Urban Baker's Dozen (part I)

By David Gourley

Frankfurt ('Mainhatten')

Back in the eighties I had the idea that I would like to do a rail trip around Germany.  For various reasons it was not a practical proposition but when, a couple of years ago, I retired, I resurrected the idea.  Or at least thought about doing so.  The proposed trip was not really Cathy’s thing and in any case she was still working.  But she was keen that I go ahead and fulfil my ambition - and, no, it’s not because she wanted to get rid of me!  She urged me to stop thinking about the trip and actually go ahead and do it.

Whilst we did not both go on the trip, we did share an enjoyable afternoon booking it on the internet – something we couldn’t have done in the eighties.  The obvious choice of ticket would have been a German Rail Pass but in fact a Eurail Pass was the better option for it provided greater flexibility: one could use it on ten days, not necessarily consecutive, over the period of a month.  Pushing the boat out a bit, I got a first-class pass.  I realized that there was an opportunity cost if I confined its use to just one country.  So it did occur to me as I stood on Munich Station that I could, with my ticket, be going to Prague or Budapest or south into Italy.  But the ticket was the means to my end, a rail trip around Germany.

Next we booked stays in five hotels – I am not, I’m afraid, the kind of laidback or adventurous person who is happy to arrive in a city without knowing where they are going to stay that night.  The journey was from south to north through the centre of the country.  Only once did I venture west of the Rhine (but a few years previously we had done a Rhine Cruise, VISA 103-4).  And there was one foray into the former East, something else that wouldn’t have been possible, or at any rate would have been difficult, in the eighties since the Berlin Wall didn’t come down until the very end of that decade.  Berlin itself was not on my itinerary.  We had been there (VISA 89) and would like to go back, but it would require a fair bit of time to do it justice and I wanted to get around more.  I put together an itinerary, using Deutsche Bahn timetables, which gave a mix of time in my chosen five cities and rail trips to other cities.  I found the timetables to be very reliable so almost everything went to plan.  Finally we booked flights. 

I had three nights in Munich, as distinct from two elsewhere.  There is an S-bahn link from the airport direct to the Hauptbahnhof (main station) and my hotel was easily found, so near the station that it is virtually on the station.  I had the bright idea of using my pass on the S-bahn where it would have been accepted.  Cathy pointed out that I would thus be doing myself out of one of my ten days of more extensive travel.  My hotel was not the best of this trip, but it was friendly and, for the duration of one’s stay, gives one a complimentary travel pass for the city’s excellent transport system: buses, trams, S-bahn and U-bahn (metro). 

We had been to Munich a number of years previously, when our daughter had a short-term work posting there.  We had packed quite a lot into just a weekend, including a performance of the opera and a trip out to Neuschwanstein, the fairytale castle that inspired Disney, also taking in the historic city of Augsburg.  The castle was one of those built by supposedly “mad” King Ludwig who was deposed and, some believe, murdered by the Bavarian state.  But today Bavarians are surely grateful to him, given all the revenue from tourists flocking to see his castles. 

Munich is a handsome city.  The feel, I would say, is more Central than West European.  It is the capital of Bavaria, which in the nineteenth century was not quite sure that it wanted to be part of a united Germany and to this day maintains a strong sense of independence.

On my first evening there was time before dinner for a quick stroll into the centre.  Here, as in other German cities, the central area is a safe environment which is largely pedestrianized, but there were a couple of minor annoyances.  Firstly, it was necessary, on the way in from my hotel, to cross a busy main road and the wait could seem interminable.  Traffic, here and elsewhere in Germany, is allowed to pass through red lights if there are no pedestrians but the reverse doesn’t apply.  So one waits and waits and, even when the light does at last go green, one waits a bit longer since it seems to be not the done thing immediately to set forth.  Secondly there are more cyclists than back home, above all in Munich.  Yes, I know I should be applauding that since cycling is a healthy and very green form of transport.  And people were riding in responsible manner: no sign of any ‘lycra louts’.  Even so, I did in places feel a bit overwhelmed by the number of cyclists, with the pathway seemingly belonging more to them than to pedestrians. 

I noted on the first evening that one of the two towers of the beautiful main church, the Frauenkirche, was scaffolded up.  I had been intending that, as on my previous visit, I would go up to the top so hoped that it was the unscaffolded tower that was open to the public. 

The next two days followed my normal pattern of trips out of the city, followed by time in the city.  In Munich tram 19, which link the Hauptbahnhof, and thus my hotel, to the Ostbahnhof (or East Station), is a good way of seeing the city centre.  I also did some exploring on foot including a long stroll to the extensive English Garden, so named from the type of landscaping, reminiscent of ‘Capability’ Brown.  Here, for the first time, I came across a phenomenon not to my knowledge found in Britain: ‘love-locks’ or padlocks that can weigh down railings on bridges, romantic but considered by authorities to be something of a nuisance.

There were poignant reminders of World War II on my stroll to the Garden.  The Bürgersaalkirche contains the shrine to Pater Rupert Mayer who was an opponent of the Nazi regime and was canonized by Pope John Paul II in 1987.  He survived the war, but died of a stroke a few months later.  In the vicinity of the Bavarian Chancellery is a memorial to the White Rose, the Munich-based anti-Nazi group.  Sadly most of its members were executed but one member, Traute Lafrenz, is alive still, having emigrated after the war to the United States.  The White Rose looked forward to a “New Europe”, the bases of which would be “freedom of speech, freedom of religion, the protection of individual citizens from the arbitrary will of criminal regimes of violence”.  Inconceivable though it might have seemed at that time, just such a Europe was to come into being a few years later, thanks to far-sighted statesmen in their own country and elsewhere.  It is a Europe from which Britain, foolishly in my view, has decided to turn its back.

A dilemma posed itself on this, the first of my ten days of rail travel.  On double-decker trains I like to sit on the upper deck but on this train it was for second-class passengers, whereas my pass entitled me to first-class travel.  I stuck to first but wasn’t sure this was the right choice.  Odd that on the Continent trains, but not buses, are double-deck, whereas in the UK it’s the other way round.  In fact there once were double-deck trains in the UK.  When I first started work in the sixties, I sometimes commuted to and from London in such a train, one of just two. They ran on the lines out to Dartford, through the area where I lived at that time.  They were regarded as a failed experiment, but were retained for their working lives.

It was pleasant to sit back in my carriage, even if it was lower deck, and enjoy the Bavarian countryside.  Bavaria, I reflected, is a region which has everything, bar a sea coast: lakes, mountains, beautiful countryside, attractive towns and villages, a high standard of living, low unemployment...  what’s not to like?

Regensburg is located on the Danube and its Old Town is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  It has been described as “Italy’s northernmost city”.   I made the discovery that Galerie Kaufhof, a nationwide chain of department stores, provides good buffet lunches at a reasonable price.  One invariably ascends to the fourth floor, passing the ladieswear and menswear floors.   Here I photographed my plate of chilli con carne.  I wouldn’t normally do such a thing but the reason here was the juxtaposition: this was an al fresco area overlooked by the city’s beautiful spires. 

I wandered through the Old Town, then across what is perhaps the city’s most iconic feature, the twelfth century Stone Bridge, which crosses the Danube.  Unfortunately it was being renovated so there was a lot of scaffolding and for most of the way across one had to use a temporary construction.  I wasn’t having much luck in this regard for, yes, back in Munich the scaffolded tower in the Frauenkirche was the one that is normally open to the public (one could still of course go inside the church).  The walk across the bridge was still worthwhile given the wonderful view back to the Old Town.  Located by the bridge in the Old Town is the historic Sausage Kitchen.  It purports to be the oldest continuously open public restaurant in the world.

My next journey took me out of Bavaria, into Baden-Württemberg and on to its capital, Stuttgart.  At its station there is a tower which one can ascend for free.  From here it is evident that, unlike Munich, this is not an especially beautiful city.  It is by no means an unpleasant city but after World War II, its centre was rebuilt in modern, functional style, apparent in Königstrasse, the main thoroughfare which runs through the centre from the station.

I called in at the tourist office.  Naturally enough local authorities like to blow their trumpets and the city guide eulogizes the main square, the Schlossplatz, claiming it to be “one of Europe’s most beautiful squares”.  Well, I’ve been fortunate enough to visit St Mark’s Square in Venice, Old Town Square in Prague and Grande Place in Brussels and I’m sorry to say to Stuttgarters that their square, pleasant though it might be, does not begin to compare.  Scattered around are a few historic buildings and some parkland.  I enjoyed my time in Stuttgart but soon concluded that the remainder of my day would be better spent seeing more of Munich. 

