tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47516084681978512752024-02-19T07:44:22.202-08:00DB Wandererlilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-23179205666984725712023-04-01T12:00:00.000-07:002023-04-01T12:00:17.886-07:00Scaring off the passengers<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">So, I was riding on one of the new local trains this afternoon. I noticed two unique aspects of these new trains.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">First, the funny and often confusing announcements from the train personnel over the intercom system are gone. Now there is a calm slow-speaking male voice that sounds somewhat like a smart robot announcing all the information. (Or, maybe it is just someone who no longer speaks like a normal human being.)</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Secondly, if you try to open the bathroom door when someone else is in the bathroom, there is a loud voice coming over the intercom for all to hear (!), stating the toilet is occupied and please come back when it is free. You have never seen someone disappear so quickly.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">It was hilarious to see how people raised their faces from their cell phones to see who dared touch the bathroom door. This might be a good way of scaring off passengers considering using their toilet facilities.</span></div>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-83564975788530463882023-03-15T00:26:00.001-07:002023-03-15T00:26:29.137-07:00When I fell in love with the Deutsche Bundesbahn<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhepqVt66qwbhYmwFB_YA_q0S0vau37Wn92uS85bcHUGbroBStTpz4DveQLgXLDQUwsm2bmB_pL_gUT0FlET8wzwoUpO3RWMvVdYcRDvsGvm18kww8J8wnNGobROsmaTDfu7cUXJG6BQSwDu35l02VfGH9ijBQvSrOzLKBIWavE-Nvse0BVGxkLSfieMg/s452/iluvdb.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="202" data-original-width="452" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhepqVt66qwbhYmwFB_YA_q0S0vau37Wn92uS85bcHUGbroBStTpz4DveQLgXLDQUwsm2bmB_pL_gUT0FlET8wzwoUpO3RWMvVdYcRDvsGvm18kww8J8wnNGobROsmaTDfu7cUXJG6BQSwDu35l02VfGH9ijBQvSrOzLKBIWavE-Nvse0BVGxkLSfieMg/w640-h286/iluvdb.png" width="640" /></span></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> 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.</span></span></p><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">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 </span><span style="font-family: arial;">ragged </span><span style="font-family: arial;">backpack full of dirty laundry</span><span style="font-family: arial;">. Once at the station, without checking the train schedule, I step onto the first train heading south.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">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.<br /><br />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”.<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">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.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">(04.08.2006)</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span>(*</span><i>Note from the author: This story took place nearly 40 years ago</i><span>.) </span></span></div>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-2323057712102540652023-03-15T00:26:00.000-07:002023-03-15T00:26:12.732-07:00Commuter morning mindfulness training<p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Who hasn't been an unwitting listener to a fellow passenger's phone conversation? I am quite a prude when overhearing private phone conversations or seeing someone behave inappropriately (e.g. talking on the phone in a quiet zone department). I really don't feel comfortable, and often I am annoyed.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">There is a quote from Phyllis Bottome that goes...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">"There are two ways of meeting difficulties: you alter the difficulties, or you alter yourself meeting them."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Since it is impossible to make passengers talking loudly on phones disappear, I devised a mindfulness exercise to use in those situations. Here it goes:</span></p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Acknowledge how the person is annoying me. </span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Figure out more clearly what it is I am feeling. Is it anger because this is a quiet zone, embarrassment because the information being conveyed is too personal, or righteousness because I judge the person as being stupid?