the Ride from Salzburg

the Ride from Salzburg

                      (an epic mountaineering adventure)

       It didn’t start out as one, that’s for sure. The trip from Switzerland through Austria and into Germany was pleasant and without complications. The scenery was unparalleled, the weather, promising. Little did I realize, I was on a collision course with an epic adventure.

        What I was on was a combined climbing and mountaineering excursion (with some rafting to boot), into what is commonly known as Bavaria, around Berchtesgaden in S. Germany, just across the border from Salzburg, Austria.  The mass of rock, snow and ice known as the Watzmann had caught my eye, and I endeavored to climb it. Now, with the climb successful and preparing to depart, I should’ve been more alert to the fact that nothing out of the ordinary had happened the entire trip: no delays, no accidents, no boneheaded moves. I forgot about getting home.

         The weather was unsettled on that Sunday afternoon as I caught a train from Berchtesgaden to Salzburg, about an hour away. My intentions were to catch a connecting passage to Zurich, about a six hour ride, in a timely fashion, allowing me adequate, albeit minimal time to prepare for Monday morning obligations. I had not checked any schedules. Arriving at the Salzburg Bahnhof, I am informed the next train bound for Zurich would leave in approximately 6 and one half hours! Whoa. I had envisioned one every hour or so. I pondered my position, considering my options. It was evening, and the train didn’t leave until after midnight. I was tired, a little hungry. I figured I could find a place on the train to stretch out, enjoy a good 5 or so hours of sleep, and wake the next morning refreshed and ready to go. Finally accepting my predicament, I purchased a couple ham sandwiches and two beers and found a strategic location where I could sit and eat. Then I wandered around a bit, though my pack was as good as an anchor. Weighed about the same as one too. I went back to where I had eaten and set up a little camp of sorts. With the time my fellow travelers came over, conversing in bits and pieces, enlarging the camp. We shared food and drinks and various things, sampling some of Europe’s finest. I was growing more tired as the evening wore on, but, with such good company ignored it, as I was sure to get some sleep once on board the train.

         Right on time, the moment of truth drew near. I moved to a new vantage closer to the tracks; this is one train I don’t want to miss. I wanted little else than to stow my things and crash out. Finally, I hear it coming, and then see the lights. But as it pulled up even with the station, I sensed something was wrong. I didn’t seem to move like a normal train. It came slowly to a stop and then stood there, as if tired, sagging on its thick, steel springs. Dull light came out a couple places on the windows where people had wiped away the condensation. Steam issued from every crack and cranny. The doors opened laboriously. A few passengers disembarked; more were getting on. As I stepped up to take my turn, the stench hit me. The nauseating smell of sweat, bad breath, body odor, used baby diapers, of people who hadn’t bathed in some time. It was at this point I made a critical mistake. Someday I will study which way people tend to turn when boarding a train, and why. I look both ways, neither presenting a clear choice. Mentally drawing straws, I go left. I had boarded about mid-train and now, as I picked my way through the dimly lit corridors and rows of people and baggage lying about, I realized I could only hope for a free place to sit, let alone lie down and sleep. I hadn’t considered this turn of events.

         After forcing my way through several more packed cars, I find a spot. By this time I would take anything and I did. It was the gangway between cars, with doors entering and exiting the train, as well as from one car to the next. It also had a toilet. This amounted to considerable foot traffic, but it was mine. Now, this part of the train car is not insulated, or heated in any way. Noise and cold come right in. I positioned my pack up against the wall in one corner, padded the floor, and found I had enough room to lie in a position similar to the mummies found high in the Andes (where I wished I was at the moment). Finally, I had a little space and solitude, if not silence.

         Laying back, I remembered the Ticket Controller (ominous voice here). This guy, along with the Passport Controller, became one of my more reliable sources of misery and agitation that night. Throughout the course of the journey both were to acquire many extra titles, none being very flattering. Having already traveled around a bit, I did have the required documents relatively near at hand. Not wanting to disturb my little nest, I postponed getting them out. Drifting off, I am rudely awakened by the Ticket Controller. I am forced to ruffle my nest and procure the necessary papers. All in order. He looks at me suspiciously and moves on. I drift back off into a sleep of sorts only to be rudely awakened by the Passport controller. Digging out my passport, I wonder why they can’t consolidate and make the TC and the PC the same guy? While pondering the idea of patenting an idea (you can), I again drifted back out into unconsciousness. I don’t know if it was the crowded conditions, being night time, a changing of the guard or what, but there seemed to be a lot more checks than usual that night.