To get back to the Hauptbahnhof I used the U-bahn.  I was impressed that quite a few cities in Germany have metros: I had used the one in Munich and was also to use those in Frankfurt and in Hanover.  In Britain, by contrast, the only metros outside London are the circular line in Glasgow and the innovative Tyneside Metro in Newcastle.   I think that in Germany cities generally have more power and influence than their British counterparts and, as a result, have greater civic consciousness.   This might be something to do with geopolitics, for the capital of West Germany was a fairly small city, Bonn.  Even though Berlin has resumed its rightful place as capital of a united Germany, I don’t think the other big cities are going to bend the knee any time soon.  England by contrast tends to be fairly ‘Londoncentric’ – something I think that is increasingly recognized, resulting in the proposals for a ‘Northern Powerhouse’. 

I chose the time of my train carefully.  Some trains would simply have repeated yesterday’s journey to Stuttgart and carried on from there.  I wanted to see new territory, so got a train that went north to Nuremberg, then west to Frankfurt.  In Würzburg I was impressed that there were hillside vineyards very close by.  

Ominously, a weather map at Munich Station showed bright sunshine over Bavaria and rain over the rest of Germany.  Sure enough it started to rain when we reached Aschaffenburg.  This city is still in Bavaria, but far closer to Frankfurt than Munich; it is considered by Lonely Planet to be “in style terms more Hessian than Bavarian”.  Fortunately it was dry again by the time I got to Frankfurt and rain was not to give me too much trouble in coming days. 

This was the nicest of my five stays.  My hotel was the Intercontinental, a short walk from the station.  The friendly receptionist offered me a pass that gave use of the top floor lounge for €50 for a 24-hour period.  Usually one doesn’t, as an ordinary client, get a sniff of a hotel lounge.  The deal included complimentary food and drink, including beer or wine.  Given that breakfast, not here included, was over €30, it was a no-brainer.  I enjoyed a light lunch in the lounge, and a good dinner.

The view from my fourteenth floor room was one of my best ever.  I looked straight out at the city’s skyscrapers.  These are an unusual feature for a German, indeed for a Continental European, city and they have earned Frankfurt the sobriquet “Mainhatten”.  I walked into the city.  This entailed a pleasant stroll along the Main.  I crossed over the river to the south side then re-crossed later on using one of the two old pedestrian bridges.  From there it was a short distance to the Old Town, centred on Römerplatz, an area that was lovingly rebuilt after the World War II bombing.  I was pleased that despite my advancing years – I was now heading into my late sixties – I was able without difficulty to ascend the tower of the Cathedral, 328 steps. 

I had wondered whether “Mainhatten” would be a rather cold sort of place, but not so at all.  This is an attractive, cultured and vibrant city that oozes prosperity.  It is also a historic city, its modernity notwithstanding.  In former times it was the place where the kings and emperors of the Holy Roman Empire (which was not, it has been said, holy or Roman or an empire) were crowned.  The Empire, a collection of numerous independent states, included most of present-day Germany so it might be said that Frankfurt was the unofficial German capital.  Immediately after World War II, it was the putative capital of West Germany.  It seemed the obvious choice, roughly in the middle of the country, on the Main so not in South or North Germany, in historic terms the true divide between Germans, rather than the artificial East-West split resulting from the Cold War.  But the wily Konrad Adenauer, the first Chancellor of West Germany, wanted the capital to appear makeshift since he didn’t want it to be thought that the division of Germany was permanent.  Frankfurt, he feared, would settle down to the role too comfortably.  Hence the choice of a much smaller city, Bonn.  Today Frankfurt doesn’t get to be the capital of anything: it is by far the largest town in the Land of Hesse but the kudos of being its capital goes to Wiesbaden.  But, as it houses the HQ of the European Central Bank, it might be regarded as the financial capital of Europe. 

I wandered on into the financial district though not as far as the towers of “Mainhatten”.  The Stock Exchange is in a surprisingly old building.  There is a plaque here commemorating Ludwig Erhard, the Finance Minister who presided over West Germany’s Wirtschaftswunder or Economic Miracle.  He succeeded Adenauer as Federal Chancellor but it is thought that he was far less happy in that role.

With dinner that night I had a glass of cider.  I was surprised to find that this is a Frankfurt speciality since, as I have found to my chagrin, cider isn’t generally available on the Continent.  It wasn’t anything like cider back home: something of an acquired taste but, given time, I might have acquired it.

First  Published in VISA 131 (February 2017)

The Refugee Effect

By Glenys Hopkins

Set out on 30 September 2015 to go to Serbia, for the Mensa International AG. And because I hate airports, and hate having to leave in the small hours of the morning, I decided to go by rail. It started off fine, got the Pendolino to Euston, quick sprint to St Pancras for the Eurostar, arrived in Paris in time for a light lunch. Got the TGV to Munich, which is where it all started to go Horribly Wrong. It was about 9.00pm and the station was full of drunks in lederhosen (Oktoberfest), I was supposed to be travelling on the Overnight Sleeper to Budapest, which I was looking forward to; it seemed really exotic, I expected the train to be full of glamorous adventuresses and secret agents. Well it wasn't, it was cancelled. :-(. It was replaced by:

 1. An ordinary train which went almost to the German border.

 2. A bus which went over the German border and on to Salzburg, by which time it was about midnight.

 3. A 3-hour wait in Salzburg Station, which is very clean and modern, but everything was closed and it was Very Cold.

 4. An ordinary train which went almost to the Austrian border.

 5. A bus which went to the border, where we had to write our names on a list, then get out and be glared at by armed Austrian border guards who took our passports which was worrying. The young man who had sat next to me was not let back on the bus. His name was Hassan, which may have had something to do with it. The passports were returned, so that we could be glared at again as we crossed the border into Hungary.

 6. Some time later a rather scruffy train took us to Budapest. Instead of the Sleeper Compartment I had a bunk in a couchette, but I did have the compartment to myself. It was at this point that, in attempt to lock the door, I inadvertently pulled on the emergency brake. I noticed that the train was making funny noises, shrugged, found the bolt and setlled down. Just dropping off when the attendant come banging on the door, told me off, and fixed the brake. So I only got a couple of hours' sleep before we arrived in Budapest at 9.00am the next morning. This was the scheduled time, but it should have been one seamless train ride in comfort if not luxury.

I pottered round Budapest for a bit, the surroundings of the station are not the most appealing area. Then it occurred to me that the train taking me to my destination in Serbia, Novi Sad, was not actually going direct from Buda, but from a little town a couple of hours away. If I'd realised this when I arrived, I could have got an early train and made the connection. But I didn't, so I just got the next train that was going there, and arrived at teatime with 7 hours to wait for the next train to Novi Sad. I strolled up and down the main street, had coffee and a luscious cream cake at a cafe. That took up the first half hour. The station was deader than Salzburg had been. Fortunately there was an Australian woman, similarly stranded. She was going to Serbia to look up family members, and talking about her exploits passed quite a lot of time.

The train arrived at about midnight, and meandered gently across part of Hungary and then Serbia, arriving at Novi Sad at 6.00 am next morning. I was only 12 hours late and had missed the first evening's party and an excursion I had booked on. :-(. So I slept until lunch time and then started catching up on the programme.

First published in VISA 125 (February 2016)

Switzerland By Rail

by Peter Bolderson

For boring old farts? Well, maybe. I discovered that driving around Switzerland can be no fun for the driver. Some tunnels are long and the ordinary roads require concentration. The scenery passes you by.

The possibility of seeing Switzerland by rail intrigued me ever since sitting in a handy café on Montreux station each lunchtime and watching the Montreux Bernese Oberland Panoramic Express come and go. This is a swish metre-gauge train. Talking to an American couple, about to depart, I realised that the Swiss rail system was geared to tourism (as well as providing a superb service to the Swiss).

We were there because of a forced landing high in the Simplon Pass. Flying a grand tour of Europe and heading home from Ascona on Lake Maggiore to Troyes in France, low cloud found us trapped up the valley. Turning back was not an option. In the ensuing debacle, Christine was injured and heli-lifted to Brig in the German speaking Wallis. I wasn’t as bad so got the full treatment from the Swiss police who suspected us of drug-running! The next day we transferred to Montreux; in a French speaking area. It was a week before we were able to return home, care of Big Airways and so had plenty of time for reflection.

 Firstly, a search on Swiss Rail Tours threw up the Railtour Suisse website, www.railtour.ch where I downloaded “Switzerland for FIT’s” (sic). This brochure has a whole range of tours and hotels from which you can mix and match to your heart’s content. When I tried to book directly, I was rebuffed. Railtour Suisse put me in touch with the Switzerland Travel Centre in Zurich which has proved, twice, to be superb. Instead, you can contact the Switzerland Travel Centre in Wardour Street, W1. They will send you a brochure. It’s the standard package holiday offering with flights, etc., and the hotels are different.

SDM provide a Swiss Card, rail and hotel bookings. You can also order concessionary tickets for many excursions. We get flights to Geneva by BA or EasyJet. The Swiss Card gets you from any airport or border to destination and return; also any intermediate travel between resorts, and it’s good for up to 50% off most other travel.

