PART ONE
TRAVELING BY TRAIN AS A KID WITH MY MOM
I grew up in New Orleans, Louisiana. As a kid, I often traveled with my Mom by train to visit my grandmother and great grandmother. They lived in White Castle, a small country town in southeastern Louisiana. After we got to the train station in New Orleans, my Mom went to the counter to buy our tickets. Then, she took my hand and led me to the platform outside to wait for our train. While waiting, I gripped her hand so that I could safely lean over the platform. I wanted to look down the tracks to see if I could spot that familiar white light on the train's engine. When I saw it, I could hardly contain my excitement.
As the monstrous train thundered into the station, I bubbled with energy. The deafening whistle pierced my ears, and the steam spewing from around the massive steel wheels made me scream in delight. Satisfied with the train's arrival, I covered my ears and stood in awe as the hulking steel cars snaked to a clamorous, screeching stop.
The patient porter waited while my Mom helped me up the metal steps. Then, I raced down the aisle to a booth to claim a window seat. I heard my Mom laugh as she followed close behind me.
The train's path took us through the sparsely inhabited bayou areas. I remember seeing lakes where Cajun families lived in shacks on stilts. I recall seeing pirogues, like canoes, tied to wooden ramps leading out to the water. I loved the beauty of the serene, green, marshy lakes. The mysterious bayous possessed a unique charm of their own. Tall, somber-looking trees rose from the murky swamp waters. They sagged from the weight of Spanish moss hanging from their crooked, skeletal branches. Sometimes I would see flocks of birds soaring through the air. As the train sped by shanty towns, I often saw kids wave to us as they ran alongside the tracks at a safe distance. Indeed, those trips left me with pleasant, unforgettable memories.
PART TWO
A JOB INTERVIEW IN DARMSTADT, GERMANY
After I retired from the Army, I applied for a job in my field of security. For the interview, I had to travel to Darmstadt, Germany. It was about a four-hour drive by car from where I lived in Vilseck, Germany, near the Czech border. To lull in the comfort of my precious childhood memories, I took the train instead of driving. That was my first mistake.
THE TRAIN TRIP TO DARMSTADT
The train trip to Darmstadt proved worthy of bragging. Only train travel aficionados would appreciate it. The smooth, comfortable ride, the solitude of my sparsely filled car, and the picturesque German countryside validated my wise choice to take this mode of travel. Even changing trains in Nuernberg and Aschaffenburg amounted to minor inconveniences. Yet, surprising chains of events lurked around every corner, and my trip turned into a comedy of errors. Sadly, Mom wasn't there to help me survive.
THE INTERVIEW
After arriving in Darmstadt, I checked into the hotel. The next morning, I woke refreshed and ready for the day's interview. But I had to undergo more scrutiny in sessions, which lasted three days. The long meetings and the company's hard-sell tactics stressed me out. I decided not to make a commitment until they ironed out some issues I had with their offer.
PART THREE
TAKING THE TRAIN FROM DARMSTADT TO NUERNBERG
At 4:30 that afternoon, I boarded the train and looked forward to an enjoyable trip back. As on my ride to Darmstadt, I knew I had to change trains in Aschaffenburg and Nuernberg going back. No problem. My next and last stop should have been Vilseck, but it wasn't. That was the beginning of my predicaments and frustrations!
TAKING THE TRAIN FROM NUERNBERG TO AMBERG (or so I thought) WITH AN UNEXPECTED DETOUR TO SCHWANDORF
A muscular female attendant strolled through the aisles to check each passenger's tickets. When she came to my seat, I gave her mine. She scanned it and frowned. Her reaction was not a good sign, and that concerned me. After shoving my ticket back to me, she screeched at me in fractured English like a Marine drill sergeant screaming at a new recruit," YOU ARE GOINK WRONG WAY. THIS TRAIN GO TO SCHWANDORF. YOU MUST GET OFF TRAIN AT NEXT STOP UND GO DIRECTION NEUKIRCHEN!" I freaked out, "Schwandorf? Where the hell is that?" Unmoved, she continued, "YOU MUST GET OFF AT NEXT STOP, OK? FROM DERE YOU TAKE TRAIN TO NEUKIRCHEN, OK?"
