Train 172, Vienna to Prague, Saturday, October 18, 2008
Word is, trains in Europe run on time. If the train is to leave at 10:04, it starts moving at 10:04. Everyday, that is, except today. Train 172 left 8 minutes late. By American standards, not an issue. By European standards, we understand this to be a tragedy. We did not hear the sounds of an engineer being executed, or did we?
The train is electrically powered, quiet, smooth, and comfortable. The ride is reminiscent of a’57 Pontiac Star Chief, green and white, on an interstate straight-away. The seats are comfortable and spacious. Tómas stopped by, complete with cute little bow tie and dinner jacket, to offer us coffee and tea.
About an hour out of Vienna, we entered the Czech Republic. No ceremony, no border guards, no new stamp on our passports. Tómas disappeared and a very pleasant young Czech with an unpronounceable name, blonde-headed, in a very proper blouse/skirt uniform, appeared to check our tickets. By the way, we are riding backwards—some of you would be dead by now—but we are enjoying the view of what we have already passed.
Brno is a large, tired looking, heavily industrial town that needs to buy a vowel. Soon after Brno, the land became quite hilly, not unlike the western Piedmont of the Old North State. The leaves here are changing and the hills are awash in raspberry red, lemon yellow, and orange orange.
The housing is interesting. Since entering the Czech Republic, the homes have been mostly multi-family, nondescript institutional, boring, communist-influenced buildings or modest, single-family farm homes. Every town has at least one steeple, if not two (Catholic and Orthodox). After Brno, we have seen an eclectic mix of the old and new, larger, single family places. The wonder that is capitalism and compound interest appears to be having its desired effect.
Many more small towns flew by and it was time for lunch in the dining car. Tómas had reappeared and was our waiter. Judy selected Grandmother’s potato soup, fried cheese, and skillet-browned potatoes. I had Czech Goulasch and a large pile of penne. The Czech beer, a pilsner, had a name I don’t recall. I’ll look it up. Judy selected a Pepsi of Czech/Slovak origin. Lunch was filling and tasty. The goulasch was thin, like Grandmother’s potato soup, and both were good.
It is now 2:35PM and we are supposedly about 15 minutes from Prague. There are no sign of civilization on the horizon. Perhaps Prague will sneak up on us. More later.