         Roughly two hours into the ride, just as I’m pulling out my papers for what seemed like the hundredth time, the train slowly pulls to a stop. Not unusual; trains periodically do stop, though not normally on such a steeply banked curve as this one. I of course, now tend to roll and slip sideways into the walkway, being partly in it already. No outer doors opened; we were probably waiting for another train to clear the track. We would likely move along soon. This was not to be.

         Within fifteen minutes, water (did I mention it’s storming out?), begins to seep under the exterior door down by my feet and flow across the floor, soaking my legs. Up I jump to dig out my rain pants, discovering them at the bottom of my pack. I wring out my jeans the best I can then pull on the shells and, laughing at the rain, fall back over in a state of exhaustion. I’m so close to that final slip into oblivion where I can sleep and drip, drip, drip… Sigh. I forgot about the window right above my head. Jumping up again, I dig for my rain jacket, finding it as well at the bottom of my pack. Donning it, I ensure all velcro is velcroed, all snaps snapped. This was an all out emergency, my position was in danger of being over run. So the mind wanders when pushed out on the edge, where I was now constantly teetering. I pulled a couple cords to tighten the hood and thought, maybe I can still get some shut-eye; a nap would do me so good. Can I? Could I?...

        “ Could I see your passport please?”  Luckily, I was so deeply ensconced and my hood bound so tightly that my response was misunderstood, like a muffled couph or something. But I had reached my limit; I could take no more of this. I felt like taping my passport, my ticket, any and all pertinent papers to my forehead, but it wouldn’t have worked for all the water!

         It’s been an hour or more, and we’re still stopped on the banked curve. This, as far as I know, is highly unusual. I’m in a miserable state; I need sleep, now. I decide to go on a recon mission… there’s gotta be a better spot. Having been to the front of the train, I decide to check out the other half. Stashing my gear, off I go, high stepping and clambering over the somehow snoring bodies of my fellow travelers. Returning to my point of entry plus one car more, I find a few crew members drinking cafe’ in the dimly lit dining car. They have the whole place to themselves. I go a bit further and discover a regular seating coach, with very few people in it! Remember my mental coin toss? I turned left when I should’ve gone right. Did everyone go left? I had just assumed the whole train was packed. And this was 2nd class. Finally, I had a whole seat to myself, and I could get some sleep. I was so relieved.

        Around this time the train began to move again. Somehow I managed to retrieve my gear, 8 or 9 cars away, and not kill anyone with my 30 kilo rucksack. Arriving back at the semi-empty wagon I drop my pack on an empty seat and, deciding to push my luck, explore even farther. After a couple more cars I find an entire sleeping cabin...EMPTY. Then another one...wow. This is unbelievable! I think of everyone up front, all tangled together; well they could check too, and just might be, I reasoned, and hurried to get my pack. I wanted to lay claim to an empty cabin before any of the sweating hordes, who now lurked behind every doorway, could get their sweaty hands on it.

         We were now approximately four plus hours into “the Ride”. At this point all I wanted to do was just shut my eyes, no matter what position my body was in, and simply rest. I had paid my dues, done my time; I deserved it. I slipped into my cabin, shut the door, and folded the seats down so I could stretch out, a first-class feature. I made myself comfortable and reached up and screwed out the offending night light. The gentle swaying rhythm of the train pulled me quickly into the warm, quiet eddies of unconsciousness, secure in the knowledge I could finally get some sleep and only be a little late for work.

         I do not know for how long I had slept when my cabin door opened, and odd sounds and voices began to penetrate my bubble. A train official stood silhouetted in the hall outside the door. My German was good enough to understand what was being said to me. I realized why I had this whole cabin, indeed the entire car to myself. This car, along with a few others, was to be disconnected at Sargans, just 10 short minutes ahead on the Austrian/Swiss border. He was just making his last minute checks. I thanked the man for this motivating bit of information and started quickly cramming things into my pack… I only had a few minutes. By now my usual neatly packed rucksack was starting to resemble a mad porter’s load. I stumbled forward a couple of cars where I was told it would be safe, and keeled over into the nearest available seat. There I remained, putting to sleep and waking every part of my body but my brain until we reached Zurich, one and a half hours overdue.

         I was not yet home. I lived in Boppelson, a tiny village 15 minutes by bus above Otelfingen, a bigger village 30 minutes by train outside Zurich, the biggest village. The rail transition went smoothly (the Swiss are efficient), but the daytime bus from Otelfingen up to Boppelson doesn’t run every hour, and of course, it was not running the hour I most needed it to be. Not before ten o’clock that morning  was I able to drag my butt to the front door of my booda, the woodshop where I worked, and try to explain my tardiness. The Swiss,my boss in particular, are very punctual people, and I was overdue.

note: This story happened in late Aug. 1992.

          Written in story form on 1.14.1995,

           by Scott A. Lewis.