,
For a change of pace, I’m going to veer off track, jump right
in the middle of the storyline and fast-forward to my unplanned journey through
the Black Forest. How did I unexpectedly
end up on a train barrelling through a 20-kilometre long tunnel in the Alps
heading west towards Austria, when I was supposed to be travelling south to Stuttgart? Was this a last-minute invitation to hang out
with the ghosts of Beethoven and Mozart?
An inconveniently placed detour where the only option available was to
travel via Vienna in the hope of catching a flight to Stuttgart?
 |
| And where is my boat?? |
 |
| On the wrong train to who knows where.... |
Nope. Nada. None of the above. Not even close.
When initially planning my overseas excursion, the plan was
simple. Fly to Amsterdam. Take a train to postcard perfect
Boppard. Rest, relax and re-charge for
two days. Continue onwards to Esslingen
via Koblenz. Transfer trains at
Stuttgart and arrive in Esslingen around 1:30pm. Thirty minutes later I would be all settled
in, with oodles of time left over to meander and explore. Or, so I thought. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned over
the years spent traipsing around the globe, is that nothing is set in stone and
well-laid plans rarely go “according to plan”.
And, if you’re cuckoo ol’ Auntie Nora, derailments and roadblocks are all
just part of the course.
Believe it or not, I’m not a planner. I prefer to go with the flow and see where
the road leads me. My philosophy is that
I will eventually arrive where I need to be and that I will get there at some
point. Travel Bud, on the other hand,
has quite the opposing view on globetrotting and rarely ventures out without a
binder chock-full of colour-coded charts and maps. Every single detail is meticulously accounted
for, leaving marginal room for error.
Planes, trains and hotels are booked months in advance and the itinerary
is crammed with endless excursions and activities. I, on the other hand, have only a vague clue
as to what I’ll do once I arrive at my destination. One would think that it would be the other
way around, as there are a ton of restrictions that need to be adhered to when
travelling with me. The “Pink Sneaker No
Go” zone is one for the record books.
Steer clear of tunnels, be wary of bridges, avoid elevators, and at all
costs stay away from crowds. And, that’s
just the condensed version.
 |
| Yikes!! En route to Stuttgart, Germany but I packed the London books instead! |
So, where was I headed with this train of thought? Oh, yes, I was scribbling about accidentally
embarking on the wrong caboose.
Our train was scheduled to depart the station at 10:17am and
arrive in Esslingen at 12:35pm. A short 2-hour
journey. Easy peasy. Or, so I
thought. After all, what could go
wrong? We had checked out of our hotel
at the crack of dawn, schlepped our suitcases up and down denizens of stairs
and arrived at Track #04 with plenty of time to spare. We had even triple-checked the departure time
at the information kiosk where we were informed that our train was running a
few minutes late and would arrive at the station anywhere between 10:17am and
10:20am. European trains are notoriously
punctual and so when said train pulled into the station at precisely 10:17am, I
didn’t give it a second thought and scampered into the carriage
likety-split. After all, hoisting
cumbersome luggage up those 3 steel steps is quite the challenging task, one
that involves a combo of skills – lightening fast speed, Popeye-esque muscle
mass and sheer dumb luck. The goal being
of course, not to inadvertently tumble back onto the platform, break one’s back
and risk getting whacked on the head with cascading luggage. So, when Travel Bud suggested that perhaps we
should double-check the train car number just to be 100% certain (we needed to
be on Intercity #119 going to Stuttgart), I hastily blurted, “Like, seriously? Just hurry on up and load your luggage
quick. I found a great spot for the
baggage and I snagged awesome seats!
Hurry, quick!” Yep. All to avoid having to haul my bags out from
the overhead rack, down those 3 dratted steps back to the platform and wait for
the next train. There was no way in hell
that I was going to lug and schlepp all over again so, I logically deduced that
the carriage that I was in was the correct one, as after all, the train had
pulled into the station at its originally scheduled time.
My over-zealous quest to hastily load my bags, parcels and
backpacks onto the wrong caboose inadvertently led us to being trapped on a
speeding bullet en route to the land of apfelstrudel and Schubert. Yep.
The hills were alive with the sound of music. A far from melodic arrangement of incomprehensible
screeching and wailing – a chorus of yowls, howls, snivels and sobs – a pink
sneaker musical debut of the entirely unexpected kind.
Yikes!!
Now what?
Note to self: Next
time, pack light.
Next blog: Soon! Due to my never-ending technological issues, I’m a tad behind
with my posts, so I’m planning on catching up and posting at least one or two more before the end of this year (2017, not 2020!).
That is, unless those gremlins of computer meltdowns manage
to trip me up yet again….
The pink-sneaker adventures continue....and, hey, does a travel blog really need to have pictures??
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