Prague's magnificent Hotel Boscolo, lavishly built at the end of the 19th century and first utilized as a bank then as the city's main post office, welcomes guests into its soaring rooms and along polished marble floors. At such an early hour, we do our best to muffle the noise created by the rolling luggage as we approach the elevator. Once in the lobby, we're greeted by an alert staff member who readies our bill and asks if she can assist us further.
We're going to the train station which is only about 300 meters away. We're told that we can easily walk there. No doubt we will have the streets and sidewalks to ourselves. However, those thoroughfares are fashioned of uneven cobblestones and there are several tram rails to cross in the brief journey. Additionally, the station sits atop a medium-sized hill which must be climbed.
With genuine Czech hospitality, we're offered an alternative. The security officer on duty will drive us to the station for 100 Czech Korunas. He'll even carry our mammoth luggage down the two flights of stairs at the entrance of the hotel. There's not a moment's hesitation before accepting this generous offer.
Settled into a sleek black BMW, within a few moments the driver is parking the car as close to the station's entrance as possible. He easily lifts three suitcases from the trunk and then proceeds to walk into the station, dragging the two largest pieces. We follow.
As is our practice, we're very, very early and have about 45 minutes to wait before our train departs for Linz, Austria. Once there, we'll board another train that will take us on to Salzburg. The entire trip is expected to last about five hours.
Surrounded by so much luggage that anyone observing us knows instantly that we're American (even without wearing white tennies), we check the monitors, seeking the platform number for our train. Curiously, a man wearing a small metal tag identifying him as an employee, asks if he can help us. Mysteriously, he knows that we are bound for Salzburg and that we are traveling first class. We ponder this information and are very cautious, declining his assistance.
The platform number is posted and we move toward that location. The mystery man walks a few paces behind us. At the door of the first class train carriage, he insists on lifting the heaviest suitcases. Henry tips him and then he vanishes.
Our train is almost ancient. The compartment consists of two long seats facing each other. Above, there is a rack for luggage. Gamely we lift two suitcases and then practically sink into the very lumpy seats. Across from us, a cleaning brigade attired in babushkas, boots, and cotton work clothes, totes well-worn mops and buckets filled with some liquid. Three or four from the group enter each train car and begin scouring floors, fluffing seats, removing debris. Each person is intent on the work to be done and moves swiftly and efficiently. That particular train appears to be even older than ours and may have survived the Communist era. Regardless, it is treated with respect and its dignity reclaimed by the cleaning crew.
At exactly 7:16 am we're underway, exhausted already. Only one other person occupies our carriage. He is Matthais, a young college professor from Perth, Australia, traveling throughout Europe on a six month hiatus. He looks wan from perhaps too many cities and too little rest. Soon the conductor checks our tickets and we close the door to the compartment, welcome the reduction in train noise and with the not-so-gentle swaying soothing us just enough, we snooze.
Someone's banging on the door, speaking in rapid Czech. Incoherent words float over us and make no sense at all. We were deeply asleep. Quickly we realize the train is still. Did we sleep hours in an instant? Consulting our watches, we realize that only about 30 minutes has elapsed.
What's happening here? In retrospect, these moments seemed like part of a film noir with Agatha Christie writing the script and Alfred Hitchcock directing. We have no time to think of such things and try really hard to understand what we are being told to do. Uneasily awakened Matthais is equally confused.
Finally we realize that we are being directed to leave the train quickly and that there are buses alongside waiting to ferry us somewhere. The suitcases are snatched from their lofty perch. Clumsily we maneuver towards the carriage door and join fellow passengers stowing luggage underneath the adjacent bus. Still clueless, we climb aboard.
Immediately after we are seated, a vivacious young redhead begins talking to us in exquisite English. She assures us that everything is fine and that this is a routine occurrence. Construction on the tracks necessitates detours. The buses belong to the train company and will take us over back roads, through villages and to the town of Tabor. There, a new train waits to receive all the passengers. We fret, or rather I do. The connection between the our original train from Prague and the one from Linz to Salzburg is only 15 minutes. Will we make it? What if we don't?
With absolute calm, we're assured that we should not worry. As green hills and charming structures pass by the bus's windows, we introduce ourselves. She is Vladka, a professional tennis player. A native Czech, she attended the University of Texas, Austin on a full athletic scholarship and turned pro upon graduation. Just returned from a match in Spain, Vladka is traveling to her hometown with her father and will be there for a few days before going on to Rome and yet another tournament.
Ranked as the number 22 doubles player in the world, Vladka is an amazingly perceptive and well-informed young woman. She can easily discuss politics, history, economics, cultural anomalies, traveling light (I should listen intently.) and so many other topics. Now we're hoping that Tibor is days away so that this random connection can have time to flourish.
Mentioning our home in the desert, we ask about the BP Parabis tennis tournament held locally each spring. Yes, she played there this year and will be back in 2013. We exchange e-mail addresses, snap a few photos and promise to stay in touch. As promised, Tabor is reached after half an hour's bus ride and the new train is exactly where Vladka said it would be.
The luggage is no lighter but must be lifted onto the alternate train. It's much newer and more comfortable than its predecessor. We're rolling and no time has actually been lost.
Here's Vladka again. She's walked through the carriages to find us and gently reiterate that we will make the transfer in Linz with time to spare.
Reminiscing about the dramatic changes within her country, Vladka tells us that she was eleven when her country became free of its decades old occupiers. She recalls that period vividly, embraces the new freedoms but is equally as realistic about the imperfections of the current government. We learn that on the night of Czech rebirth, people across the country gathered in towns large and small. Almost simultaneously, they shook keys, signifying independence.
The conversation drifts to her experiences as a tennis pro. A grueling travel schedule, coupled with continuous practice and physical training, prepare Vladka to meet new opponents. Her doubles partner, Natalie, is South African.
We talk about luck, keeping one's perspective, staying healthy, winning and losing. While chatting, Vladka uses the familiar phrase, "Knock on wood." She touches her backhand to her teeth. Henry remarks, "Oh, you have wooden teeth." Our new friend patiently explains that in her country, the phrase is demonstrated a bit differently. We are puzzled. She then tells us that you never knock on something that can burn.
In another carriage, her elderly father waits. Vladka is obviously a devoted daughter and she doesn't tarry with us for very long. Once she's comfortable that we are relaxed about the duration of our own journey, she is gone. Her hometown is a few stops yet in the distance.
During the next few hours, as we travel through the verdant Czech Republic,
we reflect upon our good fortune being rousted from a deep sleep and thrust into the care of such a remarkable individual.
Already we are planning a reunion in the desert in March 2013. She is considering accepting our offer of housing during the tennis tournament. E-mails continue to be exchanged as we chart Vladka's tournament progress from Rome to Strasbourg and now the French Open.
We know that this train tale is totally true and it might make a good movie.
Color me jealous.
ReplyDelete