Friday, May 14, 2004
Dusseldorfing
The ICE (Inter City Express) trains are the racehorses of the train depots here. Along with the maroon Thalys trains that connect The Netherlands with France and Belgium, the ICE's are sleek and thin Bombardier trains with long noses that cut through the air at up to 239 kph. They are seductive to look at, and inviting to sit in. The seats are cushioned and cozy, the trains new. What can be wrong with these trains that connect The Netherlands with Germany?
Apparently enough was wrong about them in 2000 that they pulled them from the rails after one train derailed twice in Berlin (unoccupied train and no injuries). And certainly enough was wrong with them in 1998, when one of them derailed at 125 mph and hit a bridge, bringing the bridge down on the wreckage and killing 101 people in Germany's worst rail accident since WWII.
So, things certainly could have been worse by the time we had our first experience with the ICE on Saturday, when we boarded it for Dusseldorf to see Sheryl's friend and former coworker, Steve Z. We got a great deal on the tickets, piling Sheryl's RailPlus discount on top of the Apex 7 (booked 7 days in advance). Roundtrip, we paid about 70 euros total. For all of us. Pretty good for what was supposed to be a 2 1/2 hour international trip.
And things started off alright. We caught the train to Utrecht (45 minutes) to board the pointy-nosed spoorwagen. We cruised through The Netherlands uneventfully, impressed with the fancy reclining fabric seats and abundant legroom.
Until Empel-Rees.
Where is Empel-Rees? Just across the German-Dutch border, apparently. What's in Empel-Rees? Not the ICE on most days, and yet, there we were. All of a sudden, the train just stopped. After a few minutes, an announcement was made in Dutch, German and, finally, in broken English. It went something like, "The train has stopped." Nobody really moved at this statement of the obvious. A few minutes later, the annoucement was more explicit. Something like: "The train cannot go any further. If you want to go on, you must get on the train at Platform One, which leaves in a few minutes. We are sorry for the inconvenience." At Platform One was a Deutche Bahn train, a local German train that, apparently, stops at every little village between Empel-Rees and Dusseldorf. Only Platform One was maybe 300 yards away, and the ICE did not have the courtesy to have had its little mechanical problem near any sort of platform.
This second announcement sent the passengers scurrying to grab their luggage and deboard into the weeds trackside. It's no easy thing getting out of these things away from the platform, either. At a certain point, you sort of just have to jump down.
Sheryl, Dario and Sofia trekking through the German countryside to Platform One. Note the drag marks on the ground in front of them, left by a previous passenger dragging her expensive luggage.
We made our way onto the DB train (through the weeds, across the track, up onto the other platform and into the train). Huffing and puffing. Fifteen minutes later, the local train headed toward Dusseldorf. Much confusion among the passengers, though. The couple behind us (Russian, I think) needed to make a connection in Duisberg in 30 minutes. A local train offical got on the train, explained the situation briefly in broken English, then said, "I have to go" when the poor Russian couple sought clarification.
In Duesseldorf, the readerboard announcing the arrivals of the ICE said something like, "This train is not coming", much to the confusion of poor Steve Z. He asked around and figured out that we had been waylaid and even figured out which train, but was told first that this train would be 15 minutes late, then that it would be 30 minutes late. All in all, something of a disaster, and our trip was only half over.
After a pleasant 27 hours in Dusseldorf hanging out with Steve Z. (more on this later), we were ready for another go at the ICE. We had been told when we bought the tickets the previous week that the ICE would only go to Arnhem rather than all the way to Utrecht, where we caught it. What they didn't tell us was that we would have to catch a train from Arnham to Utrecht, then another train to The Hague. We figured this out just in time to pile onto an extremely overcrowded train. Sof and Sheryl and Dar got seats because of the kindness of another couple (who moved to First Class), but I was stuck standing in the cargo area near the doors with 21 other people. It was stuffy. It was uncomfortable. And it was calm. There were none of the tantrums I would have expected back home, not even so much as a loud, angry sigh or a huff. And not one of us made the move to a nearly empty First Class section (which nobody is a sucker enough to pay for to begin with).