</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Tap into my sense of humour and imagine three Goldilocks scenarios (wrong, okay, and good) that would allow me to alter how I meet this problem.</span></li></ol><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Here is a recent example of how it works.</span><p></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Situation</b>: mid-morning commute to Hamburg from Lübeck. A 30-ish male passenger makes 20 calls (I kid you not). It seems he is a salesperson for office materials and trying (unsuccessfully) to finish his daily quota while travelling on the train.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">My three Goldilocks scenarios:</span></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I hope the guy's boss is in the train compartment and realizes what a lousy salesman this idiot is (wrong)</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I hope the guy's boss sends him on a sales training workshop where he learns what polite conduct is (okay)</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I pretend his mother is a friend of mine, and I know how proud she is of his industriousness (good)</span></li></ul><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">By this point in the exercise, I usually stop being annoyed and can see the situation's absurdity. </span></div><p></p>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-80463320276800782632023-03-13T05:57:00.001-07:002023-03-13T06:33:23.368-07:00DB Holiday Cheer<p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">(This is a true story.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I go to the train station to buy some tickets for two up-and-coming trips to Berlin. Late Friday afternoon. Crowded. One DB employee is trying to issue an elder woman her ticket for her grandson’s visit over Christmas. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The woman explains to the DB employee that she insists on paying one way for her grandson </span><span style="font-family: arial;">to come up to visit her, while his parents insist on paying for their son's return trip. The elder woman knows her grandson had a DB card (discount card), but she doesn’t know if the discount is 25% or 50%.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The DB employee patiently suggests that the woman should go home, call her daughter and find out whether it is 25% or 50%, and then come back to purchase the ticket another time. The woman is obviously distraught at the prospect of having to come back again.<br /><br />The DB employee sees the elder woman’s disappointment and offers to let her call her daughter. She asks the woman for the telephone number. She doesn’t remember. Then... how about the name and address? The old woman says “Meyer” (like Smith) and the city, but she can't recall the street name. The DB employee checks an online telephone book on her computer for the name. She blinks twice. Then puts on a brave face, “Oh, there are a lot of Meyers in Fulda. Why don’t we start at the top? Does xxxx Ave. sound familiar?”<br /><br />They were still working their way down the list of Meyers, after I purchased my ticket, and I am leaving. </span><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I’m a real Scrooge when it comes to Christmas. I’m glad the DB employee is not.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">(28.11.2008)</span></div></div>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-77075364637970131932023-03-13T05:55:00.005-07:002023-03-13T05:55:36.927-07:00Good deed of the day<p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Short Stories @shortshortstori · May
7, 2019… Sunny dawn, I decide to walk to the train station instead of taking
the bus. On the way, a young woman is stranded, trying unsuccessfully to get her
bicycle chain back on. I hesitate... come on! I go over, and together, we get the chain back on.
She drives off with a wave, and I jump on to the train. </span></p>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-80120679826973707922023-03-13T05:51:00.005-07:002023-03-13T05:51:51.353-07:00Travelling another path<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Short Stories @shortshortstori · Nov
9, 2017… Old school: grey-headed man on a commuter train opens his well-worn
brown leather briefcase. It is empty, but for a series of folded articles torn
out of medical journals; his analog "read later" folder. He