 The railway system is an interesting mix of mainline, metre gauge, metre gauge with selective cogwheel assistance and full cogwheel mountain railways, operated Federal Railways and private companies. Nearly all of it connects either end-to-end or cross-platform. Change of gauge occurs where the going gets too steep and the bends too tight for the larger gauge. Generally the railways follow the valleys and most settlements are in the valleys so one naturally integrates with the other. There is an online timetable and route planner and Swiss Railways have a very informative website with links to all the other railways.

The first year we went to Interlaken and toured the surrounding lakes and mountains by train, schiff and post bus. Our daughter dropped us off at Montreux and we caught the scenic MBO. Travelling in panoramic cars, first class, was a treat. The countryside is changing and beautiful. Firstly we climbed out of the Rhone valley, then through the Bernese Oberland stopping at such places as Gstaad, eventually arriving at Zweisimmen for a change of train. BLS then hustled us swiftly down the Simmental to Spiez on Thunersee and on to Interlaken West. We stayed in the Chalet Oberland, a three star Best Western, although you wouldn’t know it. It was quite traditional and convenient in the centre of town. The main activity in summer is wanderwege in the mountains and the transport system couldn’t be better for facilitating this. The mountain paths are signposted with distances and times.

One circular trip from Interlaken Ost to Grindelwald, Meiringen (Moriarty v Sherlock Holmes!), Brienz and return to Interlaken involved a train, two post buses, a train and a Schiff and it was all perfectly timed.

Another trip takes you to the Top of Europe on the Jungfraujoch at 12,000’, by train. Check weather before ye go! No use if cloudy. From Interlaken Ost you take a train to either Lauterbrunnen or Grindelwald (it doesn’t matter which) where you change for Kleine Scheidegg. There, the Jungfrau railway takes over for the final climb mostly in the looping tunnel through the Eiger and the Mönch. The train stops halfway up the Eiger north face, so you can view the world through large windows from an otherwise inaccessible position in the north face. The next stop allows you to view the Eismeer. The top station is a major complex called the Berghaus with shops and restaurants. An ice palace has been cut into the vast snow overhang. The Aletsch glacier rolls away into the distance. You can walk to the Mönch with suitable footwear. The Sphinx stands above on the highest point housing a research station and observatory. A lift levitates you. The whole structure is surrounded by a Faraday cage.

We also visited Thun on Thunersee by schiff; rather a pedestrian trip. The Schiltorn and Piz Gloria (OHMS - Bond) are accessible from Lauterbrunnen although we gave that a miss.

The Interlaken holiday was such a pleasure that the following year we dived in again. This time we planned Geneva - St. Moritz - Glacier Express - Zermatt - Geneva. SDM came up trumps and BA ditto. We took the mainline train from Geneva to Chur via Lausanne, Berne, and Zurich. Reaching Chur after about five hours, we joined the Glacier Express inbound to St. Moritz. This is the last lap of its eastbound journey; a two hour climb and descent including the spectacular Landwasser viaduct and the spiral tunnels of the 7,600’ Albula pass, before arriving in the high Engadine valley.

Whilst waiting for departure at Chur, an American family discovered that a child had left its T shirt on the mainline train. Wanting to recover it, they asked the conductor how long before departure. “In twenty seconds,” was the emphatic reply and we did! That’s Swiss punctuality for you. Christine still chuckles over it.

 St. Moritz is at 6,000’ so you can expect it to be 12°C colder than sea level. The four star Hotel Soldanella had been booked and turned out to be well positioned. www.hotel-soldanella.ch This appears to be the HQ of the St. M bobsleigh club, since it is full of memorabilia. We were made welcome and given a superb room with a view of the lake “since we were staying three nights”. The hotel lent us free passes for uphill transport so we took the funicular to Corviglia and cable car up to Piz Nair at 10,000’. Walking down the mountain occupied most of the day. Many noisy German ramblers had the same idea but the mountain is big enough to lose them. A Heidi trail of alpine species has been established near Chanterella, but we couldn’t find the Heidi Hütte. The resort is geared to winter sports; however, we found sufficient mountain restaurants open and we ate-in in the evening to avoid chasing around the town. The mountains are good pasture, divided by electric fences and given to cows in summer. Their milk is as good as Jersey. How they are milked each day is intriguing and defeated my guesswork.

One highlight was to be the 7½ hour journey from St. Moritz to Zermatt by Glacier Express. This is another panoramic train for tourists and includes a dining car redolent of the Orient Express. Two railway companies share its operation:- Rhaetian to Disentis and Matterhorn-Gotthard Bahn to Zermatt. We retraced our journey to Chur and reversed out west to follow the Rhine valley to the Oberalp pass at 6,700’. This route becomes increasingly spectacular as you progress, especially with the wine flowing and major domo performing in the dining car. West of Disentis, the rack is engaged more often and the train slows consequentially. We descended to Andermatt before climbing towards the Furkapass. Glaciers may seen to left and right but when passing the Rhone, the most spectacular of all, the train is buried in the 15 km Furka tunnel, built about fifteen years ago. Previously the railway climbed to about 7,000’ before passing through a summit tunnel. From here to Visp the train follows the equally spectacular Rhone valley in the Valley of the Goms! The last hour or so takes you up the Vispatal to Zermatt past a massive rockfall where a whole side of the mountain spread itself out. Hotel Sarazena was opposite the MGB station and next to the Gornergratt railway station. www.hotel-sarazena This turned out to be a three-star garni-hotel, whatever that is but I guess it meant no evening meal because there wasn’t one. No matter, plenty of places around town.

Zermatt is quite different from St. Moritz. Still a ski resort, but it’s louder, more racy and open. Only electric vehicles are allowed in town so ¾ scale milk floats rush around quietly in the guise of delivery vans and taxis. The churchyard has a section for climbers who perished on the Matterhorn (some anonymous) until about 1950 and then, no more! The Gornergratt railway goes to its summit at 3089 metres, about 10,000’ with spectacular views of the Matterhorn all the way up. Again, the mountains are signposted. We descended about 5,000’ in six hours, which was about twice the signposted times, but Christine has had MS for over twenty-five years so our progress was quite remarkable really. Gornergletcher on our left and the Grenzgletcher rounding Monte Rosa further over, we found the scenery inspiring. Lower down we encountered the Riffelsee, a picturesque lake high in the mountains. It reminded me of Glaslyn on Snowdon! The weather was kind for us but this mountain is not one to be caught on. Fortunately, there are plenty of stations to head for if the weather deteriorates. Zermatt is surrounded almost 360° by glaciers. The Klein Matterhorn sommerski paradise was open.

 Retracing our route to Brig on the Glacier Express highlighted one of those Swiss characteristics. “Do you have reservations on this train”, asked the conductor. “No,” sez I. “Oh you must. This is the Glacier Express!” was his response. “But we are only going to Brig. It’s the same as any other train. No panoramic cars, same speed.” “That will be 9 francs each please.”

It appears that you can’t leave Zermatt before 11.10 (earliest time of a non-Glacier Express) without reserving a seat. This little cameo illustrates why Switzerland is one of the more expensive countries. Our mainline train from Brig to Geneva took three hours. As far as I could see, all trains continue from Gare Cornavin to Geneva airport. In addition there are French trains, including TGV, direct to Lyon and Paris.

Throughout the holiday, we found all trains were spick and span. No matter how old they may be, they looked fairly new. Stations are clean and litter free. Their cafés are comfortable places to be. Clearly, the Swiss take pride in their infrastructure and invest. We saw extensive new railway building going on in the Rhone valley, probably including a new alpine base tunnel. If you want to see where you are going and would like to leave the car at home for a change, this is a practical proposition

First published in VISA issue 59 (February 2005)

 

The Trans-Siberian

By Neil Matthews

First you find your compartment and stow your luggage on the top bunk or underneath the lower bunk. Then it’s time to explore.

You take care not to trip up on the thin green carpet with the flowery pattern which snakes along the corridor. You edge past the timetable on the wall which lists every stop, the arrival times and the period of time that the train will halt at each station (anything from a few minutes to an hour). You walk sideways, crab-like, past a teenage boy in T-shirt and shorts, playing a handheld computer game, or an older man plugging his razor into an adaptor socket, or a mother gazing out of the window at the landscape of birches and purple lupins and giant hogweed. 

The gentle sway of the carriage tips you towards the half-open doors of compartments in which other passengers are eating Pot Noodles or reading novels or brushing their children’s hair. You pause to look at the samovar, the heavy metal container which Russians use to heat water, and to admire the dials and readings which tell you the water temperature and how much water is inside. 

The carriage sways again as you pass the small room where a provodnitsa (carriage attendant) sits, passing the time by listening to the radio, playing cards or chatting with one of her colleagues. Provodnitsas wear blue uniforms though sometimes, at station stops, you may spot one of them relaxing in a daring silk dressing gown. They expect you to lift your feet as they vacuum your compartment and, if you’re asleep when the train arrives at your stop, they are not averse to waking you with a friendly pat on the bottom.

