thing, lovely Frederik in the coffee shop in Göteborg seemed bemused that I should choose to carry clothes rather than coffee and coffee-making equipment, so this time I cut down on the number of days I can go before a clothing malfunction to allow space for an Aeropress and a hand grinder so that I can at least start a day caffeinated if not fed. I’ve dropped the grinder once getting out of the car in Angoulême and used the ensemble twice so far.
There was concern that the lounge in Graz had closed as I’d noticed the one on the main concourse taped shut, but I think it’s either moved or being refurbished; I’m not sure which is which. Anyway. The other lounge is hidden off the concourse near the Subway and is quite small but well equipped. There was a kindly gentleman travelling to Vienna whose conversation about Christmas markets was interesting until he started talking about Them coming in and making things less pure. I knew the kind people he meant, he told me. I smiled, stocked up on sugary goodness, caffeiney goodness, and orangey goodness, and then backed away smiling to another part of the lounge to wait until the 8:26 Railjet 74 to Prague left from platform 4. He suggested we might see each other again on the train. I nodded noncommittally.
I do like a Railjet. They are ÖBB’s premier service and operate high-speed routes and stopping services both domestically on international services to major cities in the Czech Republic, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Hungary and Slovakia. If possible, every Interrail journey should have at least one Railjet connection, preferably a long one, and if you’re the holder of a first-class pass for a long journey it is absolutely worth paying the 15€ upgrade to Business. I say this knowing that my last encounter with the leathery red one was not optimal and I had considered that it might be worth saving the upgrade fee and booking a seat in the quiet coach instead, but I decided to take a punt on it anyway given that in an emergency situation I am now the owner of active child-cancelling earbuds.
The first part of the journey was joyous as there was only one other passenger in the business carriage and the guard let me sit in the one individual seat at the end of the carriage which was free but marked as “last-minute reservations”. This was strange, because I had tried to book it while buying my tickets and ended up in a cluster of three instead, but he said that my seat would remain reserved for me for the duration of the journey and that I could sit there on the understanding that I would have to move back should anyone else rock up with a seat reservation wanting to sit there. In fact, the seat indicator changed twice during the journey, once for a passenger who didn’t turn up and then again just before Vienna for someone who had booked seat 55 to Prague and wanted seat 55 to Prague despite seat 44 also being booked through to Prague.
I understood, and wondered if it was because she had encountered the family of American tourists with more luggage than can possibly have been necessary who loudly took up residence in seats 45 and 41 in my little space and also the seats in the adjacent little compartment. I shushed them Britishly before they even had a chance to sit down and reminded them it was a quiet coach, although this backfired as they weren’t all yet within hearing distance so the message “HE SAYS IT’S A QUIET TRAIN” was hurled between them in a way that suggested they knew the individual words but didn’t understand the meaning of the entire sentence when they were put together.
My fears were allayed quickly though as they were adorable and from a Carolina, I forget which, and genuinely loving their European excursion. I didn’t learn this immediately because I was already in my train slippers and trying to feign nonchalance by reading a French newspaper, but they’d done so well at mastering the art of the whisper that I thought they were probably safe. Someone in the other compartment lost points for having come with a variety of rustly snacks, but that was short-lived once they found there was at-seat service from the dining car. I educated them on their passenger rights after Lufthansa made them lose a night in Vienna, then took a moment to subtly slip “the original” into a sentence where “Budweiser” was the word that came next. We were in the Czech Republic by this point so it was almost a civic duty, really.
Around Brno I thought I’d have lunch. The non-meaty options from the DoN’s Autumn/Herbst Menü are Maccaroni mit cremiger Käsesauce (that’s posh for Macaroni Cheese) or the Bio Schammerlgulasch mit Seemelknödel which I had on the train from Zürich. I settled on that again and set off to the dining car only to find it full of people being loud and not actually dining on solids, so ordered it at the counter and had it delivered to my seat.
My new friendly American neighbours, eager to get the full experience, ordered themselves a multi-course meal in what soon turned to chaos as it became clear the things they wanted to try (mostly Schnitzel) were not available and they’d have to have something else. The girl in charge of taking the order also announced it was her first train journey (we hoped she really meant her first day at work) and then things went from bad to worse as things arrived in the wrong order; Apfelstrudel followed by celery soup and coffee was an interesting combination. There was supposed to be a salad but it might’ve gone to the wrong seat and whoever it was delivered to didn’t say anything. I wasn’t having pudding, as I’d schedued time for a quick sniffter out of the back of Prague Hlavni Nadrazi before my onward connection.
We were late into Prague by about 15 minutes which was good because earlier in the journey that had been up near the forties. For the part of the journey in Austria the delay had been due to engineering works and inclement conditions, giving rise to the best announcement I think I’ve ever heard on a train: “Dear passengers. Because of the engineering works, the locomotive driver was not able to stop in Semmering. If you wanted to get off there, please come and see me.” By the time we’d crossed into the Czech Republic, the Česky Drahy train team were justifying our delay with the slightly derisory “late arrival of the train from abroad.”
This was all academic as there was no Christmas market at the back of the station (I think the few drunks hanging around had consumed it, stalls and all) and despite some full-on power-walking to the top of Wenceslas Square, I aborted the quest for Glühwein as the market was right down at the bottom at the Můstek end and I didn’t really fancy missing my connection. Instead I treated myself to a free speculoos and a glass of water in the awkwardly inadequate ČD Lounge before the (lovely) 16:23 Intercity train to Plzeň. I’d reserved a seat to the main station but stayed on one more because the people in the Victoria Hotel informed me by mail that Plzeň-Jižní předměstí was literally right next to them. Once I’d checked in and had a power-nap, I could see it from my bedroom window much like the station hostel in Norrkoping.
I liked Plzeň almost instantly.
I had a wander to the Christmas market next to Saint Bartholemew’s cathedral after a power-nap only to discover it had closed at 8pm, but managed to snag a last-minute Glühwein from someone who didn’t take cards but was happy to relieve me of a few euros.
Re-fortified, I had a little potter about the Square of the Republic, found a lovely falafel place, then wandered home to my lovely big bed in my lovely old hotel.