methodically reads one after another. Everyone else swipes their news away. </span></div>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-18786850173842973262023-03-13T05:48:00.003-07:002023-03-13T05:48:20.038-07:00There are always those guys<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Short Stories @shortshortstori · Sep
14, 2017… Who needs coffee? 6 am, watching one commuter after another rush down
the stairs racing to train's closing doors. Guaranteed adrenaline rush. </span></div>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-61894233307711137752023-03-13T05:43:00.007-07:002023-03-13T05:43:46.258-07:00Brutal truth<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Short Stories @shortshortstori · Sep
14, 2017… A young man wears a neon vest covered in badges and shiny metals
and carries a toot bag with "I'd rather BE crazy than BE one of
you" on it.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-12979734983123697712023-03-13T05:40:00.004-07:002023-03-13T05:40:52.959-07:00Not easy to pull off<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Short Stories @shortshortstori · Apr
6, 2017… Young management type fellow stands on the commuter train platform, trying to look cool, holding a tray of golden-covered Easter bunnies.</span></span></div>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-48056590367882301482023-03-13T05:37:00.006-07:002023-03-13T05:37:56.142-07:00Gazing out the window<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Short Stories @shortshortstori · Jan
15, 2017… A nun in a heavy black habit strolls along a wintery pathway. A group
of horses grazing in the nearby field lift their heads as she passes.</span></span></div>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-26879567088637419202023-03-13T05:33:00.000-07:002023-03-13T05:33:06.546-07:00Off to Munich<p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMi7a_7qfMOtDf6gIOka_OazLPiKgI9GP7MawWWLdCfCsTcSLwgsGmizaiMD-xmqtIlmBpSJolZz7hD-BAkA4mfjp1Z9V_ljFLQVnNgLyXw3Kt37m53UmcC72t_8GLNO3IOjW-Jyw1Tkw/s1600/20170215_165409.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMi7a_7qfMOtDf6gIOka_OazLPiKgI9GP7MawWWLdCfCsTcSLwgsGmizaiMD-xmqtIlmBpSJolZz7hD-BAkA4mfjp1Z9V_ljFLQVnNgLyXw3Kt37m53UmcC72t_8GLNO3IOjW-Jyw1Tkw/s640/20170215_165409.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">It's been a long dark grey winter. Suddenly, a day of beautiful sunshine finds its way up north and follows my travels through the country to Munich. What a fantastic experience.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">(17.02.2017)</span></div>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-5715768719595656172023-03-13T05:31:00.000-07:002023-03-13T05:31:11.251-07:00Meandering down the track<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiURZbp3jnprg4RaNhxbMd5xcrdtjEXZWbImB67h-3fKRBUwrHxFKHaheXM4NBedD0gtJTm_f7X0t62AEh8GqvSlNmjrHoACP3IUbMGk6MMTwaMz4nkbsF0VwgLOu5QLk62FZ2P6Np7qUVo/s1600/20160515_141702.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiURZbp3jnprg4RaNhxbMd5xcrdtjEXZWbImB67h-3fKRBUwrHxFKHaheXM4NBedD0gtJTm_f7X0t62AEh8GqvSlNmjrHoACP3IUbMGk6MMTwaMz4nkbsF0VwgLOu5QLk62FZ2P6Np7qUVo/s640/20160515_141702.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Drinking a cup of White Moon tea and listening to <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m001dpvx#:~:text=Radio%203's%20Soundscape%20of%20a%20Century%20is%20a%20sonic%20celebration,.co.uk%2Fsoundscapeofacentury.">Soundscapes </a>(a fabulous BBC podcast), all the while looking out at the passing landscape. My idea of happiness.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I am travelling toward Amsterdam and already, the models of some of the passing trains are different from the ones I know.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">(15.03.2016)</span></span></div>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-6633328893194416412023-03-13T05:30:00.000-07:002023-03-13T05:30:16.014-07:00On my way to Amsterdam <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyS_axR8IKGN8jtUW6BlZ9BY-SRRW8jZIHjFctvdmm6dXBvpZjTtf4sQeBATd3IJ-P6eXeXIJMQw3Z-v1jVB_nmhnUjStYkF2s_9-BqKhjixodw-PE3hvx4lcA3LLi6zADhPQxmoajw5o9/s1600/1462947176045.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyS_axR8IKGN8jtUW6BlZ9BY-SRRW8jZIHjFctvdmm6dXBvpZjTtf4sQeBATd3IJ-P6eXeXIJMQw3Z-v1jVB_nmhnUjStYkF2s_9-BqKhjixodw-PE3hvx4lcA3LLi6zADhPQxmoajw5o9/s640/1462947176045.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaKs8lEtv2v7mdtjVF_NTK50VwcIEivj3fWLSJNf1v-L4WMtXDPTa0pzl4GRx_tRp70MUU9VK_KXBwZUcnJCJ8xNT_St9UJDCHKpBejX3pG_fg-jLe2V-ua99yFFb5QKwYEl7iZpREhX1C/s1600/20160511_110504.