No, NOT OK. I wanted to punch that attendant, but it wasn't her fault. It wasn't anybody's fault, yet. But I felt a tantrum brewing in the pit of my stomach. I changed trains in Nuernberg, but I took the wrong train, heading to Schwandorf instead of Amberg. Shit! I remembered that the burly lady told me to take a train from Schwandorf to Nuerkirchen. From there, I had to take another train to Amberg. Simple, right? Hell no!
Exhausted, I closed my eyes for a few seconds and took in a deep breath. Then I exhaled and mentally counted to ten. Twice. After that, I was calm enough to hear the brash attendant blast more orders at me," OVER DERE. TRAIN TO NEUKIRCHEN STILL WAIT! HURRY!"
Then, she turned around and resumed checking more of the passengers' tickets as if I didn't exist. She never looked back at me, not even once, to see if I was still a functioning human being because I wasn't.
MY "SHORTCUT" ACROSS THE RAILROAD TRACKS
Frustrated, I grabbed my bags and scurried off the train, making an unwise decision to skip the safety aspects of what should have been a simple process. Pushed for time, I had to get creative to get to the platform on the other side of the station. I hustled my bags to the edge of the platform and threw them down to the network of railroad tracks. Like an idiot, I jumped down to the tracks behind them. I grabbed my stuff and hopped over the tracks with good intentions of crawling up to the platform on the other side. But finding myself eye to eye with my target (the platform) posed to be a strategic problem for me.
As a retired veteran, my military training experiences kicked in. I never accept defeat. I had to find a way to solve my problem. So, I threw my bags up on the platform anyway. After getting a good grip with my hands, I hoisted one leg up, huffing and puffing to get the rest of my body up to the platform. But I couldn't budge my ass, not even if a pack of wild dogs was nipping at my heels.
A SUDDEN CRAMP FIGURED INTO MY PLAN
Suddenly, a severe, almost-paralyzing butt cramp figured into this irrational shortcut. I ignored the curious, horrifying stares from the other travelers on the platform. So, I closed my eyes and stayed in that awkward position, waiting for the muscle cramp in my butt to ease up and go away. When it did, I took my time to extricate myself from my awkward position. I hoped that no one had reported me to the Polizei (police) as a deranged woman on the tracks. The last thing I needed was detention in a foreign mental institution for an examination and observation. Keeping things moving, I looked around for something to make this shortcut worth the embarrassment. Two large wooden blocks nearby provided me with the boost that I needed.
BOARDING A TRAIN FROM SCHWANDORF BACK TO NUERNBERG
After reaching the platform, I was able to board my train. Following the other passengers, I stepped in the line heading towards a stiff-looking attendant and waited for him to guide me to a seat. He was tall and imposing in his crisp, gray Deutsche Bahn uniform. With his hands clasped behind his back, he stood ramrod straight like a soldier at parade rest. With a quick, terse, frosty nod, he greeted passengers with no hint of a smile, I assumed, to avoid cracking his rigid face. As I eased around him, I caught a glimpse of his name tag: Blutstein (Bloodstone). "Hmm. I gotta be careful not to tick him off," I thought.
ASKING FOR HELP FROM AN UNPLEASANT SOURCE
After stashing my bags in my seat, I left them to look for Herr Bloodstone. I wanted to ask him to check my ticket to make sure I was on the right train. Approaching him with caution, I broke the ice with my best German, "Bitte, nachpruefen Sie?" (Can you check this, please?) Whisking it from my shaky hands, Herr Blutstein scanned it, and within seconds, he frowned. This was not a good sign for me. A Darth Vader-like voice with a thick Bavarian accent roared, "YOU ARE GOINK IN WRONG DIRECTION! DIS TRAIN GO TO NUERNBERG! YOU MUST GET OFF IN NUERNBERG UND TAKE TRAIN TO AMBERG!"
After stashing my bags in my seat, I left them to look for Herr Bloodstone. I wanted to ask him to check my ticket to make sure I was on the right train. Approaching him with caution, I broke the ice with my best German, "Bitte, nachpruefen Sie?" (Can you check this, please?) Whisking it from my shaky hands, Herr Blutstein scanned it, and within seconds, he frowned. This was not a good sign for me. A Darth Vader-like voice with a thick Bavarian accent roared, "YOU ARE GOINK IN WRONG DIRECTION! DIS TRAIN GO TO NUERNBERG! YOU MUST GET OFF IN NUERNBERG UND TAKE TRAIN TO AMBERG!" Well! His attitude appalled me. The last time someone yelled at me like that and in that tone of voice was in Army Basic Training.