Everybody was even calm when, 10 minutes into the 20 minute ride to Utrecht, the train came to a complete stop. They were even calm when the train came to a stop five minutes later, then BACKED up 200 yards to make way for the fire trucks rushing to a barn burning 50 yards from the tracks. No bitching as the train sat there for 15 minutes waiting for the trucks to extinguish the flames. Amazing.
Apparently enough was wrong about them in 2000 that they pulled them from the rails after one train derailed twice in Berlin (unoccupied train and no injuries). And certainly enough was wrong with them in 1998, when one of them derailed at 125 mph and hit a bridge, bringing the bridge down on the wreckage and killing 101 people in Germany's worst rail accident since WWII.
So, things certainly could have been worse by the time we had our first experience with the ICE on Saturday, when we boarded it for Dusseldorf to see Sheryl's friend and former coworker, Steve Z. We got a great deal on the tickets, piling Sheryl's RailPlus discount on top of the Apex 7 (booked 7 days in advance). Roundtrip, we paid about 70 euros total. For all of us. Pretty good for what was supposed to be a 2 1/2 hour international trip.
And things started off alright. We caught the train to Utrecht (45 minutes) to board the pointy-nosed spoorwagen. We cruised through The Netherlands uneventfully, impressed with the fancy reclining fabric seats and abundant legroom.
Until Empel-Rees.
Where is Empel-Rees? Just across the German-Dutch border, apparently. What's in Empel-Rees? Not the ICE on most days, and yet, there we were. All of a sudden, the train just stopped. After a few minutes, an announcement was made in Dutch, German and, finally, in broken English. It went something like, "The train has stopped." Nobody really moved at this statement of the obvious. A few minutes later, the annoucement was more explicit. Something like: "The train cannot go any further. If you want to go on, you must get on the train at Platform One, which leaves in a few minutes. We are sorry for the inconvenience." At Platform One was a Deutche Bahn train, a local German train that, apparently, stops at every little village between Empel-Rees and Dusseldorf. Only Platform One was maybe 300 yards away, and the ICE did not have the courtesy to have had its little mechanical problem near any sort of platform.
This second announcement sent the passengers scurrying to grab their luggage and deboard into the weeds trackside. It's no easy thing getting out of these things away from the platform, either. At a certain point, you sort of just have to jump down.
Sheryl, Dario and Sofia trekking through the German countryside to Platform One. Note the drag marks on the ground in front of them, left by a previous passenger dragging her expensive luggage.
We made our way onto the DB train (through the weeds, across the track, up onto the other platform and into the train). Huffing and puffing. Fifteen minutes later, the local train headed toward Dusseldorf. Much confusion among the passengers, though. The couple behind us (Russian, I think) needed to make a connection in Duisberg in 30 minutes. A local train offical got on the train, explained the situation briefly in broken English, then said, "I have to go" when the poor Russian couple sought clarification.
In Duesseldorf, the readerboard announcing the arrivals of the ICE said something like, "This train is not coming", much to the confusion of poor Steve Z. He asked around and figured out that we had been waylaid and even figured out which train, but was told first that this train would be 15 minutes late, then that it would be 30 minutes late. All in all, something of a disaster, and our trip was only half over.
After a pleasant 27 hours in Dusseldorf hanging out with Steve Z. (more on this later), we were ready for another go at the ICE. We had been told when we bought the tickets the previous week that the ICE would only go to Arnhem rather than all the way to Utrecht, where we caught it. What they didn't tell us was that we would have to catch a train from Arnham to Utrecht, then another train to The Hague. We figured this out just in time to pile onto an extremely overcrowded train. Sof and Sheryl and Dar got seats because of the kindness of another couple (who moved to First Class), but I was stuck standing in the cargo area near the doors with 21 other people. It was stuffy. It was uncomfortable. And it was calm. There were none of the tantrums I would have expected back home, not even so much as a loud, angry sigh or a huff. And not one of us made the move to a nearly empty First Class section (which nobody is a sucker enough to pay for to begin with).
Everybody was even calm when, 10 minutes into the 20 minute ride to Utrecht, the train came to a complete stop. They were even calm when the train came to a stop five minutes later, then BACKED up 200 yards to make way for the fire trucks rushing to a barn burning 50 yards from the tracks. No bitching as the train sat there for 15 minutes waiting for the trucks to extinguish the flames. Amazing.
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