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaKs8lEtv2v7mdtjVF_NTK50VwcIEivj3fWLSJNf1v-L4WMtXDPTa0pzl4GRx_tRp70MUU9VK_KXBwZUcnJCJ8xNT_St9UJDCHKpBejX3pG_fg-jLe2V-ua99yFFb5QKwYEl7iZpREhX1C/s640/20160511_110504.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Spring arrived last night. The East winds burst through the countryside and shook the budding leaves out of branches. The lilac hedges add a bright contrast to the rap fields. <br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I sit in "my" train speeding through the most magnificent landscape and blue skyscape, joyously thinking about dinner tonight with dear friends in Amsterdam.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">(11.05.2016)</span></div>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-39896847588596352402023-03-13T05:29:00.000-07:002023-03-13T05:29:02.135-07:00Under construction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTE4Ngu6JLDatlrPIYYCi2hTzP_In961OLbhCStuVWdjU88FLm9ZtMe3IzqULPGEcrXWVmKzH7mvXyBJ6jYsGhDyeTega6tgv7CXm1ptDBWCQ8sz828rWJxM1oD04Z_aSnIjQ7yh8CFOql/s1600/20160511_081854.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTE4Ngu6JLDatlrPIYYCi2hTzP_In961OLbhCStuVWdjU88FLm9ZtMe3IzqULPGEcrXWVmKzH7mvXyBJ6jYsGhDyeTega6tgv7CXm1ptDBWCQ8sz828rWJxM1oD04Z_aSnIjQ7yh8CFOql/s640/20160511_081854.jpg" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUJ_M0flS2ByRX9nl8ywQ1HDkoTr97YOv64MN24B5otVF-gUYwKTlAieDC3g9Z1ghLxsVaFMiGERyWR1_2mrsS676OpoThQIfxS6_bv20K4OU5jn9mFnOxz9IuE70tvp3-DAcKBAbA_j-5/s1600/20160511_081930.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUJ_M0flS2ByRX9nl8ywQ1HDkoTr97YOv64MN24B5otVF-gUYwKTlAieDC3g9Z1ghLxsVaFMiGERyWR1_2mrsS676OpoThQIfxS6_bv20K4OU5jn9mFnOxz9IuE70tvp3-DAcKBAbA_j-5/s640/20160511_081930.jpg" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Keeping up the rail system is a continual process. I love looking at the construction sites and how the workers so nonchalantly go about their business so close to the continued hubbub of traffic. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span>It would be interesting to know how many people worked on making the supported wall in the background. I wonder who wrote the blue markings (e.g. 43-47 and the 23 195x) and what they mean</span>.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">(11.05.2016)</span></div>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-62967156741361521672023-03-13T05:24:00.000-07:002023-03-13T05:24:43.312-07:00Catching up on the news <p dir="ltr"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif6Xa_7_jdmFSWpX8OhuvGfJ5Iw7AsBQK-pKwitSXtGJKokMlBw-o5Le8GFrA9GuPUtVmzKG8KHpIBwFmJwAqKaIK0O-hqEA9Y8dKNtaskwADLqPyu-mF6o71YhwAJk-7Chl5MecO5WmSL/s640/20151008_112256.jpg" style="color: #0000ee; text-align: center;" /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Two porters meet for a coffee break standing outdoors beside the train. They have a chat during a longer stopover. We on the train wait patiently for a connecting train to arrive. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The porters look so relaxed... spending the time getting caught up on their news. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">(10.08.2015)</span></div>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-14825144930961681422023-03-13T05:20:00.001-07:002023-03-13T06:04:06.489-07:00Picnic packs <p dir="ltr"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimwxo8gAMupmD_O4vvvXRngwX66NKR4Wm5UqhVI6Lp44PE7G-pcW6aVK2SrrwYszN8fiyiE2UZK2RDxfA94v_gyBViLnhJfhzswkn1twJI1YVlRl9Or0Muv5idgwhW8d_i2lL7OukZoxpH/s640/IMG_20140529_113225.jpg" style="color: #0000ee; text-align: center;" /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">What makes a good picnic package?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">My guess would be this picnic pack from the guy next to me contains some smelly salami sandwiches and some Tupperware containers filled with carrots and radishes.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I wish I could make up a photo collage of all the picnic packs and their content.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">(30.05.2014) </span></div><p dir="ltr"><br /></p>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-89001282224160011732023-03-13T05:16:00.000-07:002023-03-13T05:16:26.264-07:00My impressions of DB 1st class travel <div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I am on my way from Lübeck to Paris and have the joy of travelling in a DB 1st class department. It's my first time in 1st class. I have always been a staunch BahnCard50 2nd class traveller.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">My impressions so far (two hours into the journey):</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">It is very quiet so far. Can it be that 1st class travellers take the quiet zone literally?</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Surprisingly, quite a few passengers have brought along their <a href="https://dbwanderer.blogspot.com/2014/05/picnic-packages.html">picnic packages</a>. I guess childhood train travel traditions are slow to die out.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The department smells pleasantly of coffee since there is a steward constantly serving new passengers coffee every time we leave the station.</span></li></ul><div>(30.05.2014)</div></span></div>
lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-7707374677095485232023-03-13T05:15:00.007-07:002023-03-13T05:15:51.808-07:00Wanderlust<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Short Stories @shortshortstori · Oct
31, 2014… Late autumn fields and cloud-strewn skies are crowded with flocks of
storks finding their way to Northern Africa. Wanderlust. Magical.</span></span></div>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-46832957421404063942023-03-13T05:12:00.002-07:002023-03-13T05:12:58.597-07:00Moscou Berlin Paris <p dir="ltr"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ubieu8Rzh3DojdSVh8fpV72C0ulFSsF_x7Z4jn4iGW6m1anstjUsPBf2DG9e23urgWXOy2bi2WzplSJeYFzxDagChKwZIcayKp7shqXNgolrU_s2F-GZASVeQRRs47jhvPdscdweMmM/s1600/IMG_20130808_192605.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ubieu8Rzh3DojdSVh8fpV72C0ulFSsF_x7Z4jn4iGW6m1anstjUsPBf2DG9e23urgWXOy2bi2WzplSJeYFzxDagChKwZIcayKp7shqXNgolrU_s2F-GZASVeQRRs47jhvPdscdweMmM/s640/IMG_20130808_192605.jpg" /></a></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">No, I am not on this train, though I truly wish I were. It is waiting on the track next to mine.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Don't you love the visuals of the sign representing each of these great cities?</span></div><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">(09.08.2013)</span></p>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-28278595236763908442023-03-13T05:12:00.000-07:002023-03-13T05:12:04.817-07:00Not too old for this sh*t<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Short
Stories @shortshortstori · Jul 27, 2013… 40-something-ish manager of a Tai
massage salon goes wild at a concert of an AD/DC cover band. Loud trip back
into his rowdy Berliner youth.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-66378748124879797742023-03-13T05:08:00.005-07:002023-03-13T05:08:28.966-07:00A haiku moment<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Short
Stories @shortshortstori · Feb 22, 2011… Train trip to Berlin. Two white geese
standing in a snow-covered field with a slash of black earth showing where a
tractor wheel drove by.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-31152621175536470952023-03-13T05:05:00.006-07:002023-03-13T05:07:20.105-07:00Leaving a legacy<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Short Stories @shortshortstori · Apr 11, 2010… The look of enchantment
on the small girl's face sitting next to me as she watched the film Nanny
McPhee would have made Emma Thompson glad.</span></div>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-11659785427154485802023-03-13T05:03:00.000-07:002023-03-13T05:03:01.350-07:00The devil in the detail<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Short
Stories @shortshortstori · Nov 20, 2009… Lady with wool hat had hair horns
sticking out both sides of her head through the crochet holes of her hat. I
found it hard not to smile.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-17816775778190729212023-03-13T05:00:00.000-07:002023-03-13T05:00:00.491-07:00Fashion statement?<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Short
Stories @shortshortstori · Oct 26, 2009… Sat on the train across from a fellow
who was walking the fine line between Crocodile Dundee, Nero in Matrix, and
G.I. Joe. Difficult mix.</span></span></div>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4751608468197851275.post-76448535394826624992023-03-13T04:54:00.003-07:002023-03-13T05:00:17.532-07:00Passing through the countryside<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Short Stories @shortshortstori · Oct 14, 2009… Old
woman wearing a rainbow-coloured linen jacket and fisherman rubber boots, patiently
plants sprouting onions in amongst her rose garden.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>lilaliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17834341657842966966noreply@blogger.com0