MY IMMINENT NERVOUS BREAKDOWN
Frowning, I snatched my ticket back and glared at him through squinted eyes as if I could reduce him to a pile of cosmic dust. My self-imposed reticence and limited German prevented me from arguing with him. And besides, he was too big and surly for me to put up a fuss. I was glad when he spun around and stepped away, taking his grim look and sour disposition with him. It wasn't his fault; it wasn't anybody's fault. But I could feel the ghost of a nervous breakdown shadowing me.
TIME OUT TO POUT
So, I stomped down the aisle back to my seat to await the next stop. Too dejected to sit, I stood by the window and leaned my head against it to sulk. I tried to grab some solace by watching a tight formation of birds soar through the afternoon sky. I smiled at some children waving with excitement as the train zipped past their villages. The beauty of the setting sun bathing the countryside in a golden glow was a comfort to see. But these pleasant distractions whizzing by failed to snap me out of my deep blue funk.
As misbehavior washed over me, I wanted to pull the emergency cord, fall out in the middle of the aisle, and kick and scream. I could probably pull off these things if I were two years old and traveling with my Mom. But Herr Bloodstone kept eyeing me with suspicion, staving off my pity party.
HELP FROM A SURPRISING SOURCE
Without warning, a staggering mix of stale liquor breath and body odor assaulted my nose and caught my attention. An eerie feeling made me realize that someone was staring at me. Turning to check the source of the stench, I locked eyes with a tall, thin, unkempt man. He had stringy gray shoulder-length hair, which framed his gaunt face. Deep-set, blood-shot eyes, bushy eyebrows, and a long grungy gray beard completed his look. I almost blurted, "What the hell are you looking at"? but he spoke to me first. "Can I help you? I have a handy (cell phone). Can I call someone for you"? He spoke flawless English! Thoroughly humbled by his kind gesture, I responded, "Yes, yes, please." Glad that he spoke and understood English, I explained my situation to him and asked him to call my friends in Vilseck. He took their numbers and dialed them all, but no one answered.
SOBERING UP AND SOLDIERING ON
I became disappointed that my friends were out of the net when I need them most. I wanted some comfort from anyone of them because I was on the brink of losing my mind. But I sucked it up like the lifelong soldier that I am. I had no other choice but to fend for myself as best I could. I thanked him for his kindness and moved towards the door to get ahead of the crowd to make my exit easier and faster.
PART FOUR
BACK IN NUERNBERG, HEADING TO NEUKIRCHEN BEI SULZBACH ROSENBERG
Time: 7:15 p.m. There I was, back in Nuernberg again. Knowing that I had to get to the platform on the other side of the station, I gathered the last shred of my senses. This time, I kept safety in mind. I took the stairs down to a dimly lit tunnel, which ran underneath the network of train tracks above. It was filthy and reeked of urine, smelling like a dumpster in a back alley. Multi-colored, garish, grotesque graffiti completed the wall's "decor." I held my breath as long as I could as I dragged my bags behind me. Then I bolted up the stairs to the platform to reach the other side of the station.
When the train arrived to take me to Neukirchen, I boarded it with no problems. From Neukirchen, I had to take another train to Amberg. I chose to stand for the twenty-minute ride there. But I felt like a freeloader taking all these trains on just one ticket. "Too bad this isn't Disneyland!"
PART FIVE
ARRIVING AT THE SPOOKY, DESERTED NEUKIRCHEN BAHNHOF, TRAIN STATION
After arriving, I stepped off the train and onto the platform of a tiny bleak Neukirchen Bahnhof, which was unexpectedly deserted, creepy, and eerily quiet. A choir of crickets serenaded me with deafening chirping, which creeped me out. Their "symphony" conjured up childhood nightmares. Dracula, The Wolf Man, and The Creature from the Black Lagoon horror movies, which traumatized me as a child, came to mind. To this day, I don't know why, but these movie creatures still haunt me.
I hustled my bags over to a dimly lit area of the dismal depot. I found a bench and sat with my back to the wall and a full view of the doors. While assessing the events of my attempts to get back home so far, I succumbed to the inevitable result of any stressful situation. It crept up on me like the Invisible Man in a dark alley. I had to pee. Dammit!
I looked around outside for a WC (toilet) and found one for ladies. I sprinted over to it, but the door was locked.SHIT! I had no clue as to why it was closed, especially at this time of night. Shit! The men's room door was ajar, and I really had to go, but who knows what I'd find in there! "It" was too pressing to hold in. Going into the thick woods nearby was out of the question. So, I grabbed my bags and dragged them outside to scout another source of relief.
