Day 15: Gothenburg

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March 7, 2008: Gothenborg, Sweden to Salzburg, Austria

Henrik and I walked to his car through another beautiful Swedish morning. I took a fake drag from my fake cigarette and blew water vapor out of my mouth, as any twenty-five year old with the sense of humor of a child would do. Not being one to let such an opportunity to state the obvious past, I caught Henrik's attention. "Hey look," I said, "I'm smoking," and blew out after taking another fake drag. Henrik tamped his hardpack and lit up, exhaling real smoke from his lungs.
"Show off," was the only thing I could think to say.
We arrived a little early at the train station and Henrik decided to wait around with me. The train pulled up silently and we made our way down the platform. I thanked him for everything over the past week. We hugged (not one of those weird man-hugs either: the kind that isn't sure whether it's a hug, a handshake, or if we accidentally bumped into each other) and I was returned back to the rails and cars which I had come to know quite intimately during this trip.
Through tunnels and over causeways, we made the three-hour trip back to Copenhagen. Henrik told me about an amusement park right across the street from the train station. Since I had a few hours between trains I decided to check it out--it was closed. The thought of snooping around crossed my mind until I realized that closed or abandoned amusement parks are how every bad horror movie starts off. Inevitably it is the lone tourist, drifter, mischievous teenager, or lost backpacker that plays the role of victim #1. I decided to play the odds and admire it from afar.
Henrik had previously told me how he viewed driving and distance when he lived in Denmark. A drive of thirty miles seemed like a long trip for him since the country is so small. His years in Sweden have started to change his mind--Sweden being a larger country where driving longer distances is more of a necessity. I certainly noticed this mindset about a half hour after boarding the train in Copenhagen. The Danish conductor took one look at the map, saw how we would normally have to make our way to the main peninsula of Denmark, then follow the coastline down to Germany. Apparently this was discouraging, so the conductor said, "the hell with this" and made his way for a boat to carry us across Germany.
Like all of my train rides before, I met someone within the first few minutes. Trains began to look like large pinatas, filled with an assortment of people and adventures to sift through. Let's see how this one tastes... bitter sarcasm? Ptoui! not that one. Jaded cynicism? Too sour. Ah here's a good one, a sweet German treat.
As the train made its piggy-back journey across to Germany I stood on deck, surrounded by encroaching fog, feeling the chill of the early March winds. Carolin (not Caroline, as I would later find out) and I figured out that we can actually stay indoors where it's warm and still enjoy the view through this novel new invention called glass. Who knew? The fact that neither of us thought of this for the first few minutes of the conversation says nothing whatsoever to the common sense of two intelligent people. As the feeling returned to my fingers we talked about her job teaching deaf children in Sweden, and her study of sign language in her native Germany. For some reason I thought sign language was universal, but apparently it differs from language to language. For those of you keeping score, that's common sense: 2, me:0.
The boat stopped with a jerk and everyone made their way back to their seats. We headed below deck, past the buzzing neon signs of vendors selling almost-food smothered in not-quite-cheese, and frazzled clerks dispensing one more six-pack. The half-hour sprint of mass consumerism left everyone working the various counters and stands with a bewildered look, like they had just been dropped off by the mothership after being enthusiastically probed. By contrast, the upper deck was peaceful, mercifully lacking in crappy merchandise.
Back in our seats the conversation continued as if our brief trip through the chaotic middle decks had never happened. Carolin seemed slightly self conscious that her English wasn't perfect. I kept reassuring her that it was fine, indeed better than most native speakers. I guess being a language teacher she holds herself to a higher standard. In between stints of reading and snacking we would look up at each other and smile, talk for a bit, then go back to our own little worlds. This continued until the train slowed to a stop and let out a slow hiss. Like one of Pavlov's dogs, everyone stood at this cue and made their way to the exits.
So the second leg of our trips would start--she to continue her studies in Hamburg, I onward to Salzburg. Carolin invited me to stay with her if I were ever traveling in Germany. This I had found to be a great drawback of having to keep a schedule, however tentative it may be. Like Venice and Sweden before, I now wish I had an open-ended time frame to continue with the great people I've met along the way. It can be heartbreaking meeting so such excellent people, but knowing that distance and time separate further meetings.
I tried to put that out of my mind as I boarded the next train. One last night spent on a train. One last morning waking up to an immovable neck and aching joints. One more night and I would be in Austria.

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