You stumble past the toilet, pull open the carriage door and step into a no man’s land of darkness between your carriage and the next. You are no longer insulated from the sounds of the train, or the smell of fumes. The floor bucks and writhes beneath your feet. Yellow wires hang from the ceiling, tangling with your hair. Everything is suddenly faster, heavier, noisier, smellier. You open the door to the next carriage. If you’re hungry, you make for the dining car, to sample borscht or solyanka or other Russian specialities. Adding to the food smells may be the odour of washing, hung on the walls to dry.

Back in your compartment, unless you’ve booked a four-bed berth to yourself, you’ll have company. As this is a working train, it will almost certainly be Russians, travelling between their homes and visits to relatives or work trips. Depending on the length of your journey and theirs, you may share with several different people within a few days: middle-aged ladies in rose-motif dresses visiting their Army sons; businessmen loaded down with presents for their wives and toys for their children; a young woman and her little girl returning from a trip to the big city, Moscow.

 If your Russian or their English isn’t good enough for conversation, a pad and pencil comes in handy. When the train reaches a station, the entrepreneurs on the platform entice you with soft toys, cigarettes, flowers, beer, bread, cucumbers, sausage, strawberries, salami, fruit juice, tomatoes and apples. Whoever buys food or drink shares it with the rest of the compartment as everyone looks at the scenery or talks or reads.

The Trans-Siberian is neither fast nor glamorous. But it’s an excellent way to travel thousands of miles, while sharing your time with the hospitable and generous Russians.

First published in VISA 94 (Dec 2010)

Pink and Blue by Rail

by David Gourley

India, as all know, is a vast sub-continent and by no means did we go round all of it. Our travels were in the northwest, mainly in the State of Rajasthan with an add-on to Shimla, up in the Himalayas. It is still a huge area. We had a twofold reason for selecting this particular holiday. Firstly we had never had a holiday purely in India itself, though we had passed through it going to and from Nepal or Bhutan. Like Peter Sellers’ legendary doctor, we had been to Delhi and Darjeeling (“from New Delhi to Darjeeling / I have done my share of healing .... I remember how with one jab of my needle / In the Punjab”) but to little else. Secondly I hankered after a trip on the renowned Palace of Wheels, the luxury train (or so I thought) that takes one around Rajasthan. One of our most enjoyable holidays had been our trip on the luxury Pride of Africa train, run by Rovos Rail, between Cape Town and Victoria Falls. I fondly imagined that Palace on Wheels would be similar.

We flew to Delhi with BA. A pleasant surprise awaited us at the airport. We had upgraded to Premium Economy. All one gets for the extra money, which is not insubstantial, is extra legroom, which rather matters to me given I am over six foot. Stingy BA do not even throw in a glass of champagne (according to current advertising, Air New Zealand, by contrast, serve their Premium Economy passengers the Business Class food and wine). We were informed that – for the very first time – we were to have a further upgrade. So we ended up in Business Class.

We stayed for our first night in the splendid Imperial Hotel. In the frenetic life of the city, this is an oasis of calm, but the bustling street activity is there to be had as soon as one passes through its gates. We went for a stroll and, immediately outside, had to run the gauntlet of traders trying to interest us in their wares. It was all however very unthreatening. We found ourselves on a road named after Leo Tolstoy and wondered why a Russian novelist should be so honoured in India: there is a connection since he was a friend, albeit only through the medium of correspondence, of Mahatma Gandhi.

Our package included tours of New and Old Delhi, respectively before and after the Palace of Wheels trip. Previously we had only had time for a New Delhi tour though we went just over the boundary into Old, to visit the Gandhi Memorial. The tour took in the fine Government Buildings. These have some similarity with the Union Buildings in Pretoria – no coincidence since the British architect Herbert Baker was involved in building both. We then travelled out of the city, once more past the striking memorial, also to be seen on the way to and from the airport, to the Salt March, Gandhi’s non-violent protest about the British-imposed salt monopoly. Our destination was the Qutb Minar complex. The Qutb Minar itself is a huge tower, sadly no longer open to the public, but there are a number of other interesting sights, including the Iron Pillar, which is a mystery to scientists as it has not rusted in some 2000 years. It is said that if one can encircle the pillar with one’s hands whilst standing with one’s back turned, one’s wish will be fulfilled. Since there is now a barrier, we could not put this to the test.

For our train journey we were departing from Delhi Cantonment, entailing another traipse past the Salt March Memorial and out into the southern districts. I don’t know why the main train station isn’t used. Maybe it is because of the heartrending poverty that one is bound to see there though one does not entirely escape this in Cantonment. In fact when we first started serious travel, India was not really on my wish list because I feared I couldn’t cope with the poverty. However, as veteran Indian correspondent Mark Tully has observed, it is the poor themselves who have to “cope with” poverty. One cannot avoid it, however cocooned one might be in five-star luxury. Tibet excepted, the poverty is the worst I have seen. One is told by the authorities and by tour companies not to give money to beggars, but occasionally we disobeyed.

The visitor to India cannot, and indeed should not, avert his eyes from the poverty but this is not of course the sum total of the country. This is a beautiful country with enormous vitality among its people. At the other end of the scale India has the world’s largest middle class, on the basis that the population is around a billion and a tenth are middle-class. In recent years the economy has boomed as India takes its place among the Asian Tigers, and one must fervently hope that this benefits all, including the very poorest.

It was apparent straight away that Palace of Wheels was to be nothing like Rovos Rail. At Cape Town we had been given a glass of champagne as we boarded the train. Here there was a scruffy tent at the entrance with orange juice the only drink on offer; we declined it having observed someone wipe inside a glass with an ungloved hand. The train had something of a dog-eared look, with no feel of luxury, although the company’s website extols its virtues: it is “exquisite”, “exclusive”, “has luxurious cabins” and offers “almost everything that could comprise heaven on earth for seven days”. If only! It prides itself too on its personalized service with a Khidmatgar (personal attendant) assigned to every half-dozen or so passengers. Ours was a surly individual. Fortunately he was with us only for the first leg of the trip, to Jaipur. His replacement was better, but that is not lavishing praise on him.

The meals were a disappointment. We love Indian cuisine and had looked forward to poring over a menu and making our selection. But this was buffet food without a buffet, a succession of dishes brought, with no great panache, to one's table on a take it or leave it basis. It included Western as well as Indian dishes, not what we wanted. I am very partial to roast lamb but it’s not something I’m going to seek out in India. To be fair, much of the food was tasty and there were pleasant smells wafting out of the kitchen as one went by. On the Pride of Africa, Bruce the genial train manager was very hands-on, not thinking it at all beneath him to top up someone’s drink if he noticed their glass getting low. On the Palace of Wheels, two managers stood around looking important, but it was not apparent to me what value they were actually adding. A Belgian lady informed us that she would never travel on the Palace of Wheels again “even if it were for free”. But our disappointment did not stop us from enjoying India. With train travel mostly at night, there was plenty of time to see its sights and the excursions were usually good, with a VIP welcome, elephants et al, at the various stations.

Our first port of call was Jaipur, the Rajasthani capital. It is known as the Pink City, the buildings in the centre being of this colour, a custom dating back to the visit of the Prince of Wales in 1853, when they were painted in his honour. We started with a brief walkabout, which took us past the city’s most famous building, the Palace of Winds, which is basically a facade. Its original purpose was to allow the royal ladies to view everyday life in the street outside without being seen themselves. In photographs it looks serene and isolated, but it is in a busy street. Just opposite, we saw our first ever real-life snake charmer.

We were then taken a dozen or so miles out of the city to the magnificent hilltop fort of Amber. We ascended in traditional manner, in a howdah atop an elephant. Animal welfare groups have no issue about elephants being used for this purpose (they only carry people up the hill). They are, though, concerned that the animals are stabled in Jaipur rather than in Amber itself, since this involves a long and wearying trek at the beginning and end of each day. 

We returned to Jaipur. Leaving behind the hustle and bustle of its streets, we were taken to the peace and quiet of the Rambagh Palace Hotel, where we had a good buffet lunch. This is the one-time residence of the Maharajah of Jaipur. At the time of independence, there were, in addition to the areas ruled directly by the British, a number of princely states, a fair few of these being in Rajputana, as Rajasthan was then known. To entice their rulers into the new India, they were provided with “purses” i.e. regular subsidies by the State. In 1971, Indira Gandhi, not unreasonably it might be felt, decided this was not a good use of the state’s money in a country with such enormous poverty and the payments ceased. As a result a number of princes turned to tourism as their main source of revenue and former royal residences, such as the Rambagh Palace, became hotels.

Returning to the city in the afternoon, we first visited the City Palace, a huge complex. Then we crossed the road to the Jantar Mantar, or Observatory. I had not heard of this and surmised it might be a mildly interesting building. We were in for a surprise. It is not a building at all; rather, it is an amazing outdoor collection of architectural astronomical implements, the largest stone astronomical observatory in the world. There are fourteen major geometric devices whose uses include measurement of time, predicting eclipses, tracking stars in their orbits, and ascertaining the declinations of planets. The world’s largest sundial is here, telling the time to an accuracy of about two seconds. It is one of five such observatories built by Maharaja Jai Singh, the founder of Jaipur, another being located in Delhi, fairly close to our hotel.