RELIEF AT THE GASTHAUS ACROSS THE STREET
As I looked around, I saw soft lighting in the windows of a Gasthaus (restaurant) across the street. Fortunately, it was still open. I could see a few diners eating their meals at the tables. As for my bags, I tucked them in a corner and sprinted across the street to my relief point.
I tore through the door, startling the diners who all looked up at me in unison from their meals. But the women knew, they just knew that "look of urgency and desperation" on my face. I ignored them all and focused on finding the toilette sign. I saw one, which directed me down the stairs. Finishing up, I walked back up the stairs to the dining room and paid no attention to the inquisitive stares from the diners' still-stunned faces. Besides, they would never ever believe what I'd been through so far. Strolling to the door, I held my head high like a diva, graciously giving myself a special award for not having an accident in public.
MY MISFORTUNE TOOK A TURN FOR THE WORSE
Once outside, I rushed back across the street to the station. Not surprisingly, my bags were still in place. Only in Germany! Never in New York or Detroit! I took them back to my bench inside the station.
Though trains are seldom late in Germany, I rechecked the next train's arrival time on the schedule posted on the wall. It was 45 minutes away. At least I'm at the right track this time. I walked back to the front door again and looked out into the night. Breathing a sigh of relief, I was proud of myself for surviving all the mishaps and mayhem so far. I thought it couldn't get any worse. Unfortunately, it did. It started to snow.
PART SIX
SCARED BUT SURPRISINGLY BRAVE
The snow came down harder, and the thick flakes blurred my view of the cozy-looking Gasthaus across the street. My stomach started to grumble because I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. I envied the diners enjoying their meals and drinks by candlelight.
Shivering underneath my long black coat, I drew it tighter around me to stay warm. I walked back to my bench and sat huddled in a corner. Later, a family of three came in. A middle-aged couple with a young boy who I assumed was their grandson. The couple nodded a polite "hello" to me. I returned their gesture. Honestly, I wanted to share the details of my unfortunate day with them. But I knew that they spoke only German. Hell, I didn't know the language enough to explain much to them without me sounding foolish. Then I'd get pissed off when they'd lose interest and walk away from me. It's times like these when I miss my dog, who would always pay attention and listen to me whenever I needed to vent. So I kept it all to myself, deciding to corral my friends and unload on them once, if ever, I got back home.
ON THE TRAIN FROM NEUKIRCHEN TO AMBERG
I caught the train from Neukirchen and arrived in Amberg at 8:30. After grabbing my bags, I hustled off the train and into the station to check the next train's schedule to Vilseck. It was a 15-minute ride away by car. "Let's see: Amberg to Vilseck: 10:15. 10:15! That's almost two hours away! Dammit, I can't spend two hours in this train station!"
Sigh, so close to home, yet so far away. I found a payphone and tried calling my friends again, who I thought should be home by now. Called Billy. No answer. I forgot that Wednesdays are his Bible study nights. Called Ann. No answer. I forgot that Wednesdays are her German-American Friendship Club nights. Called Mike. No answer. Crap! Who knew where the hell his randy ass was. Taking a taxi home would be too expensive. So, my wait continued as my patience wore paper-thin. Being realistic, I contemplated spending the night in this unusual train station close to my home.
A TRAIN STATION OR A NIGHTCLUB PARTY?
The noisy, party-like atmosphere in the station grabbed my attention. At nearby tables, rosy-faced individuals at different stages of inebriation huddled close to each other, laughing and clinking their glasses to toast anything that moved. A haze of gray smoke drifted lazily around them. Empty beer mugs, shot glasses, and ashtrays teeming with smoldering butts filled their tiny tables. I looked around again to check whether this was a train station or if I had accidentally wandered into a local pub.
Deciding to keep moving, I grabbed my stuff and headed for the phone area again. While dialing Mike's number, I caught a whiff of a familiar stench poisoning the air around me. It was the same stale liquor-breath from that nice man on the train. With the phone still up to my ear, I turned around to face an obese man with a head full of thick, wiry gray hair and a dingy gray, bushy Santa Claus beard. Blood-shot eyes and a bloated beer belly told me that he was no fitness trainer. Wobbling and weaving in place, he belched loudly before he slurred something to me in German, which I did not understand. Then he smiled at me, giving me an unwelcome glimpse of his yellowed, chipped teeth. I blurted out in fractured German, "Scrammen Sie!" (Get lost!) But he continued smiling. I think it tickled him that I had no fitting response to him in his language. Or maybe I just sounded plain stupid to him. But I gave him a look which, in any language, told him to fuck off. With his smile fading as quickly as it had appeared, he turned and stumbled back toward his buddies at the table.
