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By the time my train finally flashes up on the board, I feel as though I should be fluent in German. I’ve read almost the entire paper back to back, and I didn’t understand a word.
I make my way to the platform and board the train. I feel a bit of a wally walking on with a carrier bag when everyone else has suitcases or rucksacks, but my holdall is far too recognisable now to risk it being visible. I’ll buy a new one in Bratislava.
The train is far smarter and more comfortable than the ones I’m used to back in England. I’ve found that whenever I’ve been abroad, though, which is quite bizarre seeing as our railways are mostly owned by foreign European governments anyway. Everywhere else I go, the level of comfort and style always seems to be much higher, except for the metro system in
