Taking the train to Dusseldorf

When I woke up this morning it was only 57 degrees Fahrenheit. Most of the week it’s been in the high eighties. That’s not to say it won’t get hotter as the day progresses. I’m on board the 0817 train to Paris Nord, although I’m getting off at Brussels Midi. I’m sitting in seat 14, coach 22, right at the back of the train, but the carriage is virtually empty, the seat wide and I’m as happy as Larry looking out at the passing landscape.

One thing I noticed on the journey from Brussels to Dusseldorf - and I’m now reminded of as the train slows down as we arrive in Cologne - is that the Germans really love their allotments. I’ve never seen such elaborate sheds, some sporting their own back gardens, most with net curtains; the Germans really make themselves at home and their sheds could easily double as houses, places where people could live.

The train has stopped on a railway bridge over the Rhine, right in the middle. I remember walking over this bridge back in 2007, or thereabouts, but I can’t remember exactly why I was in Cologne, although it was p;robably something to do with the international potato processing industry or food manufacturing in some shape or form.

The train has arrived at Cologne and loads of people are now standing to my right with their suitcases. To my immediate right is a Japanese (or Chinese or Korean) couple with massive suitcases they are trying to put in the racks over the seats. Miraculously, they’ve succeeded and now a steady flow of people pushing their suitcases in front of them. Just when I thought the journey was going to be silent. I can hear the apologies. “I’m so sorry”, “excuse me, sir” and “sorry about that”. These are all holidaymakers in shorts and tee-shirts and trainers, a world alien to me.

The train is edging out of the platform, we pass the Merian Hotel and the backs of apartment blocks and then Koln Hansaring station on which more holidaymakers stand waiting for a train. The train picks up speed and it won’t be long before we leave Cologne behind. and it won’t be long before we leave Cologne behind.

The guards have been round checking the tickets, always a nervous moment for me for some reason, but all my documents were in order and now the food trolley, but I want for nothing; I’ve eaten breakfast and that’s enough until I reach Brussels Midi. Although I’ve just heard it’s complimentary and I have the choice of sweet or salty. No, I must resist and I do so easily - until I’m offered a croissant. “Orange joose, multi-vitamin?” He’s moved up the carriage as we pass through a town and back into the fields.

Outside the sun is shining, the wind farms are still and the skies are blue apart from one solitary cloud expanding like ink on blotting paper as it splurges from some kind of industrial plant. It’s lovely out there. Everything is bathed in sunshine, everything is still, blinds are down, umbrellas are up. All is quiet.

Everybody’s tucking in to their breakfasts, sipping water or fruit juice and I’m looking out of the window at the woods where all is still.

I was up at 0600hrs this morning and I’d had a fairly good sleep, mainly because I was packing stuff away last night and didn’t hit the sack until around midnight. Compared to earlier in the week the heat of the night had gone, but I kept the windows open as it was nice to listen to the city before nodding off to sleep. I was in the breakfast room at just gone 0630 having showered and shaved last night in order to save time in the morning. Mint tea, yoghurt, a couple of mini pastries, cereal and that was my lot. No scrambled egg or fresh fruit this morning. Check-out was quick and soon I found myself on the railway station passing the time by reading English newspapers. The very thought of going back there depressed me: Boris fucking Johnson, Brexit and all the wankers associated with it. I’ve avoided watching television all week and my only contact with the UK has been the BBC website.

We’re in Aachen. After a short stop the train lurches out of the station and I fall asleep only to awake at Liege, but thinking we might have arrived in Brussels. Panicking slightly, but knowing deep down that we can’t possibly be there just yet, I jumped out of my seat and asked the guard. “Liege, Belgium,” he says and with a sigh of relief I go back to my seat. It’s 0953hrs and we’re due to arrive in Brussels at 1035. 

Trains always make me sleepy, but that’s what’s nice about them. Liege is nice too, what I can see of it. The town is surrounded by wooded hills, but it’s a picturesque sort of place with close-knit, tall, narrow townhouses. And now we’re passing through Ans. Within seconds there are fields and once again the sleepy, sunny stillness returns and I am reminded of what my life knows as ‘the magical year’, 1989, when all was good with the world, the Berlin Wall came down and we enjoyed a fantastic holiday in Menton, South of France. We travelled there by train and I remember the return journey when the weather was similar to what it is now. This was before the recession hit and redundancy loomed and I felt angry with the world for the first time in my life. Up until the start of 1990 I had no real gripes with my situation, but after 1990 things started to go wrong and the United Kingdom of today was born and by that I mean a distrustful place full of career politicians and angry, bigoted people. Perhaps for others this awful world had arrived earlier, who knows? But for me, 1989 was the last of the good years, the end, if you like, of innocence. After 1989 I lost friends, I lost jobs and I lost respect, there was nothing but uncertainty in all spheres of life and that uncertainty continued and these days there is nothing but uncertainty, physically, mentally, politically and professionally.

Travelling through Europe as I am right now on a Thalys train, through the fields and towns and sitting here in comfort writing and admiring the passing countryside, I find it odd to think that my country, the United Kingdom, has voted to leave the European Union. When I arrived at Dusseldorf Hbf this morning I was wondering if there was any way of giving up my British citizenship and just becoming a ‘European’ of no fixed abode, meaning not British, not French, not German, just a European. I think I’d simply like to stop being British, it’s such a pile of shit, especially if it’s going to be headed up by that huge, obese buffoon, Boris Johnson. The thought of that oaf representing me is abhorent. That fat c- -t! Sorry, but it makes me angry, although I think the real cause of my anger right now is the fact that I’m going home. Sooner or later I’ll be returning to the Isle of C- -ts and I’m not happy about it.

When I arrived at Brussels Midi I found that I had to pay to take a piss. I remember reading somewhere, I think it was Chomsky, who said ‘they’ - the man - would charge for the air we breathe if there was a way. They make it complicated here just to take a wazz. First you have to buy a token and then insert the token in the wall and magically a door opens. I’m sitting in a cafe now, a place with a weird name, like EXKI! It’s a bit trendy, but not too much and I’ve just purchased an excellent slice of cake and a ginger orange with vanilla tea, it’s great! I’ve decided that for the month of July, no cake, no chocolates, no biscuits. Thirty one days of abstinence should sort me out. I feel as if I’m putting on weight so all the crap has to stop, pure and simple.