Still having no luck reaching any of my friends, I felt I needed something to help me pass the time away. The intoxicated group's jovial demeanor created a festive atmosphere, which convinced me to have a beer too. I headed for the bar and bought a strong Pils. Luckily, I found an empty table at which to sit and sip my suds. I tried not to sink into a depression about my day so far.
Dutifully, the strong beer relaxed me. However, it was hard to ignore the drunken group's noisy banter and laughter filling the station. I envied them having a good time. I even thought about joining them to forget my troubles momentarily, but the intoxicated fat guy sitting with them made me change my mind.
Finishing my beer, I headed back to the phone again and finally got Mike. He laughed throughout the brief description I gave him of my situation. He assured me that he'd arrive shortly. I called Billy and briefly told him about my trip. He was still laughing when I told him that Mike was coming to get me. Ann would probably laugh, too, so I skipped calling her.
PART SEVEN
FINALLY RESCUED!
About 45 minutes later, Mike finally arrived at the station. When he walked through the door, he looked at me and laughed as he came towards me. I wasn't laughing because what I had been through was no laughing matter. He grabbed my bags with one hand. To reassure me, he put his other arm around my shoulder and led me outside to his car in the parking lot.
LUNATIC LADY AT THE WHEEL!
In the driver's seat was his "friend," a wacky lady (loose term). I met her once before and knew that she had a hair-trigger temper and a short attention span, politically correct words for just plain stupid. I headed for the back seat, but for some reason, Mike insisted I ride in front. Recalling my day so far, I had no reason to argue with him, so I got in front as he wished because I was finally going home.
She started up the engine, which belched and backfired more than firecrackers on the Fourth of July. "Bad, bad muffler, I thought." I tried to buckle the seat belt, but it wouldn't snap securely. So all I could do was hold it in place across my lap for the quick trip to Vilseck.
The loon lady slipped smoothly into traffic as snow continued blanketing the streets. The windshield wipers were useless in keeping the windshield clear of the rapidly falling thick snow. Though the icy, two-lane road to Vilseck posed a significant driving hazard, Miss Stupid drove like it was summer. "Just what I need, an unhinged driver, a hoopty with broken seat belts, and no airbags."
In my mind, I tried to settle down, welcoming the warm air blowing from the heater, which comforted my body. It felt good, and again, I was finally going home. But this moron's kamikaze diving tactics elevated my panic level to an all-time high.
I gripped the seatbelt tighter as she swung the car sharply into an 'S' curve, which forced us all to rock left and right. Incredibly, she tried to start a conversation with me, talking to me as if we were chatting over coffee in a cozy cafe. It amazed me that she actually thought I would be interested in anything she had to say. I froze a grin on my face to give her some semblance of interest. Then, I blocked her out and kept my attention glued to the road, and my feet riveted to the floorboards. I started praying that she wouldn't have an accident and send us all tumbling down the steep embankment on one of the sharp curves in the road ahead.
I lost count of the times Mike yelled at her from the backseat to slow down. But she never responded to him and continued with her erratic driving. I wasn't sure if she ignored him on purpose or couldn't hear him over the roar of the muffler. With this unfolding, heart-stopping drama, my first thought was to just pass out, so I wouldn't feel the impact if an accident should occur. My second thought, "Maybe I shoulda waited for the damn train," but it was too late for hindsight and wishful thinking.
Finally, she pulled in front of my apartment. I got out of the car and thanked Mike and his psycho lady friend for picking me up and getting me home in one piece. Mike got my bags out of the car and took them to my steps. I told him that I could take them up to my apartment from there. Once inside, I dropped my bags at the door and headed to my living room. I was too tired and stressed out to cry, but I had just enough strength left to sit in the middle of my living room floor and hysterically laugh my ass off at what had taken place that day. That was the beginning of my therapy.
It tickled me even more hearing the hoopty backfire a few more times before the sound faded into the night. But I promised myself, "Next time, DAMMIT, I'll drive!"