Outside my train window, the world still sleeps. Morning mist rises from the rolling patchwork of fields and wooden lowlands. As sunlight splashes whitewashed farmhouses, signs of life appear. A woman hangs laundry in a tiny courtyard. Cows emerge from sagging barns. As I sip espresso in the sun-filled dining car, other passengers join me, and together we greet the day in a silent communion of coffee and pastry.
I am traveling by train through Central Europe, to visit the region’s cultural meccas–Berlin, Budapest and Prague–and to see an area embracing capitalism after decades of communist rule.
I am also here to feed a serious habit. I love trains. From Argentina to Zimbabwe, I willingly jump at the chance to feel the click and sway of steel wheels beneath me. I want to ride the rails through the former Soviet bloc, watch the countryside unfold, and see how the region’s rail system compares to the excellent train service in Western Europe.
Choosing a north-south route, I begin my journey in Germany, at Berlin’s Zoo Station. The woman at the information kiosk tells me trains depart from here daily to anywhere in Europe, from Oslo to Athens to Moscow. I buy a ticket to Prague and pick up chocolate and fruit at the station market before finding my train. Settling into the upholstered comfort of a window seat, I watch the platform as lovers embrace and families wave.
Leaving the station, we roll through a gritty industrial zone of stained warehouses. In the distance, rows of bleak apartment buildings rise from the monochrome cityscape, a remnant of Cold War Soviet architecture. As we reach the outskirts of the city, open fields replace concrete, and small houses bordered by vegetable gardens and flower patches brighten my window view.
A spirited group of Americans join me in my compartment, and soon we’re sharing chocolate and travel stories. As I leave in search of the dining car, the door next to our compartment slides open and a German businessman rushes out. “What do you think this is, a party car? he snaps. I apologize for our noisy group, and he softens. Five minutes later we part with a handshake, having discussed Wall Street, Hillary Clinton and apple strudel.
Dining cars on German trains operate as smoothly as a Mercedes, and this one is no exception. White linen tablecloths, sparkling glassware and the murmur of contented diners greet me as the waiter offers a menu. Within minutes I am enjoying grilled fish, roasted potatoes and a chilled local beer.
The sprawling pastures and squat farmhouses slipping past my window look vaguely familiar, like a scene from the American Midwest. We pass fruit orchards, trees hung with ripe pears. Deer browse by tidy rows of poplar trees. This is not the frayed communist countryside I expected. Lulled by the gently rocking train, I doze, awakening as the compartment door opens.
A burly Czech border guard with a brushy mustache enters and asks for my passport. Frowning, he inspects it, then looks at me. Wondering whether my American citizenship might cause a problem in this former Communist country, I brace myself for questions, but he hands the document back with a smile and says, “Welcome to the Czech Republic.”
Nothing outside the window suggests we have crossed a border. Ancient tractors chug over hilly fields broken by patches of forest. Farmhouse laundry flaps at the passing train. Tiny cars wait like drab metallic beetles at road crossings, then trundle across the tracks in our wake.
We roll into Prague after dark. Voices echo through the cavernous station as passengers stream across the platform. Tinny loudspeakers announce arrivals and departures. Families guard battered suitcases and parcels tied with string. Broad-shouldered men in trench coats lean against pillars, making me wonder if there are any spies left over from the Cold War.
Three days later, sated by Prague’s castles, coffeehouses and Mozart concerts, I find myself in a small country train station in the ancient town of Trebon, in the Czech region of South Bohemia. A string of abandoned Soviet flatbed cars languishes on a rusted side track, weeds sprouting between the wheels. The humble platform is deserted except for two soldiers, a dozing dog and a lone, dark-haired woman from Finland.
Beyond the tracks, apples hang heavy on gnarled trees in a neglected orchard. I pick several to share with Eva, my new Finnish friend. We sit in the purpling dusk, eating the tart fruit and listening to trilling birds as shadows creep across the steel rails. The dog lifts his head as the squealing brakes of the approaching train stirs the sleepy station to life. Regretfully I board, wanting to linger in this tranquil place.
The easiest train route from Prague to Budapest is through Vienna, so I spend two days there exploring baroque palaces and Viennese pastries. Leaving the city that invented the waltz, I change trains at a small station on the way to Budapest.
