Adventures with Deutsche Bahn: Part II, Irishmen and First Class
I did a very typical "American tourist thing" this year and went to Oktober Fest. Despite appearances, Oktoberfest happens in September.
Oktoberfest was one thing, but the train ride may have been the real (un)adventure, since it ended with us sitting in first class. It all started with the Irishmen. The Drunken Irishmen to be more precise. After boarding the train (having delayed it by two mintues) there were no seats to be found. They were all reserved or full, or both. No only were there no seats, there was no remaining space in the aisles either. Bummer. We parked ourselves outside the six-person compartments and made everybody jump over us. We didn't want to stand for five hours. We stood occasionally when we were just to bored of being a nuissance to everyone.
Then the Irishmen arrived. The may have been cussing up a storm. It was hard to tell. They were piss-drunk and unintelligable. It may have had less to do with their lack of sobriety, and more to do with their accents. They placed themselves next to us (on our luggage) and started to talk. And Oh could they talk. We heard about the color green; how they missed 3 flights to Germany (due to drunkeness) before deciding to take the train; why Americans suck; how it is to be homeless in San Francisco; why milk should cost more than water, which in turn should cost more than beer, which in turn should cost more than milk; why their girlfriends stayed at home; sheep; beer; and a lot more. They became progressively drunker. We were progressively pushed off of our luggage, which had been a lot more comfortable than the floor was proving to be. They stank of sweat, cigarettes, and most of all, beer. We could only understand every other word they said. Finally, after propositioning Brandis, one of them fell asleep, splayed across our luggage. The other two took their cue and left. Was this what we had to look forward to at Oktoberfest?
The conductor came through, or at least tried to, but was stopped by the snoring, besoffen body of a drunken Irishman. He got little irate. The Zug was full, to the brim. And amidst the chaos he was still trying to provide beverage service. He asked us to move our friend.
"Wir kennen ihn nicht! Wir haben nichts mit ihm zu tun," we said in our defense. The plump, but apparently strong conductor, picked up the man under the arms and dragged him the length of the car to the bathroom area. In the process the Irishman didn't wake up, but in his sleep managed to knock his remaining beer all over us. The conductor was gone, and the floor was wet, as were Brandis and our luggage. I got up to bring the empty bottle up to the bar. The conductor thanked me. On second thought I asked for some napkins as well; this was turning out to be the ride from hell, and now Brandis' single set of clothes for the weekend would smell of beer. He gave the most pained look of exhaustion imaginable and said, "Just go sit in first class, just go sit in first class."
I ran, a new spring in my step, before he had time to change his mind. I jumped the sleeping Irishman, who was now coming to. "First class! We can go sit in first class!" I yelled to Brandis and Alicia down the hall. The no longer sleeping Irishman glared at me. Too bad for him. We gathered up our stuff and got to sit our the remaining 2 hours in first class comfort. All thanks to the Irishmen.
Oktoberfest was one thing, but the train ride may have been the real (un)adventure, since it ended with us sitting in first class. It all started with the Irishmen. The Drunken Irishmen to be more precise. After boarding the train (having delayed it by two mintues) there were no seats to be found. They were all reserved or full, or both. No only were there no seats, there was no remaining space in the aisles either. Bummer. We parked ourselves outside the six-person compartments and made everybody jump over us. We didn't want to stand for five hours. We stood occasionally when we were just to bored of being a nuissance to everyone.
Then the Irishmen arrived. The may have been cussing up a storm. It was hard to tell. They were piss-drunk and unintelligable. It may have had less to do with their lack of sobriety, and more to do with their accents. They placed themselves next to us (on our luggage) and started to talk. And Oh could they talk. We heard about the color green; how they missed 3 flights to Germany (due to drunkeness) before deciding to take the train; why Americans suck; how it is to be homeless in San Francisco; why milk should cost more than water, which in turn should cost more than beer, which in turn should cost more than milk; why their girlfriends stayed at home; sheep; beer; and a lot more. They became progressively drunker. We were progressively pushed off of our luggage, which had been a lot more comfortable than the floor was proving to be. They stank of sweat, cigarettes, and most of all, beer. We could only understand every other word they said. Finally, after propositioning Brandis, one of them fell asleep, splayed across our luggage. The other two took their cue and left. Was this what we had to look forward to at Oktoberfest?
The conductor came through, or at least tried to, but was stopped by the snoring, besoffen body of a drunken Irishman. He got little irate. The Zug was full, to the brim. And amidst the chaos he was still trying to provide beverage service. He asked us to move our friend.
"Wir kennen ihn nicht! Wir haben nichts mit ihm zu tun," we said in our defense. The plump, but apparently strong conductor, picked up the man under the arms and dragged him the length of the car to the bathroom area. In the process the Irishman didn't wake up, but in his sleep managed to knock his remaining beer all over us. The conductor was gone, and the floor was wet, as were Brandis and our luggage. I got up to bring the empty bottle up to the bar. The conductor thanked me. On second thought I asked for some napkins as well; this was turning out to be the ride from hell, and now Brandis' single set of clothes for the weekend would smell of beer. He gave the most pained look of exhaustion imaginable and said, "Just go sit in first class, just go sit in first class."
I ran, a new spring in my step, before he had time to change his mind. I jumped the sleeping Irishman, who was now coming to. "First class! We can go sit in first class!" I yelled to Brandis and Alicia down the hall. The no longer sleeping Irishman glared at me. Too bad for him. We gathered up our stuff and got to sit our the remaining 2 hours in first class comfort. All thanks to the Irishmen.
posted by Nina at 6:22 PM
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