The next leg of our journey took us to our furthest flung destination, Jaisalmer, located in the Thar Desert. One is here getting quite close to the Pakistani border. This was drawn across the former Raj in somewhat arbitrary manner, separating towns on either side from large areas of their natural hinterland, Jaisalmer being an example. Tourism in places like these tends to be affected by the relationship between the two Asian giants. At time of our visit these were on an upswing; as is often the case with supposed enemies, ordinary Indian and Pakistanis were finding that they rather liked each other if actually allowed to meet. One can only hope that the recent terrible bombings in Mumbai don’t foreshadow any serious renewal of tension between these two nuclear powers.

Jaisalmer is a city of great charm, with its amazing warren of medieval streets and distinctive local dwellings, the havelis. The main attraction is the Fort, which commands fine views of the surrounding area. Uniquely, people still live in the fort, around a quarter of the city’s population in fact. Breaking from our usual pattern of having dinner on the train and lunch elsewhere, we returned to the train for lunch, then headed out into the scenic desert. Here we were to go for a camel ride in the Sam Sand Dunes. I rather baulked at this. Emboldened by the fact that Paul Merton, in his recent TV series on India, has made a similar confession, I will own up to not liking animal rides (unless safely inside a howdah as on the previous day), being convinced that I am going to fall off. So I opted out of this adventure. Then, chastising myself for my wimpishness, I changed my mind and mounted my camel some few minutes after everyone else had departed. I ended up with a rather more challenging ride than anyone else, as the boy leading me took it into his head that he wanted to overtake the rest of the party, which we duly did, charging along at a rate of knots. The scenery was splendid, but I took little of it in as I was so focused on staying on the wretched animal. 
The evening was billed as one of cultural entertainment. Once again we were to be unimpressed with Palace on Wheels. After an indifferent buffet dinner in a modern hotel of no great character, we went outside into a courtyard. We were looking forward to a show with authentic Rajasthani dancers and singers. It started with a long talk about musical instruments which was not especially interesting but OK, I thought, if it was a prelude to good musical entertainment. Instead of this, a couple of English-speaking comedians appeared who went on and on and on and were excruciatingly unfunny. There was nothing else. It was like being promised an evening of English folk songs and country dances, and then being entertained, if that is the right word, by Jim Davidson.

During our overnight journey from Jaipur we had passed through the city of Jodhpur and this was now our next stop. If Jaipur is the pink city, this is the blue city, for reasons evident when we gazed down at it from the vantage point of Mehrangahr Fort, strikingly located on a hill above the city. From here the city, with its blue dwellings, looked beautiful, but we didn’t get the chance to view it at close quarters for, after our visit to the Fort, we were whisked off for lunch at the Umaid Bhawan Palace. The Fort, which is one of India’s largest, is magnificent and there is an eclectic collection of exhibits ranging from howdahs to royal cradles. We were shown round by a genial local guide, who looked imposing in a uniform that included the trousers to which the city gives its name.

We had, without realizing it, espied the Umaid Bhawan Palace from the Fort, a large building on the horizon which looked rather ugly and out of keeping with the city. Closer acquaintance did not improve it. This is another converted royal place constructed, a trifle optimistically it might be thought, over a 15 year period to 1943, when it must have been obvious to pretty well anyone but Churchill (usually blessed with marvellous foresight, but curiously myopic over India) that the Raj did not have long to go. Lunch was good but it struck me as a cavernous, rather soulless place.

Next port of call was the Ranthambore National Park. It was morning, but still dark, when we arrived and our local guide pointed out the planet Venus. This Park is packaged as the place where one can see tigers but a lot of visitors must go away disappointed since on most days, apparently, there are none to be seen. And in India such parks do not offer the huge variety of wildlife to be found in an African game park, where the visitor is unlikely to go away disappointed, even if no elephants are seen. We were in luck. A beautiful tigress presented herself and, quite unbothered by the presence of a number of jeeps, strolled through the forest as we drove alongside. It was almost as if she was putting on a show for us. Wonderful! But when we got back to the train, the Belgian lady was angry. Her group had noticed that other jeeps were all congregating some distance away and had urged their driver to join them. He had taken no notice so they hadn’t seen the tiger.

For a change we now had a long train journey by day so, for the first and last time, were able to enjoy a few hours of looking out at the Indian countryside. Our destination was Chittorgarh where, for the first and last time, we were to be stationary overnight, as the next day’s visit was to Udaipur. This city is served by the Indian rail network but, because there is a different gauge, the Palace on Wheels was unable to take us there. There is not a great deal in Chittorgarh itself to detain the visitor, other than the Fort with its impressive Tower of Victory. It has had a turbulent history, including the ‘Jauhar’ of 1303, when the women of the court, taking their lead from Queen Padmini, leapt into a huge fire rather than submit to conquering invaders, leaving the men to carry on the fight to the death.

We transferred to Udaipur by road. It was a fast road, so there was not really the chance to look close up at rural life in India. We were now at the southernmost point of our tour and here in southern Rajasthan there was at the time of our visit a serious drought. We had lunch in the historic Lake Palace, now a sumptuous hotel, so named because it is on a small island in the middle of Lake Pichola. In the classic photographs it is thus surrounded on all sides by water but much of the Lake had dried up, with grazing animals suggesting that this was not just for the short term. We were just about able, from our starting point near City Palace, still to do the journey by boat. We enjoyed a very good lunch in splendid surroundings, and wished we had the wherewithal to end right now our journey on the Palace on Wheels, and stay here for a few days. But back to the train we had to go, first touring the City Palace, the largest palace complex in Rajasthan, an amazing and beautiful warren of courtyards, pavilions, terraces, corridors, rooms and hanging gardens.

Our final full day on the train took us out of Rajasthan and on to Agra, which is in the State of Uttar Pradesh. There were two stops en route. First of these was a visit to the Keoladeo Ghana bird sanctuary near Bharatpur. This was a rewarding visit. We had an excellent guide whom we commended on his good knowledge of English. Clearly a man without pretensions, he volunteered that he only knew what was necessary for him to do his job as a guide in the sanctuary. We had been annoyed with ourselves for not bringing binoculars but, no problem, he straight away produced a pair, all part of the service.

We did the remainder of the journey to Agra by road. Heading away from the bird sanctuary, there was wildlife that we had no wish at all to see: at intervals along the road were dancing bears with their owners. There is a law against this practice but seemingly people can ignore it with impunity. This was just about the poorest looking area that we saw in India. Our second stop was at Fatehpur Sikri. This is an abandoned city which, for a brief period in the sixteenth century, was the capital of the Mughal Empire, the Brasilia of its day but a failed experiment. It is well preserved and is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Agra is a bustling city with a population approaching 2m. It is of course known above all for the Taj Mahal. We had had a day trip here from Delhi on the first of our two previous visits to India. Sometimes a second visit can disappoint but the opposite was the case here. We were all the more captivated by its beauty. Clichés cannot be entirely avoided: it is one of the most beautiful buildings in the world and it is at once very romantic and very tragic. Completed in 1653, it was built by the emperor, Shah Jahan as the final resting place for his beloved wife, Mumtaz. For the final years of his life the Emperor was imprisoned in Agra Fort by his own son, Aurangzeb. From there he could look across at his masterpiece.

We had lunch in Agra and a visit to the Fort, the city’s other main attraction. This too was our second visit and on the previous occasion we’d encountered monkeys with attitude. No sign of them this time, thankfully. We then boarded the train for the final leg of our journey, back to Delhi. Usually it is with feelings of sadness that we finish a trip, but we did not feel in the least bit sad as we got off the train the next morning. It had failed completely to find a place in our affections. We were looking forward to another night at the Imperial and thus to the luxury promised but certainly not delivered by the Palace on Wheels.

The trip was not completely over, for there was still our included tour of Old Delhi, complementing the Tour of New Delhi that we’d had on our first day. We first visited the Gandhi Memorial, which, as mentioned, we had also visited during our previous Delhi tour. Again it was a moving visit. Mahatma Gandhi was undoubtedly one of the great men of the 20th century. He was dedicated to the cause of independence from the British, to be achieved however not through violent struggle but through Satyagraha, or non-violent protest. This inspired later heroes of the last century, above all Martin Luther King. He also championed the cause of a single, united and secular India, a lost cause given the determination of Moslem leaders to create a separate state of Pakistan. It might also be remarked that his influence helped to ensure that nationalism in India, unlike in China or Vietnam, did not fall under the sway of communists. Sadly he only lived for a few months after India achieved independence: this man of peace and religious tolerance was felled by a bullet fired by a Hindu extremist. But his legacy lives on, the world’s largest democracy.