An elderly nun waits on the platform. Even with her woolen coat she shivers in the damp morning air. She smiles shyly, and as a train pulls up, asks me a question in German. A man standing nearby translates. “She asks if this is the train to Sopron.” Returning to her convent, she seems relieved to learn we are going to the same destination. We stand together in silence until our train arrives, then the man and I help her board.
Pigeons swirl through the arched entrance to the Budapest station. As my eyes adjust to the dim interior, splashes of color brighten the gray hall. Giggling schoolgirls flock by in oversize Euro-grunge outfits. Students load bikes onto the train. Spike-haired punks strut past businessmen lugging laptops. The buzz of reunions and good-byes fills the station.
My train trip done, I spend a few days sampling chicken paprika and crisp local wines in the city along the Danube. The trams, metros and suburban railways are frequent and cheap, and I ride them to major sights around Budapest. But they are no match for the romance of a sleek train speeding through the European countryside. And there are no free apples.
DETAILS ON CENTRAL EUROPE
Getting there: Berlin (Germany), Prague (Czech Republic), Vienna (Austria) and Budapest (Hungary) are all international air hubs, though there are no non-stop flights from Chicago to any of them. Lufthansa Airlines (800-645-3880) has frequent flights to all four from Frankfurt and other cities in western Germany.
Getting in: Visas are not required for U.S. citizens to any of these countries. Border crossings are efficient and fast.
When to go: As with Western Europe, summer is the high season, so book accommodations early. If possible, avoid August, when most Europeans go on holiday. April-May and September-October are mild, with fewer tourists and lower air fares and lodging prices. Winter is cold and damp.
Riding the rails: Trains are cheaper than in Western Europe, comfortable and convenient. Distances between major cities are often covered in a few hours. You arrive at your destination–usually in the center of the city–rested.
The easiest and most economical way to travel Europe by train is to purchase a rail pass. Rail Europe (800-438-7245; www.raileurope.com) has a wide variety of passes you can match to your itinerary. A First Class European East Pass for $199 is good in Austria, Czech Republic, Hungary, Poland and Slovakia; this allows for five days’ of travel within a one month period. Additional rail days are $22 each.
Since Germany isn’t covered by the East Pass, I paid $87 for a point-to-point First Class ticket from Berlin to Prague, bringing the total cost for my trip to $286.
An excellent guide to train travel in Europe is “Traveling Europe’s Trains” by Jay Brunhouse (Pelican Publishing; 800-843-1724; $15.95).
Things to see: Each of the four cities mentioned here has a wealth of cultural, architectural and historical sights. Allow at least two days in each place to explore castles, palaces, museums and shopping areas. The surrounding countryside offers Gothic and medieval villages, wine regions, health spas and miles of rural scenery.
Accommodations: Lodging options in Central Europe include hotels, guesthouses, rooms in private homes, youth hostels and camping. Inexpensive hotels can be found in all major cities, especially around bus and train station areas. Local tourist offices and train station information desks have extensive accommodation lists. Guidebooks such as Lonely Planet’s “Central Europe on a Shoestring” list a variety of choices.
Rail Europe’s Flexotel program offers travelers more than 400 hotels throughout Central and Eastern Europe. This pre-paid voucher system allows the convenience of paying in U.S. dollars before you go and the flexibility to change your itinerary as you travel. Rates, often less than the hotel’s rack rate, range from $59 to $288 per night at chains such as Best Western, Sofitel, Mercure, Wunder and SRS. Call Rail Europe (see above) for details.
Cuisine: Central European food tends toward the heavy side, with a variety of goulashes, dumplings, noodles and sauces. Veal, pork and sausage are the most common meat dishes, although fresh fish entrees are often available. Many restaurants offer at least one vegetarian dish. Dessert lovers can choose from a variety of strudels, cakes, tarts and other pastries.
Elegant restaurants offering classic European service can be found in major cities, especially in the hotels. Larger department store restaurants and delis are inexpensive, fun places to meet locals. Or do what the Europeans do: buy lunch at a local market. Fresh bread, meat and cheese, fruit and a bottle of wine enjoyed picnic-style on the train or in a city park can make a memorable meal. Train dining cars offer good food at reasonable prices.
Tourist offices: Germany, 212-661-7200; Czech Republic, 212-288-0830; Austria, 212-944-6880; Hungary, 212-355-0240.
