The Train to Ljubljana

There is something magical about train travel. It is not like being in a plane, where you simply fly over the world, missing out on the scenery. Nor is it like being in a car, since in a car, you lack for better or for worse, the communal aspect of train travel.

If I have discovered one thing about trains: you are never sure exactly what is going to happen. This unpredictability ranges from not knowing which wagon you should be in, where and how long the train stops (thank God, I don’t smoke. The number of people I have seen left behind when they went out for a smoke is quite astounding), who will sit in the compartment with you (here hygiene plays a major part), etc. Maybe it is simply because I did not grow up in a place where train travel is commonplace, but it seems to me that no one really knows what exactly is going on. Questions are given vague answers even by those who apparently work for the train company and even people who had traveled for years by train can be caught off guard. I have resigned myself to the fact that regardless of how many times I check or ask, at some point in a train journey, I will be in the incorrect wagon. Thankfully, I have yet to make are serious mistake yet (knock on wood), but I feel that it is inevitable. Still, this unpredictability tinges the whole experience with a unique type of excitement.

Now, with that in mind, I would like to tell you about my recent dalliance with the Hungarian train system on my “eight” hour ride to Ljubljana. If you read a Lonely Planet guide, you will probably see that a train from Budapest to Ljubljana will be eight hours. Ha. If you look online to see the Hungarian train time table, you will see that there are several trains from Budapest to Ljubljana daily (here it also makes that eight hour claim). Ha. Lies, I tell you. When I went to buy the ticket, haven already carefully recorded which train times I wanted, the vender shook her head and waggled her finger, saying the equivalent of “No, you don’t want those, you stupid tourist! This is the only train you want.” Okay, then. I guess that was the train I wanted. I asked, in my politest Hungarian, will I have to make a transfer? “No,” she answered. And so, I went on with life.

Two days later I boarded a train to Ljubljana. It was hot and the train was, to be nice, elderly, meaning it had no air conditioning. Which was completely fine because I was excited for the adventure to come. I had TUC (the best crackers ever), my drinkable yogurt (mango and apple, my favorite), and I was ready for the supposed eight hour ride. This is the part of train travel that I like best: sitting, staring out the window, munching on some snacks, enjoying the landscape. I was in luck since the train went through what I believe to be the best part of Hungary, the Dunantul, also known as Transdanubia. It was just turning green with springtime and the rolling hills were covered with pink and purple flowering trees. The train also passed by Lake Balaton, a turquoise jewel dotted with blindingly white sail boats. All in all it was more than beautiful. I read my guide book, took a nap, and suddenly I was crossing the border into Croatia.

This was where it got tricky since, unbeknownst to me, the train I was on was stopping in Zagreb where I was supposed to get off and, well, make a transfer. I only figured it out since the two Croatians with whom I was sharing a compartment were talking about it. This would be one of those times that understanding Russian has sincerely helped me. Thanks to Russian, I understand about 40%, maybe more maybe less, of other Slavic languages such as Croatian. At that time, if I had not understood who knows where I would have eventually ended up.

Had I not specifically asked about transfers? This is what I mean, no one knows what will happen on a train which makes it simultaneously delightfully surprising and horribly nerve wracking. I took advantage of this layover and explored the city for the second time this semester. I had a lovely dinner and returned to the train, refreshed. Wow. This train. It was German, and it was a mechanical marvel. Russian trains have a bouncy, Soviet charm with lovely (or not so lovely) older ladies always watching to make sure that you are not doing something “uncultured.” Though I have no real complaints about Hungarian trains, they are not exactly wonderful, either. Dirty would probably be an apt description. German trains on the other hand are hospital clean, silent, completely smooth. The little old ladies on German trains don’t glare (as much). Instead they push carts of fresh pastries (which I would have loved to try, except for the fact that they were ridiculously expensive). It was a delight to glide through the Croatian countryside into Slovenia and arrive in Ljubljana ready to explore. However, of course, it was too late to explore. The train ride that was meant to take eight hours had taken twelve. It was late and time to check into my hostel.

Ljubljana is a great city. Even though I only had a day there, I made the most of it. Thanks to a very detailed e-mail from a Slovenian friend of my mom, I was able to catch the best sights in my limited time there. I love it when people are excited about their own country and willing to share. It always makes for the best trips. Her recommendations included not only the farmer’s market (Amazing. It was there that I consumed the greatest sandwich of my life, seriously, and bought a gigantic bottle of fresh made apple juice for one euro.), but also the Ljubljana City Museum. I don’t generally enjoy museums, but this one was great, state of the art, and hands on. It was especially intriguing since I knew next to nothing of the long history of Slovenia and its capital, Ljubljana. Later that day, I hiked in Tivoli Park for hours and bought some tasty Slovenian chocolates (mmmm… nougat, cream, and hazelnuts). I finished the day with a great, once again gigantic, and cheap salad, eaten at one of the many cafes along the river that flows through the center of the historical district while watching the sunset. Put simply, for a small city, Ljubljana has a lot of offer. I hope to return one day and maybe go hiking or horseback riding in the mountains that are only a few hours from the city.

The next day, I left the city so early that I witnessed a glowing orange sunrise over the mountains and river filled valleys of Slovenia. When I finally arrived (about twelve hours later) back in Budapest, I found myself missing the sunny, breezy Slovenian valleys that I had only recently left. Hungary is great, but we seem to have skipped spring and run straight into summer. Who knows, I might have to flee the humid Budapest streets again to find those cool spring evenings of Ljubljana.