On our city tour of Delhi during our first visit to India, our guide had seemed somewhat embarrassed when we’d asked who a statue was of. It was a statue of Tilak, a militantly anti-British campaigner for independence. Not for him the Gandhian willingness, if his face was slapped, to present the other cheek for slapping! We saw no reason for embarrassment: one has to face historical facts as they were and the British did on occasions behave shamefully in India. But one must be careful too not to judge the past by today’s standards. Satyagraha worked because the British in India were at least half-decent; it would never have worked against a Hitler, a Stalin or a Pol Pot.

This same guide made a point, when mentioning once or twice Mumbai, of translating it for us: “or, as you say in English, Bombay”. But, as in this article, we too call it Mumbai. I question though whether we should. It’s understandable if the Indians want to Indianize the names of their cities but do we really have to follow suit? We do not talk about going to Venezia, Firenze or Roma and the Italians clearly don’t mind. I’m sure Indians would be equally happy if we carried on talking about Bombay instead of Mumbai, Madras instead of Chennai, Calcutta instead of Kolkata. I understand that many of the locals still call their city Bombay.

Other attractions visited in Old Delhi were the Red Fort and the huge Jama Masjid, the city’s principal mosque. When India and Pakistan went their separate ways, a lot of blood was spilt with huge transfers of population in either direction. But many Moslems remained in India, making it one of the largest Moslem countries in the world. Intercommunal strife is hardly unknown in India but by and large the different communities rub along fairly well and all came together to mourn the victims of the Mumbai bombings. Because of the religious sensitivities, one is most unlikely to find either beef or pork on restaurant menus. If it’s meat that one wants, it will invariably be lamb or chicken. India may be the most vegetarian-friendly of all countries. Even I, unreconstructed carnivore that I am, could get by, for a while at least, on the delicious vegetable curries.

We were not finished with the railways yet. As an add-on we continued to Shimla for three nights, returning to the Imperial for our final night in India. Located nearly 7000 feet above sea level in the Himalayas, Shimla, or Simla as it was then known, was the summer capital of the Raj. It is said that it was the real power centre of the Raj, since summer could stretch to eight months. To get there we travelled on the celebrated toy train. This is an amazing feat of Victorian engineering. This narrow gauge (2’ 6”) railway ascends over 4½ thousand feet during its journey of 60 odd miles, passing through 103 tunnels and across an astonishing 864 bridges.

We had on a previous visit seen, but not travelled on, another celebrated toy railway, the Darjeeling Himalaya. Shimla is, I would say, the greater engineering achievement. The Darjeeling line closely follows the main road. We had in fact driven alongside it for virtually its entire route, from Darjeeling itself down to Siliguri in the Bengal Plains, where we turned right for Nepal. The Shimla line by contrast takes it own route through the mountains. We reached it by way of an ordinary train which took us from Delhi to the southern terminus, Kalka. I had had one worry about the toy train. I will confide, within the four walls of Visa, that I need to relieve myself somewhat more frequently than the average person. I had read in a rather odd guidebook that there no toilets on the train. How was I going to manage for a five hour journey (which turned out to be closer to six)? I was not much taken with the guidebook’s suggestion that one could hunt for convenient bushes at intermediate stations. I had no confidence at all that the train would in such circumstances wait for me. So I was delighted, when I boarded, immediately to spot a toilet. In fact there were two in our carriage.

The journey was through some of the most breathtaking scenery anywhere and we hugely enjoyed it. Admittedly towards the very end it did get a bit boring as we were about an hour late getting into Shimla and it was by now dark and there were long stops at stations on the approaches to the town. Shimla is very much associated with British power in India but, if our trip is anything to go by, tourism nowadays is almost entirely domestic. In fact we didn’t see any white faces on the train journey. This was fine by us: India might be exotic but for us it never feels foreign, for the ties between our two countries are so strong. However when, just once, we espied a white couple in Shimla, who turned out to be from Solihull, the four of us, in very unBritish fashion, made a beeline for each other, just to say hello and compare experiences.

All was commotion when we finally made it into Shimla but amidst the seething mass of humanity a chap from our hotel, the nearby Cecil, found us straight away and transferred us there. This is a historic hotel, part of the Oberoi chain, and we had a great stay, always eating well and making use of its leisure facilities. We had an excellent check-in but at first were disappointed when we were led to our room as it was on the ground floor and there are several storeys. Disappointment didn’t last once we got inside, for the hotel is build on a ridge and we had one of our most spectacular views ever from a hotel room. Security in India was not much of a concern at the time of our visit (2005) so it was with sadness that I read on the hotel’s website that “in light of the recent incident in Mumbai, the security at the Oberoi Cecil, Shimla, has been intensified. Amongst the measures, strength of security personnel in and around the hotel has been increased and periphery patrolling has been enhanced”. The Cecil’s sister hotel in Mumbai was targeted in the devastating terrorist attack in that city and has yet to reopen.

These few days in Shimla were, in the main, spent chilling out. We did just one excursion away from base, which took us a few miles out of town to Kufri, still higher up and offering stunning views of the Himalayas, including into Tibet. We had lunch at the Wildflower hotel, also part of the Oberoi chain. It is more expensive to stay there, but I would not myself consider the extra outlay to be worthwhile. It is gloriously located, true, and we ourselves enjoyed a good al fresco lunch amidst the scenic splendour of its Himalayan surrounds, yet it felt a bit soulless, maybe because there were few guests at that time, and one is rather marooned since it is in a standalone location high in the hills whereas we had the town on our doorstep.

Otherwise we enjoyed ourselves exploring Shimla. The centre, around The Mall with its panoramic views and Christ Church, still has the feel of the Home Counties, for all that the days of the Raj are long gone and there are few British visitors. We attended a service at Christ Church. It was in Hindi but recognizably similar to a C of E service back home. For an Indian city, Shimla is easy on the conscience: we saw just one beggar. Indira Gandhi is something of a local heroine and there is a statue of her on The Mall. Under her auspices the separate State of Himachal Pradesh was established, with Shimla as its capital. The State also includes Dharamsala, the Dalai Lama’s place of exile, but unfortunately going there in the limited time available was a non-starter. It was formerly part of the Punjab which in bygone days covered a huge area of the Raj. Now much of it, including the one-time capital, Lahore, is in Pakistan and the residual Indian state is small in terms of size, if not importance, having spun off not only Himachal Pradesh but also Haryana.

First published in VISA issues 84-85 (Apr-Jun 2009)

Perth to Sydney

by Lynn Hurton

"Oh the Indian Pacific spans the land!" is the song churning, yet again, out of the speakers. I smile. It means another passenger information relay, recorded many years earlier by the veteran Australian actor Charles "Bud" Tingwell, to which few listen and about which even fewer care. It is usually played when one has already visited the area, or when one will do so hours later, so it all tends to be totally meaningless. Still, it avoids the in-train crew having to speak to us mere mortals any more than necessary. Many of them do not know the information anyway. In many respects, in Gold and Red Kangaroo Class, they merely serve the function of waiters, bar staff and chambermaids.

They say that it is the staff who make a train. The Indian Pacific train journey (Perth to Sydney via Adelaide, or the reverse) is advertised as being one of the world's great train journeys. For the sheer quality of the scenery or off-train tours, that could well be true, but the experience can be sadly lacking in some ways. One's fellow passengers tend to make for a convivial atmosphere and the all-inclusive meals in Gold Kangaroo Class are delicious, too.

However, one can see, or avoid, the world as much as one wishes. The passenger lounge is fine but lacks atmosphere and seats... there are far too few of them. It makes it all too easy to hide away in one's single or double cabin/cubicle between meals and tours and see nothing and no one. It can be the loneliest trek in the world. The cabin is tiny with a minuscule wardrobe, day seat, pull-down bed and pull-down wash basin. Two toilets are at one end of the long and winding carriage and two showers at the other. Double cubicles have the luxury of an en-suite, whereas the poor single passengers have to traipse down wobbly, long and winding corridors in the middle of the night, remembering to make oneself decent first. At least there are single cubicles/cells. One does tend to feel somewhat like a hermit in them after a while...

There are off-train tours at Kalgoorlie (super pit and ladies of the night), Cook (ghost town in the middle of the Nullarbor Plain: population 4), Adelaide (where architecture and parks abound) and Broken Hill (Art Galleries and the Flying Doctor Service). However, these do not always take place at convenient times (11pm in one case) and if the train is running late, as it often is, they do not take place at all.

You can laze all day, but you have to get up very early each morning, like it or not. A 6.15am call is in fact 4.45am when one has changed time zones overnight. It's inhuman! One could say that no one travels by train anyway if they want to sleep. The only way to gain a decent night's sleep on the first night out of Perth is to avoid the 20$ 11 pm Kalgoorlie trip to the floodlit gold super pit and that is a pity. The 3+ hours stop in Adelaide does allow one to stretch one's legs or to enjoy a $22 coach tour around the city. It could also mean a long wait at the rail terminal which is 4kms out of the city and at which there is a dearth of taxis. It is not all pure luxury!

