500 Kilometers Can Be a Long Way

Beating almost all our previous records, we were packed and walking out of the apartment at 9 AM. First stop, the corner grocery store for some provisions – food is cheaper in Germany than anywhere else we have seen on this trip. Next, another day pass for the subway even though we were only in Hamburg for a half day. Then off to the central train station to stash our bags in the lockers.  What a convenience, having a place to put your stuff down. Even if we didn’t bring very much, it is no fun dragging a small suitcase and carrying a backpack and a computer bag and a sail bag around.

Then we had to figure out what we were doing with our morning. We hadn’t been able to decide because it was snowing and once again it didn’t seem like good walking around weather. 

Snow, to sun, to snow, to sun. Our destination, the train station, in the background.

But by the time we were ready to roll, it was sunny again. So we got on the subway and transported ourselves to Reeperbahn, a street that is apparently more well-known at night in that city.  Lots of sex toy shops and big signs about various shows.  In the morning there are homeless people sleeping, wrapped in good sleeping bags, surrounded by their possessions, sprinkled up and down the street. By day, this street has a tired air about it, with trash overflowing and a general sense of exhaustion.  We didn’t see any other area that looked so dirty.

We walked the long block down to the underwhelming Beatlesplatz, the local homage to the Beatles who spent three years in Hamburg during some formative times, playing concerts and honing their skills. At some point along this street, a slow-but-insidious blister on my bunion started to scream, so walking got less easy.  Back on the subway to another tourist destination:  St. Michael’s Cathedral.

Barely discernible metal cookie-cutter-like statues of the Beatles (with Pete Best, not Ringo)
in the center with the famous Reeperbahn in the background.

We really hadn’t been to any churches yet on this trip, so we thought we should go to at least one.  The outside was not the slightest bit ornate or even particularly interesting (just plain brick, a massive chunky vertical building with a dome) but the inside was where they had put their efforts.  Instead of the traditional long nave, the interior was a wide open space with a very high ceiling – there was a tower we could have climbed but we didn’t.  The most interesting and German-looking piece was the little balcony where the service leader stands. It looked like a giant cauldron to me, something out of a folk story.

By the time we made our way back to another subway station, I was finished with hobbling around. We had got our bearings in the harbor area of town but missed about 98% of the rest of that huge city.  Back to the train station to wander around, buy some sandwiches and snacks (there was so much food Jon would have happily purchased at the station, all cheap and delicious-looking), wait and wait for the board to tell us which platform to depart from. It felt good to be sitting on a warm and comfortable train, heading toward Maastricht.

With everyone waiting for two different late trains, a long freight train comes rumbling through.

Little did we know that the predictable and easy part of our day was behind us.

When we pulled out of the station, we were about 15 minutes behind schedule.  We had a peaceful four hours of reading, eating lunch, looking out the window at the tidy German countryside (made me think of Heinz, all those wood piles and very organized barnyards and traditional architecture and windbreaks). 

A typical large, beautiful Tudor-style house with many outbuildings and perfectly tended fields.

There are wind turbines on what looks like private land, so maybe farmers are benefiting from these installations.

We knew the next connection was going to be tight because, although we originally we had 20 minutes between trains, by the time we got to Dusseldorf, we had maybe a 5 minute window.  It is a big train station, lots of people rushing around, no big board with information in evidence (we must have been past it already when we arrived). So we hustled to an information desk and learned that we should be on Track 9.  Rushed up the stairs to the platform and there was a train waiting to leave.  The words and numbers did not match up with anything we were looking for but the departure time was right and we had been directed to this track.  So, with some trepidation we jammed ourselves onto this commuter train and set off in a direction that we couldn’t decipher.  The map on the wall had no names that corresponded to anything we were looking for. 

By the time we got to the first stop, I was ready to get off.  Jon still had hopes that we were on the right train, but I was uncomfortable just hurtling off in some direction with no information that confirmed our destiny. As it happened the first stop was the Dusseldorf Airport. After a bit of arguing about what to do next we just went down and got on the next train that took us back to the big train station.  Went to a different and more reliable-feeling information desk and got a new itinerary (no need to buy more tickets, just keep going).

Unfortunately the new itinerary had two more stops built into it, but we gamely did our best. At the next connection, our train was running 10 minutes late and we missed the next train by seconds (it pulled out as we huffed our way down the stairs, through the tunnel, under the tracks, up the stairs).  A nice young man from Toronto told us another one would come in half an hour.  About 29 minutes into our wait there was an announcement that the train was coming in on our original track so we all had to go back down, across, and up to catch the dang train. My feet were not happy.

The next time we got luckier, although I had formally given up on trying to race to any trains. We arrived at a small station, our train was once again on the furthest away track, we had to go down and up. We moved with purpose but we didn’t run. Caught that train with 5 seconds to spare.  Phew. Jon’s phone was out of battery by this time, adding to the general air of stress but somehow mine managed to pull us through (we took a picture of our train ticket just before his phone died, which we needed, and Jon navigates using maps that he stores when we get to a place with internet).

Not sure why German trains have a reputation for being on time.  Also the bathrooms don’t work on all the trains. But when we got on the last train, a familiar-feeling one in the Netherlands, the bathroom worked and everything was fine. We got off in Maastricht and promptly got onto the right bus, but going in the wrong direction.  Sigh.  We got off when it seemed clear we were not heading for home, crossed the street, read the bus schedule carefully and got ourselves to Becca’s house.

Becca was our Airbnb host this time, and she packed up to go to a friend’s house, leaving us with her good bed and couch.  We had a very comfortable night in her perfect little studio apartment.  My feet are happy to be out of their boots and off the pavement. Thank goodness I work on forgiving surfaces in my real life.