Once again I did my bestest German in the bakery this morning.
“Butterbretzel und Kaffee to go, bitte” I asked, smugly. I don’t actually know what “coffee to go” is in German, but I’m guessing it’s quite similar. I made sure I used a capital letter for coffee, but I’m not sure the woman behind the counter heard it.
“Mit oder ohne Salz?” she asked. I would’ve faltered at this point had she not pointed helpfully at both, but I already knew I wanted the one with the salt on it because it is superior so gestured my approval and ja bitted. A few moments later I emerged triumphant with a supreme breakfast confection.
After a last-minute morning cancellation I was left with more time to get it together to check out at half-past ten and determine what I was going to do next. I had made a reservation on the 13:57 ICE to Essen but decided I’d try my luck and get an earlier train instead, such is the joy of the Interrail ticket. In the ticket office at the Hauptbahnhof the woman behind the counter was unable to tell me if the next train was busy, such is the joy of the DB ticketing system, but she did recommend the DB Museum as way of killing time before the train with a seat with my name on it. She was very friendly and chatty and was enthusiastic about her upcoming trip to York.
I ummed and aahed at first about whether I would go to the DB Museum or get the 10:57 train, because when I got to the platform it was absolutely heaving, but I thought I’d check availability of seating in first by getting on the train and having a look. This was a good plan, I thought, until I ended up getting trapped between some people with hefty bags who were taking forever — just as the doors started beeping. I had failed the woman in the ticket office. I updated my pass.
First class was quite busy, and at first I was in the rear carriage where I’d become trapped, in a seat pointing the wrong way and near some of our louder North American cousins, those of the distended bags, who were now in the midst of taking turns to gratingly deny responsibility for some problem or other concerning their tickets. I moved to the next carriage and found a nice single window seat facing in the direction of travel into which I settled while wondering whether to deploy the buds. There was another table of four, this time travelling Canadians, but their most vocal — the hunter-gatherer returned from the dining car — was quickly lulled to sleep, much to the relief of his travel companions.
At Frankfurt, where the train changes direction, I quickly came to regret my decision to make a dash for a seat in the anything-but-fucking-quiet compartment at the pointy end (now the front) because the quiet rules apparently didn’t apply to the world’s noisiest newspaper, nor to the inquisitive companion of the gentleman reading it, nor to the woman at the front who was ostensibly eating for Germany. Around lunchtime I escaped to the dining car for a Vegane Currywurst and a Glühwein, only to discover that too was packed full of people who were not, technically, dining. I was triggered. I found a table with some space and shared with a couple who were simultaneously speaking something Slavic and shovelling food, as if scared that I might seize it from them. Some of my fries were not all hot, which was a shame, and a mental note was made to stick to the bread roll for next time.
Around Bonn I was left in the little quiet compartment more or less by myself, and moved to a seat at the front hoping to while away the last parts of the journey in blissful silence, only for this to be ruined by people congregating in the vestibule to make phone calls or have loud conversations. I think it is therefore wiser for future journeys on the ICE to make a reservation in the ruhezone, where it is probably acceptable to shh people and point at the sign that says “shh” in multiple languages.
Hostess was waiting for me on platform four at the scheduled arrival time of 15:06 which was unfortunate really as we didn’t arrive until 15:46 and then onto platform one. After some hurried messaging back and forth, Hostess found me at the bottom of the stairs to platform one waiting next to a newsagent’s. To help her locate me, I had sent a picture of a pigeon, because there was a pigeon also waiting for someone coming off a train, but this had apparently contributed little joy to her afternoon Bahnhof experience.
We found the left luggage facilities and left my luggage.
Before I was allowed to visit Essen’s wonderful Christmas tatfest, Hostess had some culture planned. I was escorted expertly through the sparkly-tat and we were soon in the treasury of the cathedral looking for imaginative ways to photograph a finger puppet without setting off alarms or being caught on camera interfering with the precious things. There were no ways to do that without being alarming and so I missed out on a variety of opportunities to slide him onto various fingers of waving clerics for comedy photographs.
This was probably for the best.
The Christmas market in Essen starts opposite the station on Willy-Brandt-Platz where there’s a carousel and a tree, then stretches all the way past the cathedral and theatre to the Kornmarkt and Kennedyplatz, where the Crown of Light radiates from the middle of the square over the various stands, making it quite the pretty sight. Among the various stalls and mini-markets are hidden some light animals, including a Christmas kangaroo, a Christmas giraffe, some deer, and everyone’s favourite Christmas animal, the Christmas rhino.
Essen’s market has two superlatives to which it officially lays claim. Over 700,000 people voted it as the Best Christmas Market in Germany in an online vote so important it was reported on t-mobile’s news portal, so I have no reason to doubt it. It came sixth in Europe overall, but is also officially ranked the Best Sustainable Christmas Market in Europe, using only green electricity for all the sparklies. This means that the Glühwein is also environmentally friendly as it is all being glühed by green, so much so that by drinking it one is practically saving the planet and helping Greta Thunberg avoid having to strangle a reindeer.
After culture and sparkles, we took a bus to Chez Hostess where she warmed more Glühwein on the stove, having had the foresight to stock up before my arrival, and Mr Hostess prepared raclette. We played a game they called Donkey — in keeping with the Christmas theme — in which one must take turns to order wooden pieces numbered one to twenty by stacking them or giving them to one’s neighbours.
It turns out I’m not very good at Donkey.
