Sometimes I do give off the impression that I’m some travel genius that has everything worked out for himself. Sure, I’m quite competent and am able to go off on my own a lot, but I’m not a demi-god and, well, shit happens. So here’s a few of the most entertaining ones in my time.
Wódka i Wodospady
I think this goes down as my most iconic messy situation ever. In August 2018, I was undertaking what turned into a complete state of a DIY Interrail in Germany, and had decided to have a morning in Poland, as you do, catching a very very early train out from Berlin to Szcezcin. It was a pretty dead journey, and I set off having a wander around Szcezcin and its sights. It was actually quite pretty and just starting to come to life, as I staggered off the RB66 at around 7am. However, there was one thing I couldn’t help but notice. Literally ANYONE in a cafe was necking back a pint. I mean, we all love a breakfast pint, but it did all seem rather excessive. Anyways, I had a wander around and by about 8:30 decided to move on, and caught a regional train down to Kostrzyn to change for Berlin. Cheap as chips, and for the first half hour or so it was perfectly normal.
Then we pull into the station of Chojna and on come a gaggle of very very drunk men, with bottles of vodka in hand. They all decide to sit around me. Brilliant. Within about five minutes, attempts at communicating with the intelligent life were made, but alas they only spoke Polish and didn’t understand English, nor German. I was then coaxed into playing some weird Polish MC/rap/techno/mess on Spotify and was repeatedly encouraged to put my phone down on the table. Nice try.
Just as I think the whole thing couldn’t get any weirder, the apparent “leader” of the group reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a mouse. As in, a live fucking mouse. And what happens to it? It’s plonked straight into my hands. So this was summer, eh. Sitting on the 8:42 to Zielona Gora like a complete lemon, playing Wodospady for the local alcoholics, with a mouse, albeit a cute tiny one, in my hands. I then hand the little guy back and he proceeds to crawl all over the place and I spend the rest of the journey wondering if I’ve accidentally sat on him.
One bloke in particular had caught my eye, as he was barely able to stay awake and had a particular tendency to drool half the vodka he’d drank straight back onto his crotch. As I was about to get up and leave the train, he decided to make a grab for my headphones, still hanging around my neck after my angsty PVRIS tunes were interrupted by their drunken slurring. Suddenly, he had a decidedly vicious look in his eyes and I let him have them. His friends clearly weren’t too amused but one then made gestures which seemed like he was saying I’d be stabbed by the angry one if he couldn’t have my half-broken £12.99 headphones.
Needless to say, when we reached Kostrzyn, I sprinted ahead and took refuge near a staff-room on the platform in case the four muska-beers decided to stagger after me. They didn’t, to my relief, and I thought all was over for my dramas until a random old woman decided to square up to me for seemingly just breathing in her direction followed by a lot of yelling in Polish. Even on the train, the conductor looked at me like I’d shat on the floor when I initially asked her if she spoke English before managing in German to tell her that I needed a ticket. She still wasn’t satisfied.
After the ticket check, she offered everyone a free coffee (which isn’t something you’d get on the 10:45 to Warrington Central) except me. The only plus was the fact that a wee dog opposite me decided to yelp at her when she came around, making her do an actual scream. Despite the irate “man man man” of your owner, wee dog, I very much appreciate you.
I arrived back at Berlin-Lichtenberg, trying to process what the hell had happened and how it was still only midday.
Si, bus!
This one once had an entire blog post of its own, and I’ve told it enough times. But, I was about to catch my final train of the day to the city of Oviedo in Northern Spain, starting in Santander. It was an almost five-hour-long journey, as the tiny FEVE train wound its way around the mountains and hugged clifftops rather than taking a direct route. Despite the seats being as comfortable as listening to Piers Morgan speak, I was ready to enjoy some scenery.
The conductor looked at my Interrail pass like it was a dead cat, attempting to rip it apart at one point, but eventually he was satisfied that it was in fact this mysterious thing known as a ticket.
About an hour of watching a group of teenagers think that throwing coffee at a window and slapping each other in the face was “humour” later, the conductor came around with Google Translate on his phone. It simply said “Transfer to bus at Llanes” which wasn’t exactly what I wanted. When I asked him “bus Llanes to Oviedo?” his brilliant response was “si, bus”. But, I had faith it would work fine as I’d encountered this in Slovakia a couple of weeks prior, and we ended up getting to where we needed to be earlier.
Hahahahahaha. Not quite.
We arrived at Llanes to the sight of sweet FA. It was a small town and the conductor was insistent a bus would arrive as he returned to Santander. Thankfully, many folk around me were also tourists. Unfortunately, a lot decided to go and find a local bus to pay for which was precisely what I wasn’t doing. I ended up befriending a group of French backpackers and together, we were instead mutually panicking rather than alone. Oh, and they had Luna the dog.
A short while later, a taxi arrived and the driver asked “Oviedo?” so the entire group of us went straight forward and jumped in along with a couple of locals. The rest were left annoyed as we sailed off west. Having dumped the locals, we then seemed to be heading non-stop (Sad, as I wanted to take a photo of the station sign at the maturely named “Poo”, home of the Playa de Poo) for Oviedo. That was, until we pulled into Arriondas, about halfway between Llanes and Oviedo, and the driver declared “STOP!” and we all got out. A train would apparently come for us soon.
That, of course, depends on your definition of “soon”, as soon turned out to be 45 minutes when a train appeared out of nowhere and scooped us up. The fun now began as one bloke started playing the French national anthem on the kazoo and I had a can of rather strong beer thrust into my hands. We had managed to take over half a carriage. Even the dog was loving it.
All was going swimmingly until the train pulled into a station about 40 minutes later and the driver got out, telling us “bus to Pola de Siero now!” which prompted us all to burst out with laughter. Off we get again then and onto a surprisingly luxurious bus for about 15 minutes. The most comical part of this is when I went to get off and had a full-on stand off with a local who insisted she was getting on before I got off.
Things got even weirder as the train driver walked up to a train at the platform, told us to wait a minute, and proceeded to drive it off, never to be seen again. This went on for about 40 minutes, with me playing fetch with Luna to kill time, before eventually we were told to get on a different train. There was jubilation as we arrived at Oviedo, three trains and two buses later. All that was left to do was climb over the ticket gate (because having such gates is REALLY Interrail friendly).
The group ended up spending the night at my hotel, as we proceeded to get very drunk on 2EUR glasses of red wine, being kept fed by a free surplus of croissants. Even Luna was given some ham. I went to bed a bit fuzzy, but fulfilled.
If you’re all out there, French friends, thank you for making a messy situation a barrel of laughs.
Honourable Mentions
- The man in Prague’s Main Station who came up to me screaming and attempted to headbutt me, a mere 30 seconds after I’d stepped off a train in the country for the first time. And, on realising I wasn’t interested in his pratting on, started on a woman instead. Good one mate, clever.
- Seemingly leaving complete carnage in my wake in Japan. A day after I visited Hakata, it ended up underwater. A day after using a rail line near Yokosuka, a train ploughed into a truck. And finally, a massive typhoon hit Tokyo just as I was blissfully in the air in my Boeing 787, hitting the area around my hotel worst.
- The homeless bloke in Berlin who followed me onto a train, screamed at me, then insisted I was lying when I said I didn’t understand what he was saying as my German wasn’t good enough.
- Every Italian train ever.
The Lone Bon Voyager 