When I fell in love with the Deutsche Bundesbahn
I would like to recount an experience I had travelling many, many years ago*. I was travelling from Wuerzburg to Erlangen (just outside of Nuremberg). This is one of the many experiences that I've had with the Deutsche Bundesbahn (DB, national railway), which made me a great fan of this company.
I just came off a Zen sesshin, or week’s retreat, at a Benedictine monastery situated in the hills of Wuerzburg (a wine-making region of Germany). The sesshin ends with an early breakfast on Easter Sunday. I walk down to the train station with my head in a fuzzy state of mind and my rather ragged backpack full of dirty laundry. Once at the station, without checking the train schedule, I step onto the first train heading south.
Ten minutes out of the station, the conductor comes and asks for my train ticket. This fellow is a stereotype Bavarian: wide-of-girth, grumpy disposition, and speaks loudly in a broad Bavarian dialect. Something only the Bavarian employees of the DB dare to do; all the other employees speak (some well, some not so well) in “Hochdeutsch” or High German.
The conductor takes my ticket, looks at it and then lets out a few tongue clicks of disgust. “Don’t you know that you are on the DB Easter Special?” I give him a blank stare that would make any “dumb blond” joke proud. He explains, “This train doesn’t stop until we reach Munich. It’s the Easter Special, which takes all the rich residents of Frankfurt’s and Wuerzburg’s high society to Munich for their Easter Sunday brunch and afternoon classical concert, and then takes them home again later this evening”. Still getting a blank look from me, “The train doesn’t even go through Nuremberg, let alone stop off there”, he rumbles at me.
Slowly, it dawns on me that I might be in a bit of trouble: not only is the train not taking me where I want it to, but my normal-rate ticket definitely won't cover the exclusive Easter Special price. This means that I might have to purchase such an Easter Special ticket, as well as a one-way ticket from Munich back to Nuremberg.
My mind finally kicks into gear. While the conductor stares down at me, I desperately search through all my dirty laundry for my wallet. I have to figure out if I have enough money to pay for the new train tickets. While I am doing this, the conductor barks, “Don’t move. I’ll be right back!” He leaves the carriage with my ticket in hand.
I sit there somewhat stunned because I've discovered to my dismay, that even though I might have enough to pay for the trip back from Munich to Nuremberg, there was no way I could pay for the Easter Special ticket. While I contemplated how the hell I could get out of this predicament, an announcement came over the train’s loudspeaker system, “Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Mr. Schmidt, your conductor. I hope you are enjoying your journey with the Deutsch Bundesbahn this sunny Easter Sunday morning. I would like to announce that we will make a short unscheduled stop in Treuchtlingen. I sincerely hope that this will not inconvenience you. Thank you for your understanding and a pleasant further journey”.
Treuchtlingen is a tiny station whose only claim to fame is that it is a crossing point for various train routes through Germany. Slowly, a horrible thought entered my head… unexpected stop… this train doesn’t stop in Nuremberg. And sure enough, five minutes later, the grumpy conductor opened the door to my carriage with the biggest grin on his face. “So what do you think? You know everyone in their fat fur coats and their fancy hats are going to be curious to see who can stop the DB Easter Special.”
I turn beet red and stutter to him in disbelief, “You are stopping the Easter Special to let me off?” “Yup”, he continues, “and not only that, I’ve called my colleague at the Treuchtlingen station, and he will personally escort you to the other track so you can catch your connecting train back”. And with that, he hands me back my ticket, which now has handwritten authorization that I can travel from Treuchtlingen to Erlangen without any added costs. I don't know whether to laugh or cry; I am so touched by his gesture.
We quickly near Treuchtlingen. The conductor carries my ragged backpack down the corridor to the train’s exit. When the train door opens, the stationmaster helps me down the steps, takes my backpack from his colleague, gives him a big wink, and nobly escorts me along the station platform.
I sit there somewhat stunned because I've discovered to my dismay, that even though I might have enough to pay for the trip back from Munich to Nuremberg, there was no way I could pay for the Easter Special ticket. While I contemplated how the hell I could get out of this predicament, an announcement came over the train’s loudspeaker system, “Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Mr. Schmidt, your conductor. I hope you are enjoying your journey with the Deutsch Bundesbahn this sunny Easter Sunday morning. I would like to announce that we will make a short unscheduled stop in Treuchtlingen. I sincerely hope that this will not inconvenience you. Thank you for your understanding and a pleasant further journey”.
Treuchtlingen is a tiny station whose only claim to fame is that it is a crossing point for various train routes through Germany. Slowly, a horrible thought entered my head… unexpected stop… this train doesn’t stop in Nuremberg. And sure enough, five minutes later, the grumpy conductor opened the door to my carriage with the biggest grin on his face. “So what do you think? You know everyone in their fat fur coats and their fancy hats are going to be curious to see who can stop the DB Easter Special.”
I turn beet red and stutter to him in disbelief, “You are stopping the Easter Special to let me off?” “Yup”, he continues, “and not only that, I’ve called my colleague at the Treuchtlingen station, and he will personally escort you to the other track so you can catch your connecting train back”. And with that, he hands me back my ticket, which now has handwritten authorization that I can travel from Treuchtlingen to Erlangen without any added costs. I don't know whether to laugh or cry; I am so touched by his gesture.
We quickly near Treuchtlingen. The conductor carries my ragged backpack down the corridor to the train’s exit. When the train door opens, the stationmaster helps me down the steps, takes my backpack from his colleague, gives him a big wink, and nobly escorts me along the station platform.
The whole time, the three of us keep serious expressions on our faces and pretend not to notice how all the windows of the train are being pulled down, and hatted men and fur-coated ladies stick their heads out curious to know the identity of VIP that stopped their Easter Special.
(04.08.2006)
(*Note from the author: This story took place nearly 40 years ago.)
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