The on-board Platform magazine (issue 2 of the year) ran out at the end of June, but was still being used in mid-August. It does give useful facts about the key sights and the train itself, but one now has to pay $1.50 for a detailed route planner... the very same interesting planner which was free a mere two years ago.

All off-train tours cost from $20 to $30, apart from the free walk around the dwindling buildings of the Cook ghost town in the middle of the Nullarbor Plain (which can be viewed in 10 minutes, but where one passes at least 45 minutes). There are almost no buildings left in the once thriving town which used to serve the railway network so faithfully until 1995. In those days the town possessed a hospital, school, swimming pool, Post Office, cricket pitch, golf course, airstrip and cemetery. Now few buildings remain other than the school, old gaol cells, public lavatories, a telephone kiosk and a souvenir shop. The four remaining residents faithfully service passing freight and the twice weekly Indian Pacific passenger trains (in both directions). Soon there will be nothing left. The town decays more every time one passes through. Such is Progress...or maybe not?!

The carriages are at least 35 years old and have a 50 year shelf life. One has the feeling that they will not be restored, simply dumped and replaced! That is a crying shame! It should be a timeless, luxurious rail journey, but there is a sense of something being lacking in so many areas and of one not-quite receiving what one has paid for. Red Kangaroo class gives one a bed, but you buy all of your own meals on the train. There are also cheap daynighter seats, but three days sleeping seated upright among all and sundry can try the patience of the most seasoned traveller.

As to the food, it was on the whole delicious. Lamb shank was a particular favourite, as were desserts accompanied by King Island double cream. However, rock solid potatoes and pumpkin gave a whole new meaning to al dente and the glass of wine (extra cost) ordered to accompany the meal twice arrived as the dessert was being plonked down on one's table. On the day of our ultra early morning awakening (6.15am which was really 4.45am) we were given a box containing cereal, milk and a very dry nut muffin. Nobody consumed the latter, whereas the former was eaten through necessity. No wonder there was a huge queue at the Adelaide Station cafe (which we reached at 7am-really 5.30am) for a "real" breakfast. Egg and bacon bap had never tasted so good! Despite superb food the service ranged, on the whole, from passable to slow. Simply plonking dishes down glumly is not the "done thing" when one has paid for luxury. The youngsters could have learnt a lot in this respect from their older colleagues, who could give service with a smile and a joke.

The first highlight was a champagne reception for Gold Kangaroo passengers. Two sips of something which resembled paint stripper in a badly overcrowded lounge and I wished I had stayed in my cabin. Sadly, so did many other guests. At least it gave us a topic of conversation, even if for unexpected reasons!

Each carriage has a hospitality attendant, who one only sees at mealtimes or with a wake up call, but who ensures that there is a ready supply of tea bags, coffee sachets, milk, sugar and biscuits for those wishing to imbibe. This facility is situated opposite the lavatories. One ironically tends to collect yet another polystyrene cup of caffeine when one has just visited the latter! Still, it help to pass the time and ensures regular exercise to avoid DVT!

One's bed is put down during supper and raised during breakfast; although one can reverse the process should one wish. There is a tiny waste bin in the carriage which fills within moments of entry and one discovers that there is nowhere else to dispose of anything. One can be over environmentally friendly; a floor strewn with "bits" from an overflowing bin does not look at all luxurious. One has to book luggage in at least one hour before departure, which does tend to lead to a lot of hanging around. A railway station is not an airport, neither is a train an aeroplane.

As to the bumpiness of the train...it is legendary! One can, and does, get used to the "rocking, rolling and riding". Many passengers complained of having slept little, although that tends not to matter when one has the whole day in which to do almost nothing (unless one is eager to sit in uncomfortable chairs in the tiny lounge, read old newspapers and converse with one's fellow inmates).

Taking a shower on the train is an experience! Those who reside in single cells/cabins need to weave their way down the carriage still, albeit scantily, clothed, but there is nowhere safe and dry to hang any items of clothing.. So the inevitable occurs-everything gets soaked! One returns to one's cell and has to get dried off all over again, wondering where to hang all the soggy clothing. Cleanliness evidently comes at a price!

There are hours of sheer nothingness as one crosses the Nullarbor Plain. Only Cook breaks the monotony, but there is so little there. The Del Amitri song Nothing Ever Happens kept springing to mind ("the Martians could land in the car park and no one would care"). It helps to count the kangaroos, wallabies, camels, dingoes or emus! The wildlife is spectacular and unexpected throughout.. .as are the sunsets. I will never forget the constellations of stars either, nor my first sight of the Southern Cross. As for the wedge tailed eagle... words fail me!

One is given a printed certificate and tie pin to prove that one travelled the Indian Pacific in the "luxury" of Gold Kangaroo Class. One has to write in one's name and date on the pre-printed certificate in order to prove that "you travelled on one of the world's greatest and longest train journeys". Long it is; great...the jury is still out on that one!

Is it worth it? It is an amazing experience, but it could be far better with attention to detail! Great Southern Railway needs to get its act together if it does not wish to become a white elephant. The nostalgia will not appeal forever if one is not given the full first class of service that one expects and has paid for. Although it was excellent in small parts, it was sadly lacking in so many others, which is a crying shame. It could, and should, have been so much more.

First published in VISA 71 (February 2007)

Around the Habsburg Domains

By David Gourley



Cathy and I took a 14-day rail trip to Central Europe, first class all the way, which took us, in all, to seven countries i.e. France, Belgium, Germany, Austria, Hungary and the Czech and Slovak Republics. This trip was especially interesting from two points of view.

Firstly, whilst I am not a train buff as such, I love rail travel and I had long hankered after doing a long rail journey in Europe. Secondly, since I took early retirement a couple of years ago, I have largely devoted my time - when not travelling - to studying for a Masters degree in History. One of my specialist subjects was the Habsburg Empire, from 1848 until its demise in 1918.

Another was the post-Communist transition in the various states in this region, the historical interest of this trip was twofold. (Czechs and Hungarians do not, by the way, like being regarded as East Europeans, a term which is considered by them a throwback to the Communist era, to be applied, nowadays, to Ukrainians, Moldovans and so on. As a result of the fall of the Iron Curtain, they have reclaimed their Central European heritage. Geographically, Vienna is actually further east than Prague!)

We started with a journey by Eurostar to Brussels for a brief city tour, before we boarded the sleeper train which was to take us to Vienna via Aachen, a long stop in Cologne, the border town of Passau and into Austria, following fairly closely the Danube through Linz to Vienna, where we had a three night stay.

Schonbrunn Palace

After a tour of the Schonbrunn Palace (which we had visited before), we had an included city tour. A curious aspect of Vienna is that, the melodies of Strauss notwithstanding, it seems to shy away from its own river. The Danube lies to the northeast of the city centre and one can roam around the latter, as we had done on our previous visit, and never set eyes on the river. The city is in this respect very different from Prague, Budapest, Paris or London.

On the following day, we saw some of the countryside around Vienna. We had an all-day tour which took us out through the scenic Vienna Woods. We had stops at the monastery at Heiligenkreuz and the huge Abbey at Melk, which here dominates the Danube.

Not as impressive as either of these, but historically very important, was another stop we made, at Mayerling, which was once used by the Habsburgs as a hunting lodge. It was here, in 1889, that Rudolf, the heir to the Habsburg throne, was found dead, along with his 17 year old lover. It is generally assumed that they committed suicide though there is no definitive proof. His personal life was in a mess, but he also had strong political differences with his father, the Emperor Franz Josef. With some prescience, he opposed the Empire's alliance with Germany and argued strongly that it should never fight Russia. It was as a result of this alliance that the Empire was dragged into the First World War, with Russia on the opposing side. As a result of the War, the House of Habsburg itself fell.

One is not supposed, as a historian, to indulge in "what if?" speculation. But let us do so anyway: if Rudolf had not died, he would still have been the heir, so Franz Ferdinand, who replaced him as heir, would have remained in relative obscurity. The assassination in Sarajevo of Franz Ferdinand would hardly, in those circumstances, have happened. There would therefore have been no First World War, so there would have been no Bolshevik revolution in Russia; nor the Hitlerite seizure of power in Germany. So the Second World War would not have happened either. All things told, the twentieth century might have been a rather more agreeable period in human history. That single events, such as the tragedy at Mayerling, can change the course of history, are indeed food for thought.

We took a different route back to Vienna, this time through the Danube Valley, pausing for a time in the picturesque town of Durnstein. The next day was our free day, and enjoyed rediscovering the city. We returned to the Hofburg, the Habsburgs' winter where we spent quite a bit of time. It so happened that there was an exhibition here about the life of Rudolf. We also went on the Ferris Wheel in the Prater, which was immortalised in the film The Third Man. The Prater is a huge fairground, not really our scene, but one can get to the Wheel without having to go anywhere else in the park. Fine sunny weather gave us a magnificent view over the entire city.

Lunch was taken in the Centrale, one of Vienna's historic coffee houses, whilst dinner was eaten al fresco in a Heurige in the hilly outskirts of the city. These atmospheric restaurants, in which vineyards are licensed to sell their own wines, are very much part of the Viennese scene.

The following day, we set off for Budapest on the Orient Express. Not, I fear, the luxury train which terminates at Venice. This was an ordinary train running on the original Orient Express which starts in Paris and once went all the way to Istanbul.

Budapest - and Hungary - were uncharted waters for us. To start with, we were not impressed. Nor did our city tour at first improve our view for initially it took us through a rather dreary area, where a burnt out sports stadium was pointed out to us. Architecturally magnificent Hero's Square was at first off-putting for, as our guide tried to talk to us, skate-boarders competed for our attention. I am at a loss to understand why their activities should be allowed to mar this historic area. Later during our stay, we returned to Hero's Square, travelling via Continental Europe's first ever underground line; there were no skateboarders this time and we enjoyed the visit rather more.

By the end of our tour, we were converted to the view that Budapest is one of the finest cities we have visited. There is a marked difference between the two halves of the city, Buda and Pest, which are located on opposite sides of the Danube. Pest, on the eastern side, is flat - one is already on the Hungarian Plains! Here is the main downtown area, as well as the Cathedral, which we visited, the Parliament building, and some elegant residential streets.

Buda, on the western side, is by contrast very hilly. For my money, this is the best part of the city. It contains the historic and picturesque Castle District and the Gellert Hill, which gives fine views over the city. We got a taxi here after dinner the following evening, so we could enjoy the view by night. Linking the two sides are a number of bridges, including the Chain Bridge. The bridge over the Thames at Marlow, Buckinghamshire, is a smaller replica.

Our stay in Budapest was for five nights, allowing time for two excursions into the countryside. The first of these was via steam train to Esztergom, the main religious centre, akin in some respects to Canterbury. "The Communists didn't much like this city," remarked our guide. Its basilica is the fifth largest church in the world. In the crypt is a moving memorial to Cardinal Mindszenty, the one-time Primate of Hungary and Archbishop of Esztergom, who is buried here. After the Hungarian Revolution in 1956, he sought refuge in the American Embassy in Budapest. He stayed there until 1971, when he was exiled from the country. He died in Austria four years later and his remains were brought back to Esztergom.

The basilica is strikingly situated on the Danube and from here one can see into Slovakia. The town on the other side looks dreary, full of communist-built workers' flats. But maybe the people on the Slovak side have the better deal - their view is of Esztergom! The bridge linking the two sides has been in ruins since being bombed in World War II, but work is due to start soon on rebuilding it, with the aid of EU funds.

On the next day, we travelled on the Children's Railway, which runs through the scenic Buda Hills. It is reached via an interesting variety of public transport: tram, metro and cog railway. Children do not actually drive the trains but otherwise they run this railway as a reward for hard work at school. I had feared it would be somewhat twee, but not so: this was a fascinating experience. The Communists can be thanked for this, if for little else, for it was built, soon after their takeover, under the auspices of their youth wing, the Pioneers. But it seems to have an assured future in post-Communist Hungary.

The next day was a highlight of this holiday, a full-day excursion to the Hungarian Plain. We drove to the city of Kecskemet, where we boarded a wonderfully archaic steam train, which looked like something straight out of Thomas the Tank Engine: the engine, one felt, really should have had a face and the carriages really should have been called Annie and Clarabel. This took us for miles out onto the Plain, which here has been designated a national park. I helped to "drive" the train for part of the way - in reality one just stands and watches the fireman and driver at work - and was rewarded with a certificate, which I don't understand as it is in Hungarian, one of Europe's most incomprehensible languages (akin to Finnish, which is not any easier!) At the end station, horses and buggies greeted us and took us a couple of miles or so to a horse show.

I was struck, here in Kecskemet as well as in Budapest, by the apparent air of prosperity. Perhaps, as a privileged tourist, I was seeing just a veneer - I am well aware that the transition from Communism has entailed pain for many ordinary people. Hopefully, this is short-term pain leading to long-term gain. But there really wasn't the "Eastern European" feel that might have been expected. We saw no more beggars than back home in London. We felt that Hungary, like the Czech Republic, really is rejoining the west. Whilst there are unfortunate aspects of this - Macdonald's, Benetton and so on (and, in the particular case of Kecskemet, a huge out-of town Tesco hypermarket, which, our guide said, was damaging local traders) - I for one feel great pleasure that these are now free countries.

On our final day in Budapest, we were up early for a visit to the famous baths in the Gellert Hotel, located by the Danube in Buda. Then we had an English-speaking tour of the splendid Houses of Parliament, the design of which was inspired by our own parliament building. The afternoon was set aside for a cruise on the Danube, including a visit to Margaret Island, a green lung in the heart of the city. There was just time before dinner to visit the covered market, a fascinating place, and, close to the Gellert Hotel, a remarkable church which is located in a cave. We tiptoed in as a service was in progress. This church had re-opened in 1989, having been shut down during the Communist era.

We transferred the next day by train to Prague, passing en route through Slovakia and its capital, Bratislava. Whereas the Hungarian and Czech customs officials who boarded our trains were reasonably affable, those from Slovakia seemed rather less friendly. One hapless couple from the Far East were thrown off as they did not have the requisite visa, even though they were in transit. This couple had made sure that their papers were in order for Hungary and the Czech Republic but had overlooked the country in between! Perhaps the officials feared that they would be so captivated by its beauty that they would be unable to resist getting off the train in their country! I fear that, from the train at any rate, Slovakia looked rather dreary. But I am sure it's unfair to judge a country on the basis of a couple of hours spent looking at it through a train window.

Once inside the Czech Republic, the journey, which took us through the country's second city, Brno, was far more scenic. Prague greeted us like an old friend. This, too, was once part of the Habsburg Domains. The Czech Lands - Bohemia and Moravia - were, until, 1918, in the Austrian half of the Empire. In that year, they united with Slovakia, formerly part of Hungary, to form the new state of Czechoslovakia. In the interwar period, this was a peaceful, prosperous and democratic state but it then fell victim, first to the Nazis and then to the Communists. Freedom was restored as a result of the Velvet Revolution in 1989 - one can do a "Velvet Revolution Walk", as we did during a previous visit.

But, in 1993, the Czech and Slovak Republics went their separate ways. This was thanks to the politicians: opinion polls at the time showed that, had there been a referendum, the people in both parts of Czechoslovakia would have voted, by a sizeable margin, against splitting their country.

We had a full day walking tour the next day and just about everything was familiar. The pleasure here was in seeing once more the numerous sights. Prague's beauty derives from the fact that is unspoilt, a medieval city frozen in time. It was not bombed during WW2 and the Communists, though they neglected it, did not ruin it. It is unlikely, in the post-Communist era, to change for the worse, for there is a lot of money to be made from tourism and tourists come to see the city as it is. Much of the historic centre has now been spruced up.

Our local guide spoke movingly of the Velvet Revolution, she herself having been among the crowds in Wenceslas Square who demonstrated against the regime. It is not always realized that Czechoslovakia was betrayed not just once, but twice, by the west. I guess all of us know about Munich. But, after the war, American troops entered the country, and liberated the city of Plzen, only sixty miles or so from Prague. There was no physical impediment to their moving on to the capital, which they could have reached well before the Russians. Churchill urged the Americans to do just that. But Roosevelt was not in listening mode; he still regarded Stalin as his trusted wartime ally and Prague had been promised to Uncle Joe. The history of post-war Czechoslovakia might have been very different if General Patton had been allowed to take Prague.

On one of our earlier visits, we had travelled out to the spa town of Karlovy Vary. There is now a memorial commemorating its liberation by American soldiers at the end of World War II. This, of course, was erected only after the Velvet Revolution. One of the lies which the Communists wished the people to believe was that the whole of Czechoslovakia had been liberated by the Red Army.

We had a full day in which to explore Prague on our own. Then, the day after, we began our journey back. We entered for the first time the territory of the former East Germany. The area just to the north of the Czech border is strikingly beautiful, this being the so-called "Saxon Switzerland". In Berlin, we changed to a high-speed ICE train (InterCity Express -I don't know why they use English terminology!). We'd have loved to have spent time in Berlin, a city we had not visited, but we got a glimpse of the new Reichstag building. We sped across the former East Germany, and back in 'the west'. One is not really meant to say this, as the Germans like to think that theirs is truly a united country. One suspects, though, that psychologically it will be a divided country for some years to come. At least what was once called the "Ugly Frontier", the German section of the Iron Curtain, with its watchtowers, barbed wire and minefields, has vanished.

We carried on, through Hanover, Bielefeld and Wuppertal to Cologne. We returned the next day the same way as we came, through Aachen and Liege to Brussels, and then by Eurostar to Waterloo.


A longer version of this article was published in VISA issue 38